I started photographing in the park during the summer of 1980. I was freshly home from being honorably discharged from the United States Army after completing a thirty-six month tour in West Germany. I was “back on the block,” as we called it, with a new love for photography. Armed with my Canon AE-1 camera with a 50 mm f/1.8 lens, I was ready for action.
My father, who was a working professional photographer at the time of my release from the service, saw my interest in the craft. He put me under his wing and taught me the ins and outs of photography, from understanding light, speed, and composition to the importance of having concrete themes to focus on and commit to.
My interest in photographing Prospect Park came early on. As a former soldier who was accustomed to physical training every day, I decided to maintain my discipline and run at least four days out of the seven-day week. Living about a mile away from Prospect Park in the East Flatbush section of Brooklyn, I would get up at 5 a.m. every morning and run from my house to the park.
Once there, I would hit the horse trail, which provided a more scenic route and was more comfortable on the knees. While on my run, I would reflect on my youth, visiting the park for the first time with my cousins and aunt. I recalled how free and at peace we all felt being in this magical environment that provided us with a temporary escape from our Red Hook neighborhood, which was just three short stops away by train. Being in a wooded area surrounded by trees and hills also took me back to my many days in the “the field” during my time in the army. The whole experience put me on a natural high.
During one of these runs I had an epiphany and realized that this park, with all of its paths and hills, was a special place where I needed to be to better understand the world around me. I strongly felt that everyone in the park that I crossed paths with was someone I was meant to meet on this great journey called life. From that moment on, I would bring my camera with me on every run, likening it to both a recorder of time and a compass. This whole experience put me on a spiritual journey of self-discovery, seeking answers to a wide range of questions I had.
Fast forward to the mid-1980s: these were some very challenging times in Brooklyn. The AIDS and crack epidemics had hit the borough, and countless people and families were impacted and devastated. Around this same time, at the age of twenty-three, I took on a job working for the New York City Department of Correction. The war on drugs was announced by President Ronald Reagan and millions of dollars were being spent to build new prisons and jails across the country. After eight grueling weeks in the Correction Academy, I was assigned to work on Rikers Island, one of the largest jails in the United States.
A typical shift back then could be sixteen hours in a housing area consisting of two officers on duty, whose primary function was the care, custody, and control of the inmates. Both were unarmed. One was behind a protective gate, tasked with maintaining outer movement—the opening and closing of cells. The other’s role was to monitor the floor and protect everyone. Back in those days there were a total of sixty inmates in an area, thirty on each side.
As a military veteran from the streets, I hung in and used my position to be a mentor to those who were open to me. There were other inmates who looked at me as the enemy and wanted nothing to do with me besides making my day as miserable as possible. After completing their “tours” (shifts), many officers would go home or to bars to decompress. For me, photography was my therapy, and Prospect Park became that place I would go throughout my twenty-year correction career, to heal from all of the violence and hatred I was dealing with.
Not only did I find inner peace and solace in the park, I also encountered everyday people who saw it as a sanctuary. It was there as a photographer that I made it a point to document families, friends, and those embracing love and joy. It was necessary for me to find these situations and record them, to give me a sense of hope and remind me that it still existed—because working in the jail and with all of what I was seeing, I started feeling a great sense of hopelessness. The encounters that I had in Prospect Park let me know that there were so many good people out there just trying to live their best lives.
I completed my twenty years in correction, retiring in 2003. However, I still found myself going to Prospect Park to recalibrate and rejuvenate my mind, body, and soul from all the trauma I had experienced, always with my camera in hand, photographing the things that brought me joy. Friends would often ask me about going to see a psychiatrist. I appreciated their concern, but Prospect Park and having faith was all I needed.
Today I still find the park a healing space. With all that is going on in both the world and in this country, I still feel the need to go there to gain balance and perspective. What I find so interesting in my observations and documentations of the park today is the fact that so many different cultures and communities find refuge there. I’ve met Russians and Ukrainians, Jews and Muslims, Hindus and Buddhists, and Blacks and whites of every political affiliation. The common denominator is that they find Prospect Park to be an oasis away from the pressures of the outside world.
As an artist with a purpose, it is my hope that my work—both in this book and overall— can bring some joy during these very uncertain times and foster hope, possibility, and empathy.
Abbreviated excerpt taken from the essay “My Oasis in Brooklyn” by Jamel Shabazz, published in Prospect Park Photographs of a Brooklyn Oasis, 1980 to 2025 by Jamel Shabazz, available from Prestel Verlag for $45.00.
On Sunday, December 13, 2025, Jamel Shabazz will be in conversation with Noelle Théard, Senior Digital Photo Editor at The New Yorker, at the book launch at powerhouse on 8 in Park Slope, Brooklyn. For more information, click here.
