I make pictures for paper instead of the cloud. Silver gelatin remains a stable way to store information long term, and, in 2017, I had an opportunity to stay at Navasota and sharpen my approach. These photographs appreciate a place and exist away from the screen.
West Texas is me. I have gazed at the landscape of the Pecos River hundreds of times. Rolling hills, layers of limestone, prickly pears, all resonate with me. The terrain knows the younger version of myself and the older me. Someday, like Fort Lancaster, I will be no more, and new visitors will travel between San Antonio and El Paso. However, today I am here and at ease.
Truck tires rumble over dry caliche. A desert landscape moves outside the passenger window. The sound of country music plays over the radio, and a father concentrates on the road. His son draws pumpjacks in a sketchbook. Soon they will reach a drill site to deliver a rotary bit.
A Place Called Happy
Happy, a community near Amarillo, exists. The town has a main street with storefronts. Grain elevators stand beside the railroad track. Outside of the post office, newspapers sit for sale. Here, life centers around agriculture, church on Sunday and high-school football on autumn Fridays.