I took my son on a road trip to San Francisco a couple of summers ago. We ended up taking a detour into the Redwoods because we had never been. We stopped in a small town along the highway for lunch and went out to look at the carved goods that one of the locals was selling. It was a gorgeous scene, the clouds were creeping into the landscape in a mist. I see some VW Bugs in a parking lot of an old abandon gas station so I go to get some photos. At that time I did a lot of reflection shots because I liked how surreal some of them turned out, so I start taking photos through the window of the gas station. It first looked like it was turned into an antique shop or somebody’s storage area. There was a couch and it appeared to have a mannequin on it. It was a woman and she started getting up. I motioned to her to ask if it was okay if I continued to take photos, she seemed not to mind.
I kept thinking about her when I returned home. I envied the quiet stillness of the misty mountains. I’m sure that in reality she has the same struggles the rest of us do, but I wanted to be her in that moment.
I struggled a lot when I got back from that trip because I’d never felt so free than on the road, staying in shitty motels and going where the wind took us, but I’ve come to realize that every little trip I take, no matter where I’m going, is another taste of that. That’s why I do what I do. I was seriously considering just deleting all of my photos that I got on that trip because that’s really not the point, photography just gives me an excuse, an explainable reason to escape.