Sunlight doesn't always reach the backside of a CVS in the same manner that it touches down upon the Sierra Nevadas. But in these off-centered moments and locations a specific clarity occasionally reveals itself, and in the words of Walker Evans, "It's...
Sunlight doesn't always reach the backside of a CVS in the same manner that it touches down upon the Sierra Nevadas. But in these off-centered moments and locations a specific clarity occasionally reveals itself, and in the words of Walker Evans, It's there, and you can't unfeel it. Throughout the past decade of traveling and constantly moving from town to town, working with film and a forced sense of patience has become integral for me; concrete and decisive, we allow the next moment to enter without the possibility of review.
Years ago I overheard an old man, drunk, trying to explain the novels of Raymond Chandler to his son-in-law. I was equally moved by the look on his face, as by the words coming out of his mouth, when he said, "Nobody gives a shit who killed who. It barely even matters... What counts in the end is the description of how the murderer held the gun, and what was spoken before the trigger was pulled."
Tonight we're holed-up in a tiny town in North Texas, in a motel room with a broken jacuzzi. For it being a record breaking summer the night air is suspiciously brisk, and I can hear cars passing by outside our window on the two lanes of blacktop that stretch through town.
I'm going outside to see.
Justin Clifford Rhody is a photographer, musician, and since 1999 he has operated the Friends & Relatives record label. His photographs have been exhibited throughout the United States and he has also traveled extensively presenting his work via slide projector in unconventional settings, such as warehouses, living rooms and backyards. He is currently living in an '87 Volvo, traveling and photographing the US and Central America. Sliding Glass Door is his first published collection of photographs, available through the Bathetic label.