Artworks

We are positioned below a railroad bridge, which itself frames another railroad bridge just beyond it. The concrete, stone, steel, and wood making up these structures are all in bad repair, and it's unclear whether a train would actually be supported by either. They're stained, graffitied, and evoke more about drug use and transient life than anything having to do with industry or the railroad.

Trash and debris are scattered in and around dirt and weeds pushing up into this inhospitable environment.In the distance, there is a VAN with a company logo on the side. It's barely legible, but one can faintly make out the words "8 TO 10 CLEANING SERVICES." The back door is open, and the van's light is on inside. A bucket, mop, and other cleaning supplies are visible.

There are TWO YOUNG WOMEN hanging out beneath the bridge, close to camera, one standing, wearing a cleaning uniform, and the other seated on a stone ledge, her uniform wadded up on the ground nearby. The young woman on the ledge smokes a cigarette, as they unwind after a long day of work.

We are standing on the main street of town, facing the storefront of Jim's House of Shoes. There are shoes for sale inside, but somehow it's evident the store has long passed its heyday. The very lettering on the building now only says "JIM'S", while "HOUSE OF SHOES" is only visible, barely, as a faded remnant on the slightly sad facade.

The light of day is fading, and there are lights on in the store. We can just see a hint of the store inside through the windows and door.

Most prominently, in the storefront window, a WOMAN has created a still life of sorts, a mirror, arrangements of shoes on a wooden display shelf, sale signs, and some other knick-knacks. Her attention is above, however, on a fluorescent bulb that has gone out. She is looking into the mirror, surveying herself.

We are standing in the middle of the street looking upon the facade of a local lounge roam housed in a one story brick building storefront. A BUDWEISER sign hangs over its door, and the small word LOUNGE is painted on its large street-facing windows. The building is flanked on either side by other businesses, and we can just see a small piece of sky above.

It's late in the day, and the light is almost gone in the sky. Inside, dim fluorescents and a TV illuminate the otherwise dark, smoky atmosphere. An attractive WOMAN is lost in thought as she looks up at the television. She's bathed in its light, and is captivated by it; motionless; with a bottle of beer in her hand.

Meanwhile, an OLDER MAN is exiting the bar, facing camera. He uses a walker. A light from above illuminates him, and we can see the detils of weathered good looks on his face, as well as something slightly haunted in his expression. He is framed by the doorway, and has paused just inside the threshold, contemplating leaving, a nightly routine he has repeated a thousand times before.

We are standing outside the drive-thru lane of a defunct bank. The light in the sky is fading, and the overhanging structure of the drive thru frames our view. There is a night depository box against the brick wall, near the drive-thru window. A small dirty sign is visible above the window, with the words ECONO-SAVINGS written on it.

Through this commercial proscenium of sorts, we can see across the street, where a weathered auto body shop is closing for the night.

There are a few lights on in windows, but their sign is darkened for the evening.

A WOMAN is seated at the end of the drive thru curb, facing us in 3/4 view. She wears a work uniform. A second WOMAN is seated beside her, and has her head on her lap, as if she's not feeling well, or might be partially asleep. There is only one overhead light working on the drive thru, and they're seated right below it, taking comfort in its glow.

We are positioned in the parking lot of a package store at sundown. The ground is wet, the air is moist and heavy. The package store, EVENINGSIDE PACKAGE, is housed in a former gas station and garage building. It has a feeling of layers; of history, of paint, of signage, and purpose.

In the background, across a diagonal side street, we can see a business called THE GREAT WALL FOOT SPA. There are lights on in the windows.

Closer, along the brick wall of the package store's exterior, there is an ICE VENDING MACHINE. A PICKUP TRUCK is stopped beside it, and a MAN has gotten out to buy ice. The truck is still running, and a TEENAGE BOY sits in the back. His knees and face are slightly dirtied. His ankle is swollen and he is holding it against the pain.

The man gazes into the ice machine, which is illuminated from within. His face is cast in a bright white light.

We are standing beneath a railroad bridge, looking out through the rusted steel proscenium toward a twilight-drenched street lined with a couple industrial businesses. We can make out two signs: SCHILLING TV to our left, and OLIVER AUTO BODY to our right.

