I feel like these photos were documenting the travels of someone who rides greyhound. They somehow record the solitary life of insignificant, inanimate objects. Each photograph exhibits the type of loneliness that only thrown away things can have. Ever since I was little I had an affinity towards unwanted items and embraced them as part of my tribe (which consisted of my cat and myself). I had a collection of broken toys, drawings that my brother had throw away, stuffed animals that were missing limbs and a paraplegic guinea fowl named Perchy that I nursed until his untimely death. Some unidentifiable element in these photos caused me remember my tribe of rejectables.
-B
Oh I was(am) the same. I cried for the cars my mom would trade for new ones.
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