I know you’re there, and so I go up to visit you. This spot and others…along with this mysterious rock, sit above my house. Funny thing is you can’t see it from below. I think most folks living in Lordville now, have forgotten this place exists. They’re older now, if they grew up in Lordville chances are they visited these sites in childhood but in recent years have not ventured past a certain point. You have to come to visit this place on your own and you have to climb above where you feel you are no longer safe. Folks have said that this is native landscape. All I know is that this is another landscape and something that can’t be seen or felt from down below. Strange how another world exists so close in proximity to the one you call home, yet you have no awareness of it. When I am in my home, I feel I am both up there and in my home simultaneously. This landscape haunts me, lives in my consciousness continously asking for me to write about it, share it, reveal it.
i wander the streets at night, i admit it. i could not help wander the streets in new orleans on a cross country drive i did in 2003, right before katrina. this man was amazing to me. i had to make this photo of him. he wanted to rest a bit but he was at work. the magic of that evening, just being suspended with all these folks, hanging out drinking chicory coffee and eating beignets at the old world. the air is humid, thick, and you can’t help but dream. everyone there wants to tell you ghost stories, but i saw them with my own eyes or rather when i closed them. when i lay my head down on the pillow, i felt like i was in an elevator descending down and hearing all the voices of every person who passed thru that hotel. new orleans is our national living treasure its a tragedy what happened there. we still have not recovered from that .
my family has some history there too. mom and dad honeymooned there and ate at court of the two sisters.one of my favorite photos of them was snapped in that place. i pilgrimaged to that restaurant surprised to find it still existed.
I know it means something. This deserted place. I know there is something here. Is that what happens? And yet, I spoke to the woman who lived in my house in the 40s thru the 60s and amazingly, she’d never been up there.
traveling to poston, arizona from cali. borders between two states that we have history in. strange fruit…. ? believe it or not this was taken sundown christmas eve. what a funny place to be on christmas. traveling with mom can be surreal. she has no sense of time or place, past or present, she is eternally ‘in the moment’ — she was in poston in the 40s when she was imprisoned there, she is there now and she has left. now we are standing under this tree and she is delighted to find this collection of shoes dangling.
