In the America of the 1930s & 40s new highways were being built, scything their way through boundaries, borders and state lines. They heralded a new era, a time of change. America was on the move, its people were going places - albeit within their own country.

Scattered alongside these, appeared all manner of motels, eateries, convenience stores and truck stops, to service its various travelers.

There were families going ‘out of state’ on their vacation; sales-men crossing country lines chasing that big deal which would secure them for life and there were truck-drivers keeping every thing supplied to every corner of the nation. There, of course, has always been too - the loner, the drifter, the hitchhiker and the runaway, but something has changed.

Once seen as beacons of light in the darkness, as the oasis in the wilderness - these places are now more like light houses, warning the travelers of the possible perils in the vicinity. But have these places changed, or is it rather that society has?

Although these places were originally meant as ‘stop offs’ on your way somewhere, they became something else - they became ‘the destination’.

They attracted those people who regarded these places as the end of the line. When a lone man queuing in a fast-food chain in some small town cracks and opens fire on the innocents around him, before killing himself, it is seen as a ‘cull’ rather than a killing. And when someone goes missing, and is last reported being seen at a gas station or
truck-stop diner, no one is the least surprised.

One Story
You remember the stained smile of the lady who served you, and called you ‘Miss’. You recall the sweet sticky smell of freshly brewed coffee, the tingling of your fingertips and the warmth in your palms as you cradled your cup. You remember the orangey red glow of the buzzing neon sign above you, lighting up the diner window, which cried on the inside with streams of condensation. Outside the dark, early winter, mid-western sky tumbled in, finishing the day prematurely. 

You remember thinking this warmth, these assurances and certainties, and the feelings they brought - these were the reasons you came to this place. That maybe the trip wouldn’t be so bad and your journey has taken a good turn. 

The sound beside you of someone shifting from foot to foot made you look up. You see the truck-driver touching the rim of his cap with his index finger and how he removed his glove before scratching and rubbing his chin, saying how he was going ‘clear across 2 states’ if you were headed that way’ and that he’d already paid for your coffee. 

You remember walking outside across the freezing parking lot and hearing the truck driver saying, over the noise of the frost crunching underfoot, that - you were doing him a favour by coming along - that his boss was clamping down on drug use among the drivers to stay awake, and that the conversation would do him good. You remember as he opened the door to the cab of his rig, that as you climbed in, he said from behind you that you reminded him of someone he knew.

And that’s it, there is no more. The final play has begun and you’re already in the endgame.

Sub-note:
Why gum?
'Lady Luck' gum is of course a fictitious brand, but it works as both an item and symbol to enforce the narrative of the series of works.

As a symbol, gum is among a select handful of products which scream ‘America’. In a world where a county’s level of development is directly proportional to its consumerism - America stands alone.

'Lady Luck' gum tells you to be optimistic and hopeful - chew it all day long and everything will work out just fine - the ultimate marketing ploy: offer the people a little hope with the product, charge a small amount for this feeling of well being and watch the profits roll in. If gum only gives your mouth something to do whilst your brain is not engaged - then the picture is complete. 

As an item within the context of my narrative, it acts as a lynch pin holding the story together and being the thing which connects the people and places. It is sold in the convenience stores, in the truck-stop vending machines and given complimentary in the motel foyers. It is in the pockets of the waitresses and the backpacks of the runaways and on the dashboards of the truck drivers - each one looking for a little bit of luck to help them on their journey; that is the ‘American Dream’.

Artist's note:
The combination of the distressed photos and painted images along with single line drawings are used to portray how one’s memory works when recalling an event - particularly one of trauma. The viewer remembers subliminal images, whereas the victim will remember by looking down on the event a an out of body experience. The colours are vivid, but the lines are blurred.

The scenes are typical motel, cafe and roadside views; plastic, artificial and repeated over and over. The diner could be anywhere, the table cloth anywhere. This is to underpin the idea that the traumatic event about to unfold could happen at any time in any location and that of the victim is as common and dispensable as so many plastic spoons or sugar sachets.

The colours in this collection are inspired by peeling plaster and paint in cheap motels, or the wall paper in so many lounge bars where no sees anything but the bottom of their glass.