Riding Darkly

We drive out, turning onto the freeway and leaving the city behind us. As the rain continues to fall down I find myself once again peering into the windows of the vehicles that we pass or pass us. Feeling like a spy I study the interiors (bobble heads, swinging crucifixes, faux flower leis) and candid expressions; witnessing lip-synching, arguments, laughter and silence in a multitude of stranger’s faces. As someone finally looks back at me, I turn swiftly in my seat cheeks flaming embarrassment (or guilt) and study my hands. Purposefully, I turn my mind back to various plane flights. As we landed and took off, I would stare out of the window and look down to the cars driving far below like children’s toys. I would try to envision the people and their lives, so many separate beings from myself experiencing lives that would never touch my own. Were any of them looking up at the plane? It can be terrifying and make one feel desperately small to realize how alone we sometimes are—for all the people we ever meet how many more we will never know, but also how close we are to knowing them. We drive beside them daily, move within feet of one another and they remain strangers.
It’s a dream of mine to one day create a series of photographs of people’s kitchens. I’ll take the photographs while driving across America and into all the small towns I come across. Around prime dinner time I will sneak up to home’s windows and take a snapshot, then run away. In those images I want to capture the room as it is decorated (is there even cooking ware?), candid family portraits, and perhaps even loneliness.