The Towers of the WTC: 51 Years of Photographs by Camilo José Vergara

September 4, 2021–March 6, 2022

This exhibition is dedicated to those who perished, those who responded, and those who are rebuilding after September 11, 2001.

Few urban districts in modern history have been more discussed than Lower Manhattan, and the World Trade Center (WTC) has held a prominent place in accounts of the area since it was completed in 1973. Radio Row, a viable neighborhood, had to make way for the Twin Towers, which were widely criticized on both aesthetic and political grounds; many regarded them as soulless behemoths and arrogant symbols of American imperialism. But their destruction brought a kind of horror not previously seen in the United States, and triggered years of wars and political instability in distant countries.

I closely followed the construction of the towers, watching heavy trucks bring in steel or haul away dirt amid the noise of jackhammers and clanging metal. As they rose to become the tallest buildings in the world, I regarded them as a wild expression of mistaken priorities in a troubled time. More than half a million Americans were fighting in Vietnam, and many parts of New York were crumbling, segregated, poor, and violent. This reality shaped my early encounters with the towers, and I tried to convey my feelings by photographing them with homeless people in the foreground, or in harsh sunlight that turned the buildings into gleaming blades. It seemed impossible that I would outlive them.

View east across the Hudson River from Exchange Place, Jersey City, New Jersey; July 4, 1978.
View east across the Hudson River from Exchange Place, Jersey City, New Jersey; July 4, 1978. © Camilo José Vergara.

Eventually, my early resentment faded, and I grew to see them as great human creations—such simple shapes that could reflect passing clouds in summer and turn into shafts of amber on late afternoons in winter. As I traveled farther away to photograph the towers from distant boroughs, they seemed to lose their solidity and become mysterious, fantastic, and alluring. I liked seeing them in the background of my photos as they rose above houses, waterways, vegetation, junkyards, expressways, and elevated trains.

For nearly two decades the Twin Towers dominated Lower Manhattan. Then, in the 1980s and ’90s, Battery Park City, erected on landfill extracted from the WTC site, came between them and the waterfront. Gradually, the entire southern end of the island became bounded by a massive assemblage of shiny new buildings.

On September 11, 2001, the WTC area went from being a place symbolizing pride and power to one of smoking rubble and death. There has been much rebuilding and renewal since then, including several landmarks designed by star architects built to the north, east, and south of the land once occupied by the towers. I’ve photographed the rise of new skyscrapers built around the memorial pools honoring those who died. The tallest, darkest, and most fortified tower, One World Trade Center, stands disconnected from the memorial, the museum and the rest of the complex. Now, many fear that a remote workforce engendered by the pandemic will continue to haunt this largely empty district. And so yet another chapter in the history of the area begins.

On 125th Street in Harlem, the sight of a T-shirt depicting the skyline before 9/11 stopped me cold. It was labeled “Old New York.”

—Camilo José Vergara

Photograph at top of page: View west from the Manhattan Bridge, Brooklyn, New York; November 1979. © Camilo José Vergara.