This photograph was made in Big Bend National Park a year ago on one of the officially undocumented trails that originate along the perimeter of the park. Many are commonly used by visitors who know how they exist and the park service even has entry signs at some of the trailheads. They are somewhat hazardous to hike because you are unlikely to encounter any other people. For that reason you don’t want to get into difficulty.
Along this trail there were huge boulders weathered by wind and water into bizarre shapes. Many were marked with petroglyphs. Stories of the unknowable past left by native peoples. The valley floor was covered with ancient fire rings and stone mortars. A ghost world.
I spend as much time in the less civilized parts of Texas as I can. There is something in those places that makes me feel alive in ways that modern safe environments do not. I want to inhabit the West of my childhood imagination. That version of the West didn’t exist sixty five years ago and is even more unreal today. My imaginary world is not about cowboys but rugged individuals boldly making a stand. It is my American dream. To be clear it is a narrative of men, because it was always about men when I was a kid. Not inclusive and a little embarrassing given what I understand today. But there it is.
Of course a hundred years ago those so-called rugged individuals were dreaming of a better future for their families. They didn’t see themselves as living some ideal life of great moral courage. I don’t know whether they looked back to earlier times with nostalgia. Probably not, they had to work hard every day so no time for such nonsense.
There is risk in photographing ruins of the past. We see the remnants of former lives but not the context of those lives. Collected history can provide some of the missing pieces if it exists. The lives of common folks are small history, passed across generations by word of mouth until forgotten. A generation or two then gone forever.
Mostly we photograph the physical remains of the past in a friction free way devoid of social history . Ruins survive outside our modern context. We can imagine them in any way we wish while being mindful that our imaginings may exceed the realities of the past.
Mansion – Terlingua TexasAt the turn of the twentieth century the master of this house could look across the valley and know he was in control. Never mind that the nearest town of any substance was over a hundred miles away. You make your mark where you can.
He built this mansion so his wife and children would be comfortable. They never lived there or even visited for very long. Seems it was difficult to share a vision of privilege in the desert heat and dust. What good is wealth unless you enjoy what it brings to your life?Mansion – Terlingua Texas No2
