It’s 2 pm and I will be shortly landing to Las Vegas city. I look through the plane window and the first thing I see are little flat white boxes laid out in a tight stringent order stretching as far as the horizon. Blocks and blocks of suburban neighborhoods in the desert.
I walk through the main hall of Las Vegas airport. Little old bored ladies sit in front of the slot machines and tempt fortune.
It’s daytime and the city sleeps. It will wake up at night with all its furor and craze.
But now it’s so silent. I walk to my hostel, a little bit further from the Strip. It feels like daydreaming.
I find my hostel in a street packed with wedding chapels, strip clubs and some other obscure institutions.
Elvis is winking me from every corner.
On my way to the hostel I pass some vagrants with empty eyes and some young drifters who all came to this city once with big dreams.
Hello, night – cunningly whispers the city. At some point suddenly everything transforms into a huge glowing void of mad revel. The smell of banknotes steams from the casinos, old grumpy ladies distribute colorful strip club booklets and sex call phone numbers.
Welcome to Fabulous Las Vegas. A city of replicas and lost souls.
Landscape is a poem to existence.
I took these pictures on my road trip to California. Every landscape here speaks to me with the voice I already heard somewhere – books, movies about road trips in US.
The landscapes, therefore, are extensions of my existence, they are so closely bound to me. Landscapes, the spaces I take pictures of, are a part of my imagination. Their emptiness, vastness, greatness.
Our imaginations are preoccupied with others’ imaginations, with imaginations inherited from culture and especially films. So when I take a picture in US, I take it because it reminds me something I already saw somewhere. It is like a constant Déjà vu. This scares me because it makes me question which part of my pictures are unique. Am I inspired only because the sort of imagery was injected in me before?
There is a growing tension and sense that everything we do is not unique, that it is preoccupied and determined by politics or Hollywood or whatever.
I just remembered that naive Kleon’s book “Steal like an artist”. Why it is only nowadays everyone craves such books if art was recycled ever since? Is this mentality also a part of the neoliberal, “commons”, creative culture?
I am a great admirer of Wim Wenders and his poetics of space. Thus, for me a landscape is a character itself, it hints a story, and a viewer is the one to reveal it.
The landscapes are riddles to be solved.
The imprint of time, abiding proof that history existed long before me. The dry ancient heat. Bones. The Silence. My cry rebounds to this huge chalky nothingness. Like standing in a big white surreal room.
Oh I will love writing about this. Because this is about all the craziness I experience here, all the faces that stay stuck in my mind for lifetime.
In other words, it’s all about the essence of this city that can’t stop to amaze me.
It’s all about superheroes, witches, Mephistopheles and cherubs, marginals and princesses, gangsters, pranksters, tricksters…
I am dazed and charmed of the people I see everyday. Especially in subways! I so much love the subways of New York!
Freedom, complete freedom. And the creativity and bravery in the pale crowd is something what.. makes me alive.
I adore this area in Brooklyn, stretched between the Williamsburg and BedStuy. There is a huge Hasidic jews population here. The deeper I go the harder it becomes to figure out whether this is still New York or some other placeless place.
This neighborhood seems so unique to me that every time I get here I feel so touched. Maybe because this area exemplifies how a community may be able to retain all its individual character in the middle of this sizzling global metropolis.
The rough patterns of the Williamsburg bridge shadows.
I’m practicing my magical powers to turn myself invisible when walking in such areas and neighborhoods. I just want so much to become a part of it for a moment, to grasp what it is everyone is breathing with here.