Post Five: Hitting the Road

As I have mentioned before, my relationship to New York is odd for a dorming New School student because I actually go home -- to my house, an hour upstate.  Naturally, the road I use to get to and from these two places is a bit of a routine, not to mention something I have come to trust as a part of my big, at-least-four-year city experience.  This week, I interrupted the drive to take photos of Orange Turnpike (the first/last major thoroughfare I see when traveling to/from the city) and, more specifically, what recent rains have done to it.

I found that there was something very dangerous about the whole experience -- pulling over, walking the shoulder, taking pictures of the hollowed pavement that looks like it might snap any second, etc.  While I'm normally a total wuss when it comes to being frightened, I was given quite the adrenaline rush.  I think  it was because I viewed the whole thing semi-artistically.  I let that sense of danger inspire rather than frighten me.  It was kind of like one of those beautiful natural disasters or something -- like a tornado; you know it's pretty dangerous, but when you see it, you stare because it's just that cool.  I understand that tornadoes do more damage than potholes, but you get the idea.  I was moved by how the broken road made me stop and think, and I want to design things that do the same.

This picture was so scary to take -- but at the same time, I wanted so badly to be on the other side, to see what the underside of the road looked like.   

This is the most treacherous-looking part of the road, and possibly the most awe-inspiring.  It looks like the wake of something; it makes me want to know exactly what happened.  

I love the way the Komatsu visually hugs the road.  Something about that relationship seems just twisted enough to fit perfectly within the photo-shoot.  It makes me want to walk through the yellow arm and look at the road.  I'd love to imbue that kind of desire.  

I'm obsessed with how chronological this scene is; I can tell how the road buckled before it caved -- like a fossil.  

While this close-up might not look too devastated, I think it speaks volumes.  The horizontal divide separates the two kinds of pavement" the dark, cracked original, and the cobbly, loose, newly fallen addition.  I just like the subtle and deep contrast.