"Wish You Were Here"

Alice in North Dakota

I'm finally wading through the tens of thousands of images made with Alice exploring the American landscape. I'm working on putting them into a book (though I was just looking through the blog and I see I left some of my images on the other hard drive), complete with about 100 images and some text. Here is an excerpt of what I am working on.

When the economy crashed and it became apparent I might not have a job, I had to come up with a different set of expectations for my life. To me, if I could figure out how to change my outlook, everyone else could too. Immediately, I wanted to live more in the present and to see beauty in the local. I especially wanted to start living dreams that deep down, I knew I wouldn't pursue otherwise. One long-time fantasy was to buy a vintage camper and hit the open road, discover the corners and crevices of the country, and be lost in the wilderness, yet find so much more. I would be a twenty-first century pioneer, merging my love of technology with a simpler, happier life. I wanted to create a new volume on America, after Robert Frank, and channel the freedom of the highway with the intensity of Jack Kerouac.

In 2009, I bought a 1964 aluminum travel trailer named Alice, and set out on a three-month road trip. I brought two cameras, a digital SLR and a Polaroid; my grandpa's typewriter; my laptop and a scanner; and my two cats. Intensely documenting my progress on Twitter, a blog, and Google maps, I considered this journey a performance. Viewers could take a vicarious road trip in the middle of their workday, tracking my progress across the country on two-lane highways. I went to the places that were built in the Century of the Car, many of which are deserted or visited only by foreigners and locals now that airfare is cheap and fast.

I photograph Alice as the surrogate for the nuclear family of a bygone era, posed in front of the monuments, the scenic overlooks, and the kitschy roadside attractions, though the ever-present road stands with her, beckoning us to the next nostalgic turn-off. Occasionally, Alice upstages these landmarks, herself an ambassador from an idealized (if not realized) past, and the manifestation of many people’s dream to be on the road. You can’t own a trailer like Alice if you want to go unnoticed or stick to yourself. In Alice, you are an exhibitionist, though you know full well anywhere the road takes you, no matter how scarce the cellular network, you have your own private bathroom.

It is a daunting task. I realize I make a lot of different connections when I think about this work, from nostalgia to the economy, gypsies to the nuclear family, environmentalism to urban decay, kitsch versus culture, etc. Creating a cohesive text that doesn't become too ponderous or self-referential will be a challenge. Editing the pictures down has also been difficult. I had the list down to 800 before my trip out here (except again those images I forgot to bring), then down to 240 yesterday. Finally, I just pulled my favorites out of that pile, rather than dealing with rejecting images. As with all photographs, it is difficult for the subject to be separated from the image, and sometimes bad photos contain awesome subjects and vice versa. There is also a question of whether I will include archived blogs in the book, as they went together. In this case, the traditional photobook is influencing my decision away from all that content. What about those 600 tweets from the first summer of Alice? This is what I have been working on this week.