oh, and a big ass crane way off in the distance. Surely someone is missing a crane.
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
Unnamed Subdivision, Fort Myers, FL
Sometimes all you get is a gate and earthen ramparts facing the road. I'm going to have to figure out how to get into this area, but there's no identifying marks as to who the develop is or anything, just a really nice gate and some landscaping.
oh, and a big ass crane way off in the distance. Surely someone is missing a crane.
oh, and a big ass crane way off in the distance. Surely someone is missing a crane.
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Alas, Babylon
"Standing afar off for the fear of her torment, saying, Alas, alas that great city Babylon, that mighty city! For in one hour is thy judgment come." - Revelation 18:10
I first read (or rather listened to it, narrated by Will Patton) Alas, Babylon earlier this year. It was released in the late 50s at the height of the Cold War, when nuclear annihilation was a heartbeat away. The title refers to the phrase "Alas, Babylon" that the characters use as a way to signal, in code, that the end is imminent.
What's salient for me about this book is the setting, a small town in central Florida. I drifted around countless towns similar to the town in the book before the holocaust, and the memory of the book drifted back into my head, not because of war, but because of the destruction of the natural landscape of Florida.
I feel that it's bad luck to name a show or body of work before it's fully formed, but Alas, Babylon somehow fits.
I first read (or rather listened to it, narrated by Will Patton) Alas, Babylon earlier this year. It was released in the late 50s at the height of the Cold War, when nuclear annihilation was a heartbeat away. The title refers to the phrase "Alas, Babylon" that the characters use as a way to signal, in code, that the end is imminent.
What's salient for me about this book is the setting, a small town in central Florida. I drifted around countless towns similar to the town in the book before the holocaust, and the memory of the book drifted back into my head, not because of war, but because of the destruction of the natural landscape of Florida.
I feel that it's bad luck to name a show or body of work before it's fully formed, but Alas, Babylon somehow fits.
Sunday, June 19, 2011
Friday, June 17, 2011
Thursday, June 16, 2011
Lehigh Acres, Florida
To call Lehigh Acres the ground zero of the housing crisis in Florida is a bit of misnomer to me; I prefer to think of it as patient zero. Following a long and sordid history, Lehigh Acres has over 11,000 miles of roads, lots for 152,000 homes, and only a 10% occupancy rate on all those lots. It's long history of failure dwarfs the land usage failure around me in the Tampa area.
I had a ill feeling driving around Lehigh Acres; many of the roads are still dirt roads, and it was quite quiet, even with all those roads.
I didn't make many images while there; I was very unsure about the place. I did pass a idyllic looking pine forest next to the road, with houses barely visible. I walked through the area, the ground covered with several inches of pine needles. It's a scene I see very rarely; I still can't adequately describe the ground of the wooded area covered in the sea of pine needles. It's quite a beautiful site to me; and I had to image it because it awed me so.
There's also several canals cutting through the area. I'm sure if Lehigh Acres was built to anything near capacity, the canals would be needed to control water runoff and keep houses from flooding. But with the capacity at 10%, they just become another unnatural feature to this place.
Lehigh Acres represents everything that is wrong with Florida; the overbuilding, the greed, the failure to grow responsibly. Maybe that's what made me uneasy; seeing the heart (and start) of the blight. It's like being in the heart of the fire, when all this time I've been dancing around the edges.
I've got to go back; there's too many images not captured, and more area to explore.
View Larger Map
I had a ill feeling driving around Lehigh Acres; many of the roads are still dirt roads, and it was quite quiet, even with all those roads.
I didn't make many images while there; I was very unsure about the place. I did pass a idyllic looking pine forest next to the road, with houses barely visible. I walked through the area, the ground covered with several inches of pine needles. It's a scene I see very rarely; I still can't adequately describe the ground of the wooded area covered in the sea of pine needles. It's quite a beautiful site to me; and I had to image it because it awed me so.
There's also several canals cutting through the area. I'm sure if Lehigh Acres was built to anything near capacity, the canals would be needed to control water runoff and keep houses from flooding. But with the capacity at 10%, they just become another unnatural feature to this place.
Lehigh Acres represents everything that is wrong with Florida; the overbuilding, the greed, the failure to grow responsibly. Maybe that's what made me uneasy; seeing the heart (and start) of the blight. It's like being in the heart of the fire, when all this time I've been dancing around the edges.
I've got to go back; there's too many images not captured, and more area to explore.
View Larger Map
Thursday, June 09, 2011
I'm just going to leave this here to deal with later...
