Idle Time

I have been photographing old cars for as long as I've been making photographs. I've always been drawn to the way they carry time… faded paint, patched bodies, rusted chrome, and the traces of the lives around them.

A few years ago, while visiting a friend in Louisville, Kentucky, we wandered into the High Horse Bar, a vintage dive that harkened back to the 60s and 70s. In front of the bar, an early 60s Chevy C10 sat parked on the curb, the last light of early summer fading in the sky, and the bar’s sign reflecting in its rear window.

As I walk around cities, at home or while traveling, I'll stop to photograph an old car on a street corner or in a driveway. These vehicles were once investments, lifelines, hobbies. Passed down, forgotten, remembered. Unknown histories, captured in time and space.

One December, we were walking around the Clinton Hill neighborhood of Brooklyn. I was tracing the footsteps of my grandfather, walking to the home address listed on his birth certificate. Snow began to fall. Large, fluffy flakes. We passed an 80s-era Chevy sedan, parked on the curb, snow accumulating on its hood. It felt like we had been transported back to the decade of my birth. To me, the nostalgia was beautiful. I sent the photograph to my father, who wondered if I was about to be mugged. When we arrived at my grandfather’s old address, a new, modern townhome stood between the old brownstones.

See the full series, Idle Time, on my website.