Wrecked
image index 1 2 3 / statement
I stumbled onto my first demolition derby in the summer of 2006. While initially skeptical about the subculture, I quickly became addicted to the sheer energy and barely controlled chaos.
The sonic assault alone was intense: eight cylinder cars without mufflers and massive exhaust pipes spewing fire from the hoods. Spinning tires kicked mud and rocks all over the place, including into the lens. Often I was able to stand on the very edge of the action, literally perching my tripod on the concrete barriers placed around the track.
The demolition derbies are the highlight of the state and county fairs where they are held in rural counties across the country. The grandstands are always packed with families eager to watch the main event.
My continued interest in the derby stems from a longtime fascination with the automobile landscape and the central role of the car in the American way of life. It is the very embodiment of our unique conception of personal freedom that you can buy. And discard. And buy again.
In the demolition derbies, the cars would back up to lurch forward and slam into each other repeatedly. The muddy track reduces traction and the frustrated wrecks would often barely bump each other before backing up to do it again. This repetition seemed to parallel the deadening routine of modern life, popularly known as “the daily grind”.
Every morning waking to make it to work and sit in a cubicle until, finally, an injury, illness or old age rendered your body unable to make it. Like the cars, we spin our wheels until we are worn out. We work until we run out of gas.
When the cars did gather the speed necessary for a violent impact, the radiator was usually the first thing to be destroyed. My long exposures rendered the hissing steam and smoke of the cars as ghostly apparitions escaping the confines of hot metal to reemerge with the sky. This spectral mist became my favorite aspect of photographing derbies and I often found myself waiting for the cars to let fly their essence. These steaming hulks of metal, a product of soulless mass-assembly, had become something almost spiritual in their moments of death. As if, in celebration of their last moments, the cars found an inner vitality, a charge, something akin to a ‘self.’
Demolition derbies depend on ubiquitous junked cars and cheap gas and have become threatened by the rising price of scrap metal and the growing scarcity of oil. The cash prize (usually around $500) is often less then the value of the car, and these days derby drivers often partner with, or work for, local junkyard owners and service stations. This sponsorship is reflected in the graffitied logos which often feature quirky exclamatory remarks such as ‘Give me whiplash!’ or ‘Get bent!’ The cult of the car has found a dedicated few, willing to wear their personalities on the outside of their banged up hulks and slam them into other revelers, until only one remains standing.
The photographs in Wrecked document performative acts of willful destruction in which our collective anxieties about death and violence are played out in a shared arena.
Edition info:
20x24" C-prints, Edition of 7
30x40" C-prints, Edition of 5
The sonic assault alone was intense: eight cylinder cars without mufflers and massive exhaust pipes spewing fire from the hoods. Spinning tires kicked mud and rocks all over the place, including into the lens. Often I was able to stand on the very edge of the action, literally perching my tripod on the concrete barriers placed around the track.
The demolition derbies are the highlight of the state and county fairs where they are held in rural counties across the country. The grandstands are always packed with families eager to watch the main event.
My continued interest in the derby stems from a longtime fascination with the automobile landscape and the central role of the car in the American way of life. It is the very embodiment of our unique conception of personal freedom that you can buy. And discard. And buy again.
In the demolition derbies, the cars would back up to lurch forward and slam into each other repeatedly. The muddy track reduces traction and the frustrated wrecks would often barely bump each other before backing up to do it again. This repetition seemed to parallel the deadening routine of modern life, popularly known as “the daily grind”.
Every morning waking to make it to work and sit in a cubicle until, finally, an injury, illness or old age rendered your body unable to make it. Like the cars, we spin our wheels until we are worn out. We work until we run out of gas.
When the cars did gather the speed necessary for a violent impact, the radiator was usually the first thing to be destroyed. My long exposures rendered the hissing steam and smoke of the cars as ghostly apparitions escaping the confines of hot metal to reemerge with the sky. This spectral mist became my favorite aspect of photographing derbies and I often found myself waiting for the cars to let fly their essence. These steaming hulks of metal, a product of soulless mass-assembly, had become something almost spiritual in their moments of death. As if, in celebration of their last moments, the cars found an inner vitality, a charge, something akin to a ‘self.’
Demolition derbies depend on ubiquitous junked cars and cheap gas and have become threatened by the rising price of scrap metal and the growing scarcity of oil. The cash prize (usually around $500) is often less then the value of the car, and these days derby drivers often partner with, or work for, local junkyard owners and service stations. This sponsorship is reflected in the graffitied logos which often feature quirky exclamatory remarks such as ‘Give me whiplash!’ or ‘Get bent!’ The cult of the car has found a dedicated few, willing to wear their personalities on the outside of their banged up hulks and slam them into other revelers, until only one remains standing.
The photographs in Wrecked document performative acts of willful destruction in which our collective anxieties about death and violence are played out in a shared arena.
Edition info:
20x24" C-prints, Edition of 7
30x40" C-prints, Edition of 5