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I sat at the orange table in front of the hockey rink at New York’s Rochester Institute of Technology. Next to me was parked a campus safety car. Perhaps an officer sat inside, wondering why I had stopped walking on such a chilly day to sit at a table and look up at the new Student Hall for Exploration and Development.
Construction on the SHED was almost complete. At least, we had been told that for months. Yellow tape still blocked the bottom entrance to the building, as it had for countless days.
A cyclist sped between the SHED and I, probably on the way to class. After that, the path was still. Perfect. I stood and walked three paces from the manhole cover on the sidewalk, pointed my phone at the SHED and snapped a photo. I had been doing this every single day I was on campus over the past two years. I wasn’t sure why I started. I was just interested in documenting the construction.
I eventually figured that it would be great to present every “SHED Picture,” as I had taken to calling them, when the SHED opened to the public. The grand opening ceremony came and went, yet construction didn’t stop. So neither did my photos.
Some days, I wonder what keeps me bringing my phone every day to snap a picture of a nearly identical building. For at least a month, most changes have occurred inside the building. Sometimes, I catch a bird overhead. Other times, I capture a rare glimpse of the sun over Rochester. I ultimately decide it’s not worth worrying about. I don’t need to ask myself why I’m doing something, as long as my heart and soul have found worth in doing it.
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