New site plan OK'd for Walmart Supercenter in Pasco
Plenty of maps here.
notice the date on the master plan: 2002. Other than the mall, none of this has been built, defeated by environmental impact and the poor economy.
Boom or bust, however, we're getting our Wal-Mart, by god.
and this gem:
..."creating the second largest intersection in the United States! Did you know that the only larger intersection is in Las Vegas and is highlighted by a road known as the Sunset Strip!"
Plenty of maps here.
notice the date on the master plan: 2002. Other than the mall, none of this has been built, defeated by environmental impact and the poor economy.
Boom or bust, however, we're getting our Wal-Mart, by god.
and this gem:
..."creating the second largest intersection in the United States! Did you know that the only larger intersection is in Las Vegas and is highlighted by a road known as the Sunset Strip!"
Monday, May 30, 2011
Charlotte County, Florida Part II
My second site is functionally the same, but has a completely different feel to the landscape. Miles of roads, cut into fields instead of forests. I drove around for 20 minutes trying to figure out how to image this landscape. It was so desolate feeling. The odd thing is that every street had a fire hydrant, and the hydrant where all freshly painted and some even had fresh sod around them. There's a couple of water pump stations, and they're immaculate. Even though there's about 6 square miles of land, miles and miles of roads, with zero houses, the county still maintains the infrastructure. I could still picture in my mind the cattle that used to roam this land.
I did encounter a couple while in this neighborhood. They where lost and couldn't find their way out. If I didn't have two GPSs (one being an iPhone) I probably would have suffered the same fate. Luckily I was able to guide them out, and hopefully they're on their way back to Michigan, never to return to this desolate landscape. I'm going to head back, since there's a lot I missed even after a day in the sun.
View Larger Map
this was the last image I took that day. Miles from the nearest house, across a man-made yet swampy looking pond across from what looked like a place to dump excess dirt, was a rope swing.
I did encounter a couple while in this neighborhood. They where lost and couldn't find their way out. If I didn't have two GPSs (one being an iPhone) I probably would have suffered the same fate. Luckily I was able to guide them out, and hopefully they're on their way back to Michigan, never to return to this desolate landscape. I'm going to head back, since there's a lot I missed even after a day in the sun.
View Larger Map
this was the last image I took that day. Miles from the nearest house, across a man-made yet swampy looking pond across from what looked like a place to dump excess dirt, was a rope swing.
Saturday, May 21, 2011
Charlotte County, Florida Part I
As I promised myself, I began my trips into the developed-but-not-built portions of the state. I started in two sections of Charlotte County, the first being south of North Port, and the second being an apparently abandoned section of the Rotonda development on the peninsula.
The first area is one of these truly weird areas of Florida. Streets where cut into scrub forest, but the 2004 hurricanes and the collapse of the housing market has left what's basically forests with gridded roads in them. There's a few houses here and there; I'd say about half looked lived in, and the other half looked unoccupied and have realtors' lock boxes on the doors. The entire time I was there I didn't pass one single vehicle, and one saw a handful driving around, mostly on the main road that cuts through the development. I spent a good hour and half in this area that looks like it may have been designated as a park one day; big pond in the middle, surrounded by fields. At the north end of the field, there's construction debris and what's probably one of the highest pieces of earth in Charlotte County, albeit man-made. On the plateau, there's a broke-down earth mover and evidence of partying, like old fire circles and beer cans and the like. Moving through this space was easy, it was like any field I've even been in. Photographing the streets/forests where different. Like I said, it's an odd space to be in, to be on a residential road, surrounded by thick forest.
It's hard to see from the road, but this is a one of the many cut throughs to get to a canal that feeds to the Tippecanoe Bay.
The first area is one of these truly weird areas of Florida. Streets where cut into scrub forest, but the 2004 hurricanes and the collapse of the housing market has left what's basically forests with gridded roads in them. There's a few houses here and there; I'd say about half looked lived in, and the other half looked unoccupied and have realtors' lock boxes on the doors. The entire time I was there I didn't pass one single vehicle, and one saw a handful driving around, mostly on the main road that cuts through the development. I spent a good hour and half in this area that looks like it may have been designated as a park one day; big pond in the middle, surrounded by fields. At the north end of the field, there's construction debris and what's probably one of the highest pieces of earth in Charlotte County, albeit man-made. On the plateau, there's a broke-down earth mover and evidence of partying, like old fire circles and beer cans and the like. Moving through this space was easy, it was like any field I've even been in. Photographing the streets/forests where different. Like I said, it's an odd space to be in, to be on a residential road, surrounded by thick forest.
It's hard to see from the road, but this is a one of the many cut throughs to get to a canal that feeds to the Tippecanoe Bay.
