Spotlight
Spotlight
Laurie Spiegel
Lorie Spiegel, the Night of 9/11
On the night of September 11, 2001, the city was cloaked in silence. The air was heavy, the skyline broken, and yet, from lower Manhattan, beams of light rose into the sky—a memorial for what had been lost, and a promise that memory would not fade. That was the night I photographed Lorie Spiegel.
Lorie, the composer who has always found music in both structure and chance, stood with quiet strength in the glow of the city’s grief. She looked not at the destruction, but at the light, and in her presence there was something steady, almost protective.
It reminded me of the way she cares for the pigeons on Duane Street. While others pass them by, Lorie feeds them, watches over them, calls them her companions. In her, there is a tenderness that extends to the overlooked, the vulnerable—whether birds, neighbors, or even a shaken city.
The photograph I took that night is more than a portrait. It is a fragment of resilience, a moment where grief and care coexist. In Lorie’s eyes was the same truth reflected in those memorial lights and in the beating wings of her pigeons: even in darkness, we endure.
Jessica Raimi
Finn Park
Hi Friends, Please join us to wish Jessica Raimi a rousing Happy Mothers Day. Jessica Raimi brings beauty to the neighborhood known as TriBeCa, triangle below Canal St. We thank her for the love she gives to Finn Park where Leonard St and West Broadway join and become one. Jessica protects the neighborhood garden with her whole being. That is the literal meaning of Mother. Here are some photographs to show the purpose of Jessica and Friends of Tribeca's work. Happy Mother's day to all
Chef Austin Johnson
Tall, kind and caring, Chef Austin Johnson is the heart and hustle behind two neighborhood eateries on West broadway and White St.
1 White St Restaurant and Rigor Hill Market—situated on the corner at a crossroads, between 2 worlds, where its clear the chef is building more than a menu. It's a scene from a movie where everybody leaves happier, and every dog in the neighborhood has two things to say about the service:
Woof friendly.
Inside on every floor are views through windows that frame Tribeca’s oldest surviving house. Outside are ancient trees with punk-rock roots—from when the building was home to Tier 3 (TR3), the gritty haunt of the Beastie Boys, the Lounge Lizards, the art of Kiki Smith and Jean-Michel Basquiat. Everything now is filtered through the buzz of a growing community smelling fresh farm local produce, 5 star bakery goods, and, a personal favorite, garlic hummus w/pippara pepper relish.
At Rigor Hill Market, Johnson cuts no corners—from the farm upstate that supplies the produce, to the maple bacon shortbread bites. It’s a place to stop for early am latte and return for an intimate meal with someone special.
Gordon Matta-Clark’s anti-art photographs hang on every floor—as an homage to a rule-breaker and a nod to the art behind the food. This isn’t only somewhere to eat. It’s a place to gather and grow.
“Hopefully everything you eat here is a little bit better than you could do yourself,” Johnson says. And somehow, it always is.
Richard D. Parsons
RIP 1948–2024
A corporate titan with the soul of a neighbor.
There he was—Richard Parsons, the legendary corporate fixer, walking his dog on Worth and Hudson Street. The man who once helmed DIME Bank, Citigroup, CBS, and Time Warner. A man known in boardrooms as “Captain Emergency” for his uncanny ability to steady ships in stormy seas. And yet, here in Tribeca, he was just Richard, living the good life, strolling with his small dog, always ready with a smile.
I called him by name, introduced myself as a neighbor and a photographer for LIFE Magazine. He posed for a photo like we’d known each other forever. That was Dick Parsons—approachable, grounded, entirely without pretense.
Another day, I caught sight of him deep in conversation with another former AOL tech giant, David Gang, who was playing catch with his son on Duane Street.
Parsons didn’t just shape companies; he shaped culture. He believed in leadership that wasn’t loud, but lasting. When asked how he’d like to be remembered, he said it simply:
“I want my legacy to be simple. I left the place in good shape and good hands.”
He did. And we miss him on the streets of Tribeca.
Liev Schreiber
. A Morning with Bread and Liev Schreiber
The light was radiant that morning—one of those early spring moments that makes the city feel like it's begging to be photographed. I went out early to meet photographer Tequila Minsky, the unofficial ambassador of Grandaisy Bakery, the beloved woman-owned spot tucked into leafy tip of Tribeca.
Outside, the flour truck hissed and chugged as it pumped fresh flour into the bakery’s pipes—an infernal noise that made it impossible to talk drinking coffee outside. Inside at the crack of dawn in line was the actor and anti war Ukrainian activisit, Liev Schreiber, waiting for his daily bread.
Liev is no stranger to Tribeca—he’s a Tribecan often trekking through the streets with his kids.
There’s something achingly tender seeing a man—famous or not—comfortable in both his work and in public taking care of his kids. Seeing him waiting in line like everyone else, for his daily bread—makes the neighborhood feel like place we proudly call home.
