Alabama

When I tell people I grew up in a small city in northern Alabama I am routinely met with a quizzical “wow, what was that like?” Truth is, without anything to compare it to, I like to think it was similar to growing up almost anywhere else in America in the 50’s and 60’s: public schools, baseball, cars, rock ‘n roll and girls. Maybe not quite in that order, but my experience could just as easily have occurred in a suburb of Chicago or in a middle-class town in Massachusetts.

So over the years I’ve been making occasional forays back, scratching the surface of my memory and shooting pictures of the familiar. If It’s true that photography can grant us the illusion of stepping back, hoping that the present might stop and allow the past to seep in between the cracks, then Richard Avedon‘s encomium that “all photographs are accurate. None of them is the truth” leaves me wondering where the time went.

 

2 Responses

  1. mike caplanis

    home is home. there’s nothing like it. there’s no getting away from it. where you came from is always where you’re coming from.

  2. Joe

    Hello Max, what wonderful art! I recognized your parents immediately, even though I had to scan quickly. My mom, a piano teacher, bought for me a race car set; one of her students destroyed it and I had to pay for its replacement, buying it at Crump’s. Wonderful work; thank you. Joe C,

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