“When José Arcadio Buendía realized that the plague had invaded the town, he gathered the heads of families to explain what he knew about the insomnia disease, and measures were agreed to prevent the scourge from spreading to other populations in the swamp.”

—Gabriel García Márquez, “One Hundred Years of Solitude”

Amid the pandemic lockdown, my wife, our one-bedroom Manhattan apartment and the view out of our window became my only photojournalistic subjects.

Maria is an executive in the financial services industry. Her employer decided to take a proactive approach to protecting the employees. She started working from home on March 11, almost two weeks before Gov. Mario Cuomo’s formal stay-at-home mandate.

I am a photographer and a graduate student at the Newmark J-School. This photo essay depicts a period of 61 days as Maria adapted to the “new normal,” where the majority of our daily activities took place in our 11- by 13-foot living room.

The New Scenes

Six days after COVID-19 was declared a pandemic we found empty shelves in our search for alcohol, gloves and masks.

Our tiny apartment, barely 400 square feet, became a sanctuary from the invisible enemy outside. It felt like tempting death each time you stepped outside. 

Maria accommodated my desire to follow a stricter quarantine than she would have on her own. Other than stepping onto our fire escape, Maria went outside only twice, to buy groceries and supplies, over the 61 days before the stay-at-home restrictions were eased. But we were never bored.

There was too much to do inside our home, and being isolated with the one you love is exciting. We celebrated both of our birthdays and our 11th wedding anniversary. These were some of the only days Maria changed out of her pajamas.

Feeling Every Feeling

Cleaning and fixing became big part of our lives. This window’s frame broke from increased use to shoot video and photos.

After a long day of work, Maria video chats with her mother in New Jersey. She kept in contact with friends and family via social media, WhatsApp and Zoom.

Two weeks into quarantine, Maria learned that the father of a friend was one of many COVID-19 victims who died at Elmhurst Hospital. “He had no pre-existing conditions except for his age.” 

Her life in quarantine resulted in longer working hours. “With the millions of people losing their jobs, I am grateful that I can work from home,” she says. “I also have a strong need to feel connected to my colleagues.”

Our window—which faces the Queensboro Bridge on East 59th Street—has now become our most valuable connection to community and nature. We observe with curiosity and gratitude the comings and goings of the most important of the frontline workers: first responders, paramedics, police officers, traffic-control agents, postal workers, and delivery people.

They Kept Us Supplied

We relied heavily on the essential workers delivering almost everything we needed.

Evan Cucciniello arrives from Ambassador Wines, the last time we opened the door for a delivery during lockdown.

The highlight of Maria’s day came at 7 p.m. when for four minutes, she joined our neighbors in thanking the first responders and healthcare workers by cheering, clapping and making noise.

Connecting From Isolation

Opening the window for the nightly ritual.

Making noise in gratitude for first responders and healthcare workers.

Maria’s expects that her employer will continue to have its employees work from home: “I am prepared to live the hermit life until my being out there is no longer a threat to the community at large.”

The New Rituals

Peeling potatoes for the Ecuadorian dish “Seco de Chivo,” Maria asks for quiet so she can hear the news.

On the 46th day of quarantine, Maria relaxes by stretching.

Charging her equipment while she enjoys a day of self-care and reading.

Spring cleaning as Tippi Hedren and Rod Taylor worry about nature in Hitchcock’s “The Birds.”

On April 18, birthday messages came from as far away as Israel and Ecuador, where Maria emigrated from. “I think because of the pandemic, I received a greater number of lovely messages.”

“I would have liked to have seen my family but I had to make do with a Zoom call. My husband gave me a great party.”

From the start of the pandemic, the sound of the ambulances disturbed our sleep. As in Gabriel García Márquez’s fictional Macondo, insomnia became viral in Manhattan.

Maria leveraged this condition to finally begin reading “One Hundred Years of Solitude,” which was the first book I ever gifted her.