This is more than an image of an antique automobile left to decay. It is the story of journey’s end itself. The old auto has run its course, and can go no further. A huge pile of softly focused dirt and rocks fills the foreground of this image, forming an impenetrable barrier. It has come to the end of its road.

Left rusting in a field on the edge of the Goldfield Ghost Town, this mining equipment still seems to throb with energy despite at least 85 years of abandonment. I photographed it at sunset, causing the play of warm, golden light across the rhythmic flow of vents to create an imaginary sense of vitality.

The high desert of central Arizona offers a resting place for a car that ended its journeys many years ago. Its bed of cactus and bushes provides the ultimate stop sign. This layered image contrasts the life and death cycles of both man and nature.

I use a long telephoto lens here to pull background and foreground subjects together in order to create a sense of chaos. The back yard of the old general store in the ghost town of Cordes is filled with decaying cars, junk, and even outhouses. The focus here is on the car – its once elegant body now rusted and dented. Yet the softly focused outhouse that seems to be falling apart just behind it is just as important to the story here – it’s not just about an old car, but rather about an old car and the world it once lived in.

Tourism may slowly be bringing the ghost town of Oatman back to life, but these Oatman trucks have died and will eventually rust out together in what seems like a vehicular graveyard. They have been carefully pushed together, presumably to make room for future additions. The once happy colors take on an ironic quality as the rusting hulks seemingly press together for comfort.

An old Dodge truck sits in a barn window just outside of Coloma, covered with dust. On its windshield, someone has inscribed “not for sale.” I moved in to stress the incongruous effect of the dust – it adds a patina of color that is as special as its yellow and blue paint job.

Some of us are old enough to remember when cars like this one were objects of envy. Today, cars with tail fins are either expensively restored or junked. This one is neither. It is simply and old car parked on a street, in a neighborhood of vintage houses – as if it has always belonged there. I built this image around a series of pairings – roof to chrome strip, post-to-post, chrome-to-chrome, and fin-to-fin. The dappled softness of the shadows on the rich red body adds a touch of nostalgia to a subject already reveling in it.

One man worked his own mine here from 1905 to 1945. His ravaged home and a rusting car mark the site. The car was parked on a slope, its front end pointing upward. I moved behind the car, and made this photograph so that it appears to be crawling up the hill, leaving a trail of stones in its wake. I deliberately aligned the crushed roof with the dip in the hill – the barren earth seems to be as well used as the car. The car has been vandalized by humans and tormented by the elements. It is covered in graffiti. Only a shell is left, but its desire to get to the top of the hill has not diminished with the years. This is the kind of image that goes beyond nostalgia for old cars. It can be seen as a metaphor for determination, perseverance, and perhaps even survival.

Stovepipe Wells Village, about 30 miles northwest of Furnace Creek, is one of Death Valley's three tourism centers. An old fire engine is a Stovepipe Wells landmark. I imply the presence of the grille, and keep the empty cab in the frame, largely because of the glow in the rear window, which carries our eye through the vehicle. The most incongruous aspect of this image is the bulging hood decoration, which looks like a nose. My vantage point stresses this decoration, which gives this vehicle an “in your face” identity. This “nose” is typical of the late 1930s “Streamlined” look.

Albert Johnson, a Chicago insurance millionaire, built Scotty's Castle in 1927 – a mansion on an oasis in one of the most isolated places in the United States. The castle was named for Johnson's friend, the colorful prospector, Walter Scott. Scott told visitors that he built this castle with booty from a secret gold mine in Death Valley, and so it became known as "Scotty's Castle," even though Albert Johnson's millions paid for it. Johnson also paid handsomely for this Packard. It was a present for his niece. I made this image through a small crack in the back window of the castle garage where it is presently parked. The elegant hood ornament, rich colors, and the ghostly reflection in the window complement the headlight that seems to glow mysteriously, bringing the old car to life once again. Unlike the other cars in this gallery, this Packard has a provenance, and its colorful history gives it a value that no anonymous automobile could ever achieve.

Darwin probably has more dead trucks and cars within its town limits than living souls. This bright yellow tanker has made its final deliveries and now molders in the bush, adjacent to a building that has also seen far better days. Sometimes photographers can make a junked car into an expressive entity by placing it into a context that brings it back to life. That’s what I’ve tried to do here. The building and hills may get more space than the vehicle, yet this bright yellow truck still draws the eye because of its incongruous color and appearance.

Peering into the old Chevy I used to lead off this gallery, I noticed areas of rusty decay on the inside of the driver’s door. I use this texture as context, and superimposed the shadow of the steering wheel upon it. This image is about destruction from within. On the outside, this Chevy may look indestructible (see the first image in this gallery.) But on the inside, as this image reveals, it proves all too mortal.