I'm being woefully eclipsed by my similarly inclined comrades over at Vanishing New York and EV Grieve in terms of staying abreast of the rapid erosion of Manhattan and its sibling boroughs. Please visit those blogs for more authoritative accounts of such sad developments. Every now and again, however, I manage to spot some new disappearance and feel compelled to document it. One such instance occurred last week. While walking up LaGuardia Place, I couldn't help noticing that Spectra looked to be strangely closed. After snapping the picture at left, I crossed the street and peered inside. Sure enough, the vast space behind the glass and gate has been gutted. All that remains are a few wooden stools and other detritus.
This space wasn't Spectra's first perch on LaGuardia. It was originally one storefront to the north, a space that is now occupied by a somewhat ridiculous bar with a shlock Egyptian theme whose name escapes me. For those unfamiliar, Spectra was an endearingly efficient photo lab that prided itself on top quality prints. Prior to the current ubiquity of largely do-it-yourself digital photography, Spectra provided quick, state-of-the-art services and truly made even the most mediocre shutterbug's efforts look striking. I was a devout Spectra customer for years, and was routinely complemented on aspects of my pictures that had less to do with my composition and more to do with Spectra's pristine commitment to quality. Spectra could always be relied upon to do the very best with what you gave them. They were also amenable to special orders and unconventional sizing and were than more than happy to work with you on bringing concepts to fruition. Simply put, during my years as an avidly budding amateur photographer, Spectra was positively invaluable in both broadening my scope and nurturing my enthusiasm for the medium.
Upon the birth of my daughter in 2004, I decided to spring for a digital camera. The allure of its relative ease, stealth and sparkling results rendered my old camera somewhat moot. I vowed to keep experimenting with film, but I gradually became seduced by digital photography. After becoming a father, I had fewer and fewer opportunities to blithely walk around the city with my now comparatively unwieldy Maxxum 400si with its bulky, wide-angle Canon lens that I prized for a song at a second hand shop (I'm a sucker for the fish-eye). And why spend money on developing bushels of prints when I could handle the task on my own computer? In short order, I all but abandoned my old camera. It now sits dormant on a high shelf, gathering a fine patina of dust. As a result, Spectra no longer enjoyed my regular patronage, and I doubt my story is in any way an isolated case.
With the drop in business, I'd imagine Spectra had a hard time maintaining the spiraling overhead of their relatively plush headquarters. I'm not sure when they finally closed up shop (nor is there any mention of it on their website), but it looks like the formidable force of "modern convenience" has proved too much for them to compete with. While I unapologetically relish the simplicity and sterling results my digital camera provides, I already miss that feeling of anticipation when I used to walk through Spectra's front door to pick up my prints. The fact that I had to wait for them -- even if only for a little while -- made it feel special, a bit more like I was earning whatever great results ensued. I can't help feeling that, once again, immediate gratification of this nature will only lead us all to take certain gifts for granted.
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