28-APR-2007
Rosson House, Heritage Square, Phoenix, Arizona, 2007
The Rosson House was built in 1895, at a cost of $7,525. It is a perfectly preserved example of Victorian architecture. Rather than photograph the entire house, which can be seen as a documentary image on pbase in Seowfun’s gallery by clicking on the thumbnail at the bottom of this caption, I chose to photograph only the far left corner of the second floor. I made my image at 2:30 in the afternoon, throwing much of my image into shadow. It is the interplay of light and shadow that makes this image into a bit of time travel. I immediately noticed its kinship with the harsh play of light and shadow on the second story of Edward Hopper’s famous painting “House by the Railroad” (
http://www.ibiblio.org/wm/paint/auth/hopper/landscapes/railroad/ ) The key to expression in this image is the reflection of the illuminated brickwork within the window at upper center. We see the incongruity of a window within a window here, an illusion that makes the house seem nearly transparent. I abstract the scene down to its essence by spot metering on the yellow roof tile, the brightest area in the picture. This causes the shadows to darken, and the light areas to become deeply saturated with the colors of the 1890s. I carefully compose the image around the geometry of the brick walls, windows, small balcony fence, and the narrow yellow porch roof. Less is more here – if we are to travel back into another time, we must do it in our imaginations, and the more abstract the image becomes, the more the imagination can work.
28-APR-2007
Lobby, Luhrs Tower, Phoenix, Arizona, 2007
Old buildings can be considered “time machines.” They may function in the present, but they can simultaneously convey the essence of another time. The art deco Luhrs Tower, built in downtown Phoenix in 1929, was one of the city’s first skyscrapers. (Pbase photographer Alain Lucier describes its external appearance, as viewed from Patriot Square Park. See it by clicking on the thumbnail at the end of this caption.) I chose to photograph its small but evocative wood, brass, and marble lobby, suggesting the presence of the ghosts that should be riding its elevators and walking its halls. I made this photograph on a weekend, which proved both a blessing and a curse. I was glad that there was nobody around to inject the present into the mood of the past here. On the other hand, the building was closed and the front door locked. I had to make this image by pressing my lens up to the windowpane on that front door, decidedly limiting my vantage point. Using my spot meter, I underexposed the scene to stress the shine on the brass mailbox with its glistening mail chute, an incongruous anachronism in our era of email. The ornate elevator doors seem to glow – we can imagine the uniformed men who must have operated them in the 1930s and 40s. The stairs leading to the lobby are dimly seen – suggesting, perhaps, the phantom footsteps that may spring to the imagination when we look at this scene. The great depression began the same year this glorious lobby was built. The Luhrs Tower still speaks of that time in this place.
22-FEB-2007
Phantom Packard, Scotty’s Castle, Death Valley National Park, California, 2007
I made two entirely different images of this 1933 Packard, which was originally purchased by Albert Johnson, a Chicago insurance millionaire, who built Scotty's Castle in 1927 – a mansion on an oasis in one of the most isolated places in the United States. The car was a present for Johnson’s niece. I made both this image and the one you can see by clicking on the thumbnail at the end of this caption, by shooting through a small crack in the back window of the castle garage where it is presently parked. The other image expresses itself through color and detail. This is a more abstract photograph, featuring a reflection of a barred castle window, and using sepia color, soft focus, and grainy texture to achieve the effect of a vintage image. Both the barred window and the lavish automobile carry symbolic meaning, and so does the execution of the image itself, which pulls the viewer back to another time. The Packard becomes less a car and more a phantom.
19-FEB-2007
Behind the curtain, Amargosa Opera House, Death Valley Junction, California, 2007
Just outside Death Valley National Park, New York dancer Marta Becket created the Amargosa Opera House in the 1960s. The opera house has an art gallery featuring mysterious masked mannequins at its windows -- this one peers at us through its lace curtains. The design of the curtains suggests an earlier era, while the masked face behind them is more ghostly than real. I tried to strike a balance between revealing the face and only suggesting its presence, using both the curtains and exposure to abstract the masked figure. The image asks more questions than it answers. Why is the mannequin there? Why is it masked? And why is it hiding behind a curtain? I guess Marta Becket would know, and she is not talking.
