The much-heralded solar eclipse has finally arrived; New York will only witness a partially-obscured sun, but nonetheless, the hysteria has reached a fever pitch. Working in my studio, I’m waiting for something like a slight darkening of the sky. None comes, and at ‘peak’ time I head over to the Brooklyn waterfront where crowds have gathered. People huddle in small groups spread out on the grass, some with glasses, some with pinhole-style viewing devices; others have lined up in position to have a more direct view the mid-afternoon sun, which is poised somewhere above the clock tower building. There is a sense of excitement to be sure, but it is a subdued excitement – for this phenomenon is a protracted one, and the actual visual experience could hardly be considered dramatic. Seen through viewing glasses the sun is indeed partially obscured, but once one has taken this in, there’s not much more to it. Without prior knowledge one would have no way of knowing there’s actually an eclipse in progress! As I walk around among the spectators I realize to what extent this event is a temporal rather than a perceptual one: to be able to say one was there, to document and ‘share’ one’s participation in this rare event, is much more significant than the visual properties of the thing itself.