DARIN HAYTON

Category: Out and About

  • Utility Poles

    Utility Poles

    When I reach the ridge, I see the scattering of utility poles. Their diminutive size, their construction, and the material all contribute to a sense of old. They bring power to a handful of houses, now owned by wealthy people who want to pretend they are also important. Signs all over the place screaming “Private Property” and “Do Not Enter” and “Private Road.” All five of the guys from that ’60s electrical band would be angry.

    Urban #250222. A color photograph, mostly blue-ish, of a utility pole silhouetted against a setting sun.
    Urban #250222.

    These hills and trails and firebreaks used to be open to the public, though not many people bothered to come up here. They weren’t maintained, weren’t sanitized. I don’t know if that was the draw, but it added to the attraction. You wandered up into these mountains because they differed from the paved streets below. And you wandered, following this game trail or that path, or climbed up that firebreak.

    City planning and isolationist residents have tried to funnel people onto a single main trail. The traffic is destroying the trail (thanks in large part to mountain bike riders who insist on cutting the trails and dragging their rear tire down the steep sections). Before long the entire distance will be little more than a graded dirt road.

    Urban #240105. A color photo of a utility pole with the sun setting behind it.
    Urban #240105.

    I sit up here in the evening and enjoy the quiet. The past was not better than the present, just different. It’s hard to imagine that one day somebody will look back longingly at this present and see it as the past. Will that person here the incessant “ding ding ding” of the bell on a mountain bike as it and rider careen down the trail?

  • Tehachapi Blvd

    Tehachapi Blvd

    I had just finish breakfast at Kelcy’s and looked to avoid the day’s tasks. So I walked along Tehachapi Blvd. Just a couple of blocks, the downtown section. It has a dated feel. Not like the retro-revival main streets in so many upscale cities — Tehachapi doesn’t have the wealth to support or the culture to put up with retro-revival. No. Tehachapi is more honest with itself and visitors.

    Urban #250207.0. A color photo of the Burger Spot sign.
    Urban #250207.0.

    I have long found the signs along here interesting. I have taken countless pictures of “The Burger Spot,” its simple, faded design often stands out against the blue sky. The burgers and fries are tasty. Today, I enjoyed the