18-FEB-2007
Doorway, Tecopa, California, 2007
We saw a vandalized house on top of a hill as we drove through Tecopa. And then we slammed on the brakes. There was a figure standing in the doorway, watching us. The figure turned out to be an illusion. It was just a panel of torn plywood that happened to look like the silhouette of a person holding a hand to a hip. Yet it still called out for an image. I took a vantage point that half obscures the mysterious figure in the doorway, further abstracting it, as well as stressing the dilapidated context of the door itself. The longer I look at this image, the more it seems as if I am looking at a person. And that’s because I want to see that big black shape cut into the wall as a person. Our minds will dictate the content and meaning of such an image, not the facts. The peeling door is haunting as well. It has a window in it, but someone wanted to add more light, so he or she punched another opening just below the window. The figure was still standing there looking at us as we drove away. And because of this photograph, it always will be there, just beyond the front door.
25-FEB-2007
Box Office, Fox Theatre, Bakersfield, California, 2007
The old Fox Theatre in downtown Bakersfield was once a palace of dreams for moviegoers growing up in the middle of the last century. Using a camera with a 28mm wideangle lens, I tried to evoke a dreamlike feeling in this image of the Art Deco tiling that swirls out of the shadows gathering around the theatre’s original box office. I use the brilliant reflection of sunlight on the shiny tile to pull the eye into both the box office and the design of the tile. I repeat the curve of the tile design with a curving black shadow of the theatre marquee that occupies almost half the frame. This black curve is the portion of the image I left open for viewers to fill in their own details. This bold abstraction could represent the symbolic darkness of the theatre within, or perhaps the ominous threat of the wrecking ball that hangs over many old movie palaces.
11-JUL-2006
Haunted vision, Flagstaff, Arizona, 2006
While prowling the side streets and alleyways of this old western town, I noticed what appeared to be a feathery face floating in a window. It was looking down at me from within a building dating back to the town's founding. Logic tells me this is just a reflected cloud. But what I feel in this image tells me otherwise. The window is framed in old bricks, and its rippling glass diffuses and distorts the reflection, adding expressive texture to the haunting face that gazes through it. The building, old as it may be, remains very much in the present. Yet the face seems to be a vision out of the past.
11-JUL-2006
Ice cream sign, Flagstaff, Arizona, 2006
As I watched this blur of a man, cell phone clasped to his ear, rush past copies of The New York Times, The Wall Street Journal, and The Arizona Republic, it occurred to me that if he was in the same spot eighty years ago, he would probably be thinking of enjoying a delicious slab of Mission Ice Cream. This fading message from Flagstaff's past overwhelms the scene, but he will never see it. Yet my camera did, and for the moment anyway, this image juxtaposes two entirely different visions of time.
10-JUL-2006
Dodge truck, Meteor City, Arizona, 2006
This old Dodge truck was parked near the Meteor City trading post. It looked as if its chrome nameplate had been recently polished, turning the old into the new. As I moved closer to abstract this symbol of the past, I stressed the vivid primary colors of the grille, framing reflective detail in the gleaming nameplate. By removing most of the surroundings, I create a close-up image that seems to bond the past to the present.
10-JUL-2006
Ghost train, Winslow, Arizona, 2006
A carefully embalmed passenger car of the long defunct Pennsylvania Railroad stands behind an eroding wall near Winslow’s train depot. This car was named after Louis Sockalexis, one of the earliest Native American baseball stars. Ironically, Sockalexis's career burned briefly and brightly, and then crumbled into oblivion. And so did the railroad that once honored his memory. By juxtaposing this gleaming but ghostly railroad car against the crumbling wall, I turn the tables on time. The old train becomes new again, while the world decays around it.
12-JUL-2006
Cesspool truck, Seligman, Arizona, 2006
Seligman is a rural community, and cesspools once were, and perhaps still are, a common sewage storage device. I found this truck parked among a collection of old cars and trucks that once cruised the long abandoned US Route 66. I abstract the truck by stressing the vintage lettering on its side, flanking it with parts of two tires. The design of the lettering and the nature of the truck’s purpose represent the past, while the rusty scars create a bridge to the present.
11-JUL-2006
Water tower, Two Guns, Arizona, 2006
Two Guns was one of numerous tourist traps along the now abandoned US Route 66 between Winslow and Flagstaff. At one time it had a campground, gas station, and a zoo. When Interstate 40 arrived, Two Guns went into decline and is now a ghost town. Its major feature is this water tower, depicting an early, somewhat angry proprietor named Two Guns Miller. Although time has taken its toll on the stereotypical figure on the tank, I try to make the past live again by placing part of the tower in the lower left portion of my frame, and devoting most of the image to the billowing clouds that, with a bit of imagination, bear at least a passing resemblance to gun smoke.