The streets are wet and cast a beautiful glow into the air. There's a CAR in the distance, driving toward camera. Through a low-hanging cloud of humidity amid the heat and dampness, we can see a YOUNG WOMAN, beneath the bridge. She is riding a bike, and she has paused, and is standing, and holding it. Her bike has a headlight on it, and she's shining it toward a pile of old suitcases that have been discarded on the side of the road under the bridge. She gazes at them with curiosity.

We are standing at the slightly overgrown and crumbling edge of a used car lot's pavement. It's a strip-mall area on the edges of town. In the distance, we can see some low industrial buildings. One has a light on inside.

The car lot's offerings are sparse, just a few cars with slightly sad FOR SALE signs in the windows.

We are in close proximity to a floor to ceiling glass window of the manager's office at the used car lot. Beside the windows, a bathroom door is ajar, and we can see a fluorescently lit toilet and sink.

Above the window is a very worn sign that reads A1 AUTO SALES. The office is perfunctory, with a metal desk and chairs for customers to sit in. A USED CAR SALESMAN stands inside, lit up by fluorescent tubes. His office, illuminated as it is, and perched up on its concrete platform, makes the edifice seem almost like a small stage.

He is motionless, gazing outside at something that has captured his attention ...a WOMAN.

The woman is standing beside a CAMPER TRAILER that is hitched to a STATION WAGON. This is her home, and she has just pulled off the road.

The woman has a small tub of warm water at the base of the trailer steps, that we might assume she filled in the open bathroom. Steam rises around her as she prepares to wash the feet of a CHILD, who is obscured from our view except for their legs and feet. The woman stands, with a blanket wrapped around her, gazing down at the steaming water. The USED CAR SALESMAN looks on to this scene in wonder.

We are standing in the parking lot of a dairy bar on a city street.

The street is lined with other businesses: a trophy store, closed storefronts, and a defunct gas station in the distance. A few CARS are parked alongside the curb.

From where we stand, we can see into the SIDE WINDOW of the dairy bar, where an OLDER MAN, the owner, is at the counter.

In front of the ice cream shop, beside the sidewalk, a YOUNG WOMAN, in a nondescript work uniform, is seated on the edge of an empty concrete planter. A trophy sits beside her. A light on at the trophy store behind her implies she may have just bought it there.

The owner looks out at her trophy, with curiosity.

We are positioned at an intersection in a knocked-about neighborhood on the west side of town. There is pavement in the foreground, potholed and blemished from sun, snow, weather, and neglect. The road that stretches out in front of us seems to offer a pathway to somewhere else, perhaps somewhere more optimistic.

The light of day is nearly extinguished. Street lights have come on, and lights can be seen here and there in windows. There is a magical glow surrounding the scene, frorn dampness, and fog, difusing the fading light a day.

The house closest to us, to our let, has a business on the ground floor. The building is covered head to toe in white aluminum siding and maintains a certain air of quasi-civilization and enterprise, in contrast to the houses that sit beyond, which are more ambiguously inhabited, empty, and/or maybe condemned. Across the street, there is a telephone pole with a LOST flyer tacked to it. It bears the image of an ADOLESCENT BOY.

One of two large picture windows on the corner outfit bears the name WEST SIDE SUDS LAUNDRYMAT. We can see a WOMAN inside, folding clothes that have just came out of a laundry machine. The woman has paused, and gazes out the window toward the street. A nondescript, rusted, aging VAN approaches, with a solitary driver, a MAN, behind the wheel.

Her eyes have met with his. The nature of the fleeting exchange feels slightly haunted, loaded, or somehow infused with recognition of some former time.

We are standing at the center of a street, gazing toward a brick hardware store with a large flat marquee overhanging the front door.

Beyond it, there are several houses before the street disappears out of frame at a bend in the road. There is something classical, perhaps even southern about the architecture of the hardware building. A weather-beaten shingle hangs at the front of the marquee that reads T & A TOOLS.

It's late twilight, and the light of day is fading. The long shadows of late afternoon have just muted into darkness.

There is a pickup truck with a utility trailer facing camera, parked in the center of the street. A WOMAN sits in the passenger side of the truck. The driver's side door of the truck is open, and a MAN stands in the street, gazing at a couple of large weathered WOODEN CRATES on the trailer. Another crate is placed in the entryway of the hardware store, and a second in the middle of the street. It's clear the man has been working to move the crates. A trail of dirt and skid marks sit between the trailer and the doorway as if he has been walking back and forth, dragging them. His hands and clothes are dirty. He looks upon the crates with a weary but satisfied expression.

