Abduction finals!

Well I finished this one a while ago, but here are the images! I've been a bit busy buying a new house quitting my job and beginning a career in photography so please excuse the lack of posting!

Borderland

Hoover Dam. Midnight. They close it to pedestrian traffic at sundown. Did you know that?

I found some things to photograph in spite of that. Please enjoy.

Gunslinger Series

The wind pulled up torrents of dust that swam across the desert expanse before me. The ground was cracked and splintered in all directions. And I got the feeling that the photos I was taking were ones I was meant to take. Ka, fate, or whatever forces you believe in had brought me here, and will probably bring me back.







These images are heavily influenced by the Dark Tower series and a play performed only a handful of times called Shadowland.

Nevada Desert Towns

Nevada is chiefly known for what I document on a regular basis: The two main centers of gambling in the United States. But an even deeper passion of mine lies in the Nevada desert, on the highways between Reno and Las Vegas. Towns, some living and some figments of the past, pepper the landscape. These towns are what used to be the life blood of this great state. The mining towns that heaved up thousands of tons of earth to establish the silver state. The mining towns where tumbleweed bounces through the streets. Where some of the grandest buildings of their time still stand. In the spaces between the active hands of Nevada is the heart of the state.

Recently I visited the old ghost town of Rhyolite, and the dying town of Goldfield. In the posts below are my short chronicles of those towns.

Desert Towns, Nevada.

Rhyolite

The desert slowly reclaims Rhyolite. The town once supported a thriving community and now it sits alone in the desert. The Nevada Historical society take care of in however it can. The stone buildings are all that remain. Being inside them is like walking through an archaeological dig site. Columns lie on their sides, foundations are cracked, bricks are strewn, few clues remain. But every so often as I walked inside a building I would get a flash of what once was.

The bank, clean save for a fine dust on the floor has people milling about inside. It's dark and cool inside. A woman walks with her husband to the teller. The owner of the bank sits in his office above the main floor looking down with pride. And suddenly I'm back in the glaring heat. The walls white with time and sunlight. The ground is covered with dirt, brick, stone slabs and desert plants.

Rhyolite, Nevada.

Goldfield

A handful of businesses remain open on the main road through town. Houses further out from the road are in various states of decay. Some have for sale signs that optimistically list a phone number. Others sit vacant, open, and empty. Shops are closed. The town is listed as a ghost town in most modern atlases. Those residents who remain stare blankly as tourists gawk and pose in front of what used to be a thriving community. The Goldfield Hotel, once the largest in the West, sits boarded up. The schoolhouse rots slowly as repair efforts are made in vain.

Further out, where no tourist dare venture, are the mines. A range of hundreds of mounds. Each one a mine. Each one fenced off with barbed wire. The earth in this area is stained yellow and red by what was pulled up from below.

The town of Goldfield, Nevada.