The wind is unrelenting, bawling at the advent of spring, pushing away, winning – at least for a few more days – the war of approaching warm days.
Three feet from the lightly-ridged concrete shoulder, two crosses sway against the onslaught. The one with a rebar backbone and a brick foundation is more stable than the other. Orange flowers don’t have a chance, and are peeled away one at a time, bouncing along the ground until snagged by tenacious spikes of last year’s weeds, where they’ll be the next time the mower comes along.
This link goes to my current project of digitally manipulated images.
This link will take you to my new project for 2009 - a new black and white image every day of the year.
Artist's Statement
I was ten, maybe, or eleven the summer my family took a long vacation to Mexico, driving from the Texas Panhandle all the way to Acapulco.
Our bible for the trip was the Sanborn's guide, provided by the company that sold Mexican car insurance to Americans. The manual outlines, kilometer by kilometer, things to see, to avoid, to eat along the way. We read the guide religiously, never questioning its pronouncements, always following its recommendations.
So it must have been noted in the guide's goldenrod yellow pages that atop a hill in the arid northern region was a roadside shrine. And it must have mentioned a small amount of parking, and it must have encouraged a stop.
The shrine was inside a cave, big enough to hold three or four people, tall enough so they could stand up. The show of such overt faith took my breath away: votive candles in little ruby-colored holders, smoky ceilings, velvet kneelers, some virgins, bloody Jesus on a cross. Forrest Heights Methodist Church had not given me the impression that either religion or loss could be so colorful.
But something took root in my brain...where it took four more decades to sprout.
I have no other answer. I stop at roadside crosses. I photograph them, and let the message in each one reveal itself to me through images and words.
One of my earliest memories is of my parents staying up late to process slides in the kitchen. I can still remember the first photograph I took - of a rock, with a mountain in the background. In college, I was almost positive I was going to be the next Ansel Adams.
All of which has led me here.
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