A city paused: Austin through film
© Ayash Basu April 2020. Probably something a lot of us were feeling in the early days of the pandemic.
Austin went quiet—so quiet that if a tumbleweed sneezed, you’d hear it three blocks away. Armed with a Leica M7 and Kodak Tri-X 400, I set out to capture this new, eerie rhythm. My car became my bunker and my mobility scooter of choice; most shots were taken through the windshield, occasionally stepping out when the street gave me a hundred-foot clearance and no judgmental neighbors with too much free time. I looked like a spy with a caffeine problem, wandering empty streets and talking to myself, which is apparently socially acceptable when no one is around.
Kodak Tri-X 400 is like the espresso of black-and-white film—gritty, strong, and slightly addictive. Its grain and contrast transformed empty streets into something both stark and poetic. Shadows stretched across the asphalt like bored ghosts, and the boarded-up shops suddenly had character—real personality, the kind that Instagram filters can never fake. The Leica M7 made it all possible: a quiet, precise rangefinder that feels like an extension of your eye, rather than a clunky foreign object you wrestle with. No mirror slap to announce your presence, no digital screen to make you second-guess every shot—just intuition, patience, and a lot of coffee.
© Ayash Basu April 2020. I was pleasantly surprised to these classic Americans in an East Austin parking lot. These are not just a Havana thing!
© Ayash Basu April 2020. Boots and boot repair must go on in Central Texas, no matter the pandemic.
Austin itself looked different—familiar yet alien. Sixth Street, usually a carnival of chaos, resembled a set from a post-apocalyptic indie film. Antone’s silent, food trucks shuttered, and the smell of tacos replaced by…well, nothing. Yet in that emptiness, there was clarity, absurd beauty, and a strange intimacy with the city I’d taken for granted. Shooting film slowed me down in a world forced to stop; every frame became a meditation, a slow inhale in a time of collective panic.
Some shots required daring stealth: crouching behind parked cars, squinting like a spy, and hoping my mask didn’t fog my glasses. Others were born from pure patience, waiting for a stray pedestrian to appear like a ghostly punctuation mark. In isolation, the mundane became monumental: a lone cyclist, a discarded mask fluttering in the wind, a shuttered shop window reflecting the empty street behind me.
© Ayash Basu April 2020. One of my favorite spots in ATX is Antone’s on 5th. I’m not a regular to the downtown music scene but Antone’s has always delighted every time I’ve come here.
© Ayash Basu April 2020. 6th street bars had to be shut down following the Mayor’s shelter-in-place orders but the doors and windows were all boarded up to provide a canvas to local artists.
© Ayash Basu April 2020.
© Ayash Basu April 2020.
© Ayash Basu April 2020. This is an eerie sight for the parking lot of The Local Post, a venue for many business meetings, catch ups, and working sessions.
© Ayash Basu April 2020. Art and abstracts on a warehouse wall.
These photos are my attempt at making sense of it all—or at least looking like I had a purpose while wandering alone, talking to myself, and hoping no one caught me mid-monologue. Film offered permanence in impermanence, a tactile, deliberate rhythm that mirrored the city’s sudden pause. And in that pause, Austin revealed its soul: resilient, quirky, and strangely alive, even when emptied of its usual chaos.