Saturday, May 14, 2011
depression era
I can't help but to think about my grandfather every time I listen to this song. If you haven't seen That Evening Sun (or The Accountant) they're both damn fine ruminations on what happens to the homestead when it's time for one generation to move on, and the next one to take over. Films like this fill me with fear for the future; what the fuck do I know about ranching? There's only one way to learn and I spent those years in art school.
"Bury his body in the ol' sinkhole"
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Thursday, May 05, 2011
a little on duality
There's a awesome amount of duality when you recognize yourself as being a child of the South, and also recognize the turmoil of the history of the region. Pride in one's area of origin is often offset by not wanting to seem like you condone the root causes of the Civil War and the resulting 150 years of social and racial turmoil that has resulted. The Drive-By Truckers wrote a double album exploring, among other things, this duality of mind (and even duality of existence), and even as this album closes in on being ten years old, I don't think I'm (or anyone else) any closer to fully solidifying one's feelings of pride along with one's shame.
DBT calls this "The Southern Thing". That song ends on a refrain used throughout the album "Proud of the glory, stare down the shame / Duality of the southern thing". Indeed, most of the first half of the double album is about rectifying the region's sins with the changes since then.
What we have to do is to figure out how we fit into the grand scheme of things without feeling like a fraud or sellout, or that you're turning your back on anyone or anything. Calling myself a Southerner is not about pride. It's my identity, tattooed on my soul, permanent and impermeable.
I'm a Southerner, I'll always be one, good and bad, heaven and hell, cats and dogs, black and white.
UPDATE: Southern Spaces published an essay entitled "The Civil War and Emancipation 150 Years On", touching on some of the same issues.
DBT calls this "The Southern Thing". That song ends on a refrain used throughout the album "Proud of the glory, stare down the shame / Duality of the southern thing". Indeed, most of the first half of the double album is about rectifying the region's sins with the changes since then.
What we have to do is to figure out how we fit into the grand scheme of things without feeling like a fraud or sellout, or that you're turning your back on anyone or anything. Calling myself a Southerner is not about pride. It's my identity, tattooed on my soul, permanent and impermeable.
I'm a Southerner, I'll always be one, good and bad, heaven and hell, cats and dogs, black and white.
UPDATE: Southern Spaces published an essay entitled "The Civil War and Emancipation 150 Years On", touching on some of the same issues.
Sunday, May 01, 2011
more turtles
It occurs to me that I see a lot more than what I actually photograph when I'm out and about.
Friday, April 29, 2011
Thursday, April 28, 2011
A genesis
"We Southerns are a people fighting again for our country, defending the last remaining stand of real forest. Although we love to frolic, the time has come to fight. We must fight.
In new rebellion we stand together, black and white, urbanite and farmer, workers all, in keeping Dixie. We a patient people who for generations have not been ousted from the land, and we are willing to fight for the birthright of our children's children and their children's children, to be of a place, in all ways, for all time. What is left is not enough. When we say the South will rise again we can mean that we will allow the cutover forests to return to their former grandeur and pine plantations to grow wild." - Janisse Ray, Ecology of a Cracker Childhood
I remember the first time I read this passage, in one of JFK's terminal waiting for a flight in the early morning. It's often a humbling experience to have someone else so succinctly put your thoughts into words, and this was no excuse. I sat dumbfounded, and had to suffer through a two day visit whilst trying to wrap my head around what I should be doing as an artist. Re-reading it still hurts my heart.
I think this is where I diverge from some of my contemporaries. For me, this is not a fight about what is "right" or "what we should do", it is a fight for the very essence of my existence. My family tree is Southern through and through; from shrimpers and fishermen around Charleston to hardscrabble Cohee farmers and ne'er-do-wells from Florida. Good and bad, it's all there, and I claim it all. To try to hide part of it would be a disservice to all those who came before me and to those who will come after me. This duality, alas, is a discussion for another day.
For me, this fight is not an academic fight. It's preservation of my land. When I say my land, it's not in some socialistic (or Socialistic) sense of "This land is our land, this land is your land". This is literally my family's land, which, some day, may be my land. There's countless folks in the same boat that I'm in. The work I do is also for them.
I fully intend to leave this earth fishing the same ponds and lakes, watching deer and turkey wander through the same woods, and watching horses, cows and goats graze the same lands as my great-granddaddy did some 100 years ago.
