There are certain photographic journeys that speak directly to your own experiences, echoing feelings and observations you hold dear, and Amy Horowitz’s A Walk in the Park? is undeniably one such book. As I turned its pages, I felt an immediate connection, a sense of looking back at a pivotal time in life, not just for the subjects captured within, but for myself and for my own children. With my daughter, now twenty-four, navigating her early career in Glasgow 150 miles away having graduated last year, and my two younger sons still finding their way, this book felt incredibly current, a fascinating window into the generation poised on the cusp of adulthood. It is a work that transcends mere portraiture, becoming a poignant exploration of identity, vulnerability, and the enduring human desire for self-expression.

Washington Square Park itself, the vibrant backdrop for these encounters, holds a rich history that resonates deeply. Horowitz’s description of it as a place that has “reinvented itself many times,” from a burial ground for the poor to a “relaxed mecca” for creative people, at once drew me in. It reminds me of the layers of history in my own project documenting Aberdeen’s ancient graveyards places where past lives mingle with contemporary existence, each stone and path telling a story of reinvention and endurance. The park’s legacy, having hosted the likes of André Kertész and Diane Arbus, imbues the work with a sense of continuity, placing Horowitz firmly within a tradition of photographers drawn to the raw, unvarnished narratives of public spaces.

Horowitz’s stated approach, that “the subject of the picture is always more important than the picture,” attributed to Diane Arbus, serves as a powerful guiding principle. This sentiment mirrors my own conviction that the soul of a photograph often lies not just in its composition or technical perfection, but in the story and spirit of the individual captured within the frame. It is about an honest, unflinching look, a mutual understanding between photographer and subject, where vulnerability is not exploited but honoured.

What struck me most forcefully about Horowitz’s vision is her intuition, her ability to seek out not only visual interest the bold hair colours, the intricate tattoos, the unique clothing but something deeper, a “softness under the shell,” an “inner authenticity and vulnerability.” This is a profoundly empathetic way of seeing, and it explains why her portraits have such emotional weight. This resonated with my own life experiences as I mentioned a little above as from 1989 to 2000, as a skateboarder, I embraced a mix of skate, grunge, and UK indie styles and from 1994 to 1999, as a hairdresser, I sported blue, orange, and bleached hair, and even dreadlocks at one point. I have always championed individuality, and seeing it so vibrantly alive in Horowitz’s subjects, even now, brought a genuine warmth to my heart.

Certain images leaped from the pages, demanding a second, then a third, look. The young individuals I believe to be “Pastel Goths” on pages twenty-two and twenty-three, with their white faces and bold pops of colour one with pink lips and yellow nails caught my eye at once. There they are, seemingly engrossed in study, yet exuding an undeniable cool. These are precisely the kind of people I would have sought out as friends in the early nineties, kindred spirits in their fearless embrace of personal style. It is a fabulous aesthetic, timeless in its counter cultural appeal.

Then there is the red headed girl, her hazel eyes looking deep into the camera, wearing a Kiss hoodie and two chains one spiky, the other adorned with a rat pendant. The way her gaze pulls you in, then leads your eye down to her fiery hair, her striking eyes again, her mouth, and finally, compellingly, to that little rat pendant, is a testament to Horowitz’s compositional genius. It is a magnetising portrait, drawing you into its magnetic field the moment you lay eyes on it.

Another image, of a male skateboarder, at once felt like “my people.” He stands in a rail stand pose on his board, wearing a Mickey and Minnie Mouse jumper, baggy cords, and wrecked Converse trainers, his silver chain and overgrown hair completing an outfit I could have worn myself, perhaps did wear something very similar. It is a powerful reminder that while generations pass, certain expressions of rebellious individuality are truly timeless.

The picture of the Asian female, with her blue and navy striped jumper, nose and septum piercings, and vivid orange hair swept outwards, looking utterly amazing with minimal make up that only enhances her eyes, is another striking example of this fearless self-expression. And then, there is the raw honesty of the girl sitting in a dark blue jumper, her long brown hair and glasses in her hands, revealing visible rash marks around the bridge of her nose. The decision to include such an image, showcasing a genuine vulnerability, must have been difficult, yet it speaks volumes about the trust Horowitz builds with her subjects and her commitment to authenticity. There are also several powerful portraits of young girls completely without make up, which I adore, like the young, almost Alanis Morissette looking girl in a pink jumper with brown checked colours, her hair in pigtails. Her beauty is undeniable, yet there is a look of sadness, a quiet melancholic reflection, in her eyes that captures the inherent contradictions of youth.

The inclusion of the subjects’ own voices, their anonymous statements printed on the inside jacket, adds a profound, almost haunting, layer to the visual narrative. As I flipped through the pages, I found myself constantly wondering, “Is this the eighteen-year-old college student working to become a sex therapist, or the one who feels they have ‘absolutely no idea what I am or what I actually look like’?” This deliberate anonymity, coupled with such raw admissions “I’ve never been in love,” “I’m bipolar & won’t tell anyone,” “I want to be loved so much but intimacy disgusts me,” or “My parents are both recovering addicts” creates a powerful human tapestry. It transforms the viewing experience into a deeply empathetic one, forcing you to confront the unseen struggles and triumphs behind the confident facades. It is a testament to the belief that beneath the armour of outward presentation, we are all fundamentally the same, yearning for connection, grappling with anxieties, and seeking purpose.

Horowitz’s reflection on her own youth “Carefree, hopeful, but also anxious, protected by my parents yet yearning for independence” resonated strongly. Her journey from a “people pleasing girl” to someone who now applauds young people exploring and experimenting, learning to take risks through their example, is a beautiful and inspiring testament to the transformative power of observation and connection. Her dedication to finding this connection in street portraiture, coming back for more after shooting thousands of portraits, is what truly sets her work apart. It is not about the grand gesture, but the quiet, persistent search for understanding.

A Walk in the Park? is more than a photobook, it is a profound conversation. It is a testament to the enduring power of photography to capture fleeting moments that reveal universal truths. Amy Horowitz has created a powerful chronicle of a generation navigating the complexities of identity, uncertainty, and change in a world that often feels chaotic. This book celebrates the vital importance of self-expression in a time of flux, reminding us that even amidst global warming and the rolling back of freedoms, there is immense hope in the courage and authenticity of young adults. It is a genuinely moving work, one that challenges you to look deeper, to feel more, and to recognise the shared humanity that binds us all. It is a book that I will revisit often, finding new layers of meaning with each contemplative glance.

Regards

Alex