We are positioned in the center of a remote side street at sundown.

The ground is wet, the air still and heavy. Before us is a tattoo shop on the ground floor of a brick two story house. The downstairs storefront has two large display windows, and upstairs appears to be an apartment, with curtains in the windows. There's a free standing garage and a dumpster out back. A cacophony of wires criss-crass the building and sky above.

The storefront business is called EVENINGSIDE TATTOO, which is written in lettering on the window. There is a light on in an apartment upstairs, as well as a light in the garage out back. The display windows of the shop boast a collection of hand-drawn stencils for passersby to see and consider as options. They're all illuminated by overhead fluorescent tubes.

Inside, a TATTOO ARTIST is in the middle of creating a tattoo of a perfect circle on a CUSTOMER'S back. We can see them both reflected in a mirror. A FRIEND waits outside on the stoop, drinking a beer and gazing down at the ground.

We are situated at the edge of a sidewalk, gazing down a side street.

There are homes and businesses alike here, in a quiet, slightly desolate part of town. Many of the upstairs apartments feel vacant, some of the storefronts too. There is a heavy sense of a forgotten past hanging in the air.

The street is wet, as if a chilly rain just came through. There is fog hanging low against the pavement. A bar across the street has a light on, and a door open, but not much life within its walls. One FIGURE stands outside near an ashtray and smokes a cigarette.

Closer, there is a HEARSE parked at the curb, faced away. The back door is open, and there is a coffin visible inside. There is nobody seated in the hearse, and it's unclear which house the undertaker might be visiting.

Beside the hearse, there is a house with a porch. A WOMAN stands there, gazing at the hearse, with a sad yet despondent expression.

We are standing in an empty storefront, gazing out toward a deteriorating house on a long forgotten side street. The large square window frames our view, with part of a glass windowed doorway to our right, and another slanted window to our left. Vines have begun crawling up the outside of the building, and we can see their grasp on the window to the left.

A rain has just come through, and the street is wet. Fog lingers in the air as the sun retreats behind distant hillsides, far from our view.

There is a sedan parked at the curb just outside the storefront window. TWO TEENAGERS are hanging out together. One is seated on the trunk of the car. A few steps away, the second one stands behind the car, gazing down at the ground, at something we cannot see. They are both lost in their own thoughts.

We are standing on a sidewalk sloping downward toward a T intersection, gazine across at the buildings perpendicular to us. Ths area of town is unkempt overgrown, becomin shabby. A large abandoned hospital looms in the distance. It's the end of the day, and a rain has just come through. Everything feels still, and quiet.

There are two buildings facing us across the intersection, a doctor's office to the right, and an electronics supply center to the left. The doctor's office is in an unlikely perfunctory edifice, four walls and a roof, a door and two large windows. Lettering on a window reads: FAMILY DOCTOR.

The electronics supply building is made of brick, and looks more like a fortress. There are bars on the windows. It doesn't feel welcoming. Electrical wires crisscross the sky over the entire scene, almost repeating the pattern of the barred windows, and a chain link fence on one side of the foreground. It feels like a slightly threatening, standoffish part of town.

Through one window of the doctor's office we can see the DOCTOR seeing his last patient of the day, a BOY. The doctor, dressed in a traditional white uniform, is examining him. The boy is in 3/4 view.

He's got his shirt off, and is seated on the edge of an exam table. He looks down at the floor in front of him. The other window on the building is closed with curtains. The front door is slightly ajar.

Outside, in the driveway between the two buildings, a NURSE leans against her parked car. She is faced slightly away, looking out toward the neighborhood, gazing off into some other distant dream.

We are standing in the middle of an intersection at the edge of town.

A tall mountain sits on the horizon in the distance, with a wooded hillside just in front of it. Closer, there is a rambling neighborhood, with a mix of residences and businesses. It has the feel of a mill town here, of a close-knit community, of people working and living and intermingling.

It's late in the day, and a rain has just come through. It's early fall, chilly, and slightly foggy. A VEHICLE approaches the intersection, facing us. It's headlights are on, and sends reflections onto the pavement.

Close to us, on the right hand side, there is a corner market. A sign with a Pepsi logo states as much. There is an awning, and an inviting OPEN sign. The building is made of brick below, aluminum siding above.

It's weathered, but comforting in its longevity. This is a corner market that goes back many decades.

In the crosswalk, a WOMAN carries a baby in her arms, and pulls a small grocery cart behind. A MAN is seated in the driver's seat of the car that is approaching her. The man in the car gazes at the woman in the crosswalk with slight recognition, while the woman in the crosswalk is focused on the baby in her arms, and the long journey home on foot.

We're positioned in the parking lot beside a small, weathered commercial building. Its bricks are stained, and blackened markings on the roofline allude to a possible fire at some point in the past. A strangely placed fire hydrant in the parking lot seems to second that notion. A large sign on the side on the building tells us it's a Goodwill store.

From where we stand, we can see a row of varied clapboard structures in the background on the opposite side of the street, some businesses and some homes. It appears to be a quiet part of town with little prospects and little activity. A blanket of dampness from a recent rain makes it feel even more hushed, and subdued. A BUS is in the street, driving away from camera.

Beneath the Goodwill sign, there is a side door ajar, with some light from inside the store spilling out. A YOUNG WOMAN, wearing her employee uniform, stands just outside. She smokes a cigarette on her break. Near where she stands, a large pile of donated items have been dumped in the parking lot: household items, furniture, bags of clothing. The girl gazes at it, contemplating.

We are positioned on the turnaround of a hardscrabble dead end street, peering back at the houses along the right hand side. They are in various states of disrepair and decay. The last one on the block, that which is closest to us, is a two story multiple-family house with first and second floor porches at the front. It appears it was abandoned long ago in the midst of repairs. What was once a yard is now an unwieldy growth of grass.

Just next to that, even closer to the camera, is a small free-standing shed. It has two wooden doors on the front, and one is open. A bare bulb hangs from the ceiling inside, and illuminates a BURIAL VAULT. A BOY from the neighborhood has happened upon this strange mysterious situation. He is holding an old, beat-up hobby horse in his hand. He gazes into the shed at the burial vault, with curiosity and trepidation.

We are standing at the side of a residential street, peering at the houses as they slope downward toward the horizon. Our gaze is mostly concerned with the left hand side of the street, and most prominently, a house covered in faux brick siding. There is a small, barely-legible shingle hanging on the shabby front porch that reads MORNINGSIDE HOME FOR WOMEN.

A TAXI has pulled up on in front of Morningside Home. A TAXI DRIVER sits despondently in the driver's seat, already thinking about his next pickup. A YOUNG WOMAN stands on the sidewalk, having just gotten out. There are a couple old suitcases placed beside her. She looks up at her new home with a sense of trepidation mixed with resignation.

We are standing at the side of a road at the top of a hill just outside of town. From our vantage point, we can see the rambling road travel downhill away until it disappears around the corner at the base of an imposing wooded hillside, Electrical wires in the foreground crisscross the sky above.

There are houses lining the road here, in a cluster. One has a storefront on its first floor, but the business, whatever it was, has long since closed. The homes have their tiptoes on the sidewalk. A PICKUP TRUCK is parked in a grassy vacant lot across the street, perhaps permanently.

Close to camera, there is a car parked at the curb, faced away. A FATHER sits in the passenger seat, ready to begin a journey. There is a trunk and a couple cardboard boxes packed and affixed to the top of the car, and more suitcases in the backseat, visible through the rear window. A TEENAGE GIRL leans with her back against the car, gazing ahead toward her mother, who is dressed in a nurse's uniform as if she is about to go to work. The mother gazes at the space between them on the sidewalk.

We are standing outside a storefront, late in the day. We can just see part of the sidewalk out front, and a touch of the brick building above. Our main focus is the large window of a hair salon, and the stoop just beside it.

The building is very weathered, with once beautiful architectural details. Wood paneling surrounds the doorways and windows. There is faded lettering on the top of the window that says MADELINE'S BEAUTY SALON.

Through the window, we can see a YOUNG WOMAN seated in the chair having her hair cut. A WOMAN having an air of sophistication and formality about her, something classic and timeless in her appearance, whom we might assume is the namesake Madeline, is standing behind her.

They are both reflected back in the mirror, but Madeline seems lost in thought as she sees something of herself in the younger woman's face.