In new rebellion we stand together, black and white, urbanite and farmer, workers all, in keeping Dixie. We a patient people who for generations have not been ousted from the land, and we are willing to fight for the birthright of our children's children and their children's children, to be of a place, in all ways, for all time. What is left is not enough. When we say the South will rise again we can mean that we will allow the cutover forests to return to their former grandeur and pine plantations to grow wild." - Janisse Ray, Ecology of a Cracker Childhood
I remember the first time I read this passage, in one of JFK's terminal waiting for a flight in the early morning. It's often a humbling experience to have someone else so succinctly put your thoughts into words, and this was no excuse. I sat dumbfounded, and had to suffer through a two day visit whilst trying to wrap my head around what I should be doing as an artist. Re-reading it still hurts my heart.
I think this is where I diverge from some of my contemporaries. For me, this is not a fight about what is "right" or "what we should do", it is a fight for the very essence of my existence. My family tree is Southern through and through; from shrimpers and fishermen around Charleston to hardscrabble Cohee farmers and ne'er-do-wells from Florida. Good and bad, it's all there, and I claim it all. To try to hide part of it would be a disservice to all those who came before me and to those who will come after me. This duality, alas, is a discussion for another day.
For me, this fight is not an academic fight. It's preservation of my land. When I say my land, it's not in some socialistic (or Socialistic) sense of "This land is our land, this land is your land". This is literally my family's land, which, some day, may be my land. There's countless folks in the same boat that I'm in. The work I do is also for them.
I fully intend to leave this earth fishing the same ponds and lakes, watching deer and turkey wander through the same woods, and watching horses, cows and goats graze the same lands as my great-granddaddy did some 100 years ago.
Monday, April 25, 2011
that tiny little glow
is the eyeball of one of the alligators that live in the ponds down the road. This is what I like about Florida. I'm surrounded my wildlife that is readily apparent. In South Carolina, or Tennessee, or Georgia, wildlife seems more....hidden.
Saturday, April 23, 2011
Turtle rescue part one
We encountered a huge red eared slider in the road. This old lady (I'm guessing) was at least a foot long in the carapace and covered with algae. I picked her up, dodged the obligatory defensive pee, and deposited her on the muddy pond bank about a foot away from the water.
The turtle just sat there hunkered down in her shell. I gave her a good "GIT!" like you'd use with a stubborn horse and she hauled ass off into the water.
The turtle just sat there hunkered down in her shell. I gave her a good "GIT!" like you'd use with a stubborn horse and she hauled ass off into the water.
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Earth Now: American Photographers and the Environment
Katherine Ware draws two distinct lines of images in this catalog: the first are images that function (or functioned) as means of advocacy, starting with the idealized images of Ansel Adams and Eliot Porter, then discussing Robert Glenn Ketchum's trip to Alaska and subsequent advocation to Congress which led to the Tongass Reform Bill under Reagan.
The second section deals with work that she describes as "Despite their social content, these pieces were made by people who consider themselves artists. their work is presented, almost without exception, in galleries, museums, and art-world magazines, rather than being seen in the context of propaganda or advocacy." Clearly this section is the New Topographics influence of the exhibition and catalog.
This is where I have the biggest internal conflict. I am a huge fan of Adams, not because of his images, but because of his advocacy. Yet I'm clearly in the New Topographics era. I often feel a wall exists between contemporary landscape imagery and the legacy of advocacy that earlier images carried. At SPE in Dallas a few years ago I saw some horrible horrible things in the landscape but little resolution. At times a lyric from Sleater-Kinney's One Beat haunts my thoughts: "Is real change an illusion?"
I suppose in a lot of ways I'm carrying some sort of legacy from Adams and, say, Klett. It's probably subconscious at this point. I'm still reading through the text so I expect some more moments of clarity.
One of my favorite Johnny Cash moments is a clip of a performance of The Ballad of Ira Hayes on a reservation, followed by As Long as the Grass Will Grow paired with the reality of reservation.
Cash's work is related to my process of photography. He wasn't afraid to document, and neither should I.
Earth Now: American Photographers and the Environment
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
One of this summer's project
Some months ago The Boston Globe published these aerial pictures of developments in Florida. I've been thinking about these abandoned developments and what I could do to image them, and seeing how the Globe has taken care of the birds eye view, I've been left with the human level view. That's fine with me; I've more interested in what is encountered on the ground. Birds eye is too abstract.
There's another one very close to me. I drive by this thing several times a week. It started as a pasture, then was graded, roads and an ostentatious facade was added, and the developer went bankrupt.
View Larger Map
Here's to some trespassing.
There's another one very close to me. I drive by this thing several times a week. It started as a pasture, then was graded, roads and an ostentatious facade was added, and the developer went bankrupt.
View Larger Map
Here's to some trespassing.
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