We had a long road ahead of us on our trip home from Boston. One which included a lunch stop for oysters and lobster at Moorings in Newport. There weren’t going to be many opportunities to stop and indulge myself taking pictures of the overwhelming amount of visual stimulation we were viewing along the way. I knew this full well and held my tongue as we passed the countless farmhouses and deteriorating structures that highlight our chosen stretch of road. The conversation quickly turned to my wife’s favorite subject, (aside from food) photography. I began to spin my sob story about how much of the things I love to shoot are becoming harder and harder to access due to the continuous whitewashing and franchising of so much of the things unique, gritty and dirty.
Just as I headed into mid rant, I hit the brakes suddenly and swung the car into reverse. There it was, my personal playground. I paused for a few seconds. Used my peripherals to spy any local authorities of black ops before leaping from the car with my camera. Knowing full well what had just happened she shouted “Be careful.” So while she waited in the car keeping a watchful eye for the law. I sorted through the wreckage and refuse of what used to be an automotive repair shop. From my childhood days of scavenging the numerous junk yards behind Shea Stadium to my current hunting trips for all things left behind. I’m drawn to these stark treasures. Got junk?