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.