It's a relatively recent innovation in my life (five years? maybe seven?) that I've been taking pictures in the car as I drive.
I think that this is a signifier of may things:
- that driving is an all too pervasive part of our culture?
- that driving is one of the few moments when we can just sink into aesthetic reverie?
- that the cultural revolutions of -- phones we carry, cameras in phones, photos that emit immediately from device to publication -- have, in profound ways re-constituted the possibility of living everyday lives that are braided with aesthetic endeavor?
- that I am obsessed with collecting the world in all it's immediate splendor and profound mundaneness?
But this particular photo, I chose, months and months ago, as one of my favorites from last year. I typically choose photos based both on their formal qualities and their prima facie meanings, but as I look at this photo now, I have no idea where or when I took it.
What I do know looking at it -- is that I was going somewhere and that that has become a very frequent dimension of my middle aged life. And then, that later, as I was looking through my endless captures of trivial moments? I noticed how everything radiates from the sun in the picture...the wires, the truck, the double yellow line.
Driving into the sun is a terrible experience for a driver, but apparently yields poetically pleasing effects....