It is kind of surprising that I could place this image as
precisely as I have. There isn’t much to go on. It could be any place on the
plains. As I traveled, I detailed how I photographed each town along the way.
However, in the in-between places, it is difficult to pinpoint the significance
of a stop. There are no mountain or valleys to frame the rotation of the sun.
The highway is position less as a landmark. Adrift, a turn of the horizon
reveals a circular world of railroad tracks, cultivated fields, solitary barns,
scant gatherings of trees, sheltered dwellings, vanishing rows of utility
poles, and the sky.
Although I find anything to with a highway intriguing, I
never saw railroad signals as a means of navigation. They’re very much like
utility poles, typical, but not nearly as common. Because the trip’s
photographs are sequential, the stop had to be somewhere between Bellefont and
Spearville. I wondered if I could be more specific than that. When viewing photography
in a book or exhibition, I hate not knowing where a place happens to be. Titles
can tend to be poetic. While a title like
A Kansas Sky may sound very nice,
it is not informative. I always want to know the location of a place no matter
how universal the moment seems to be.
The previous set of photographs featured a field of wind
turbines. With that information in mind, I could narrow the search of the
highway. The relative flatness of the plains is completely leveled out when
viewed from the sky. Aerial perspective reduces monumental grain elevators into
miniscule sightings on the ground. A Birdseye view is abstract. Verticality vanishes
without the presence of cast shadows. Utility poles can nearly become
invisible. Without knowing what to search for, I would have never found the
railroad signal. A light colored circular disturbance beside the train tracks
was the only thing that gave it away. Only the surrounding mound of gravel
could be seen from the air. The Google highway view proved that the signal was
there. With that established, I could see that the shot was taken not far from
an intersection with a dirt road. Feeling the exhilaration of insignificance
that comes from a quiet stop along a highway, it is not surprising that 129 Rd
did not make into my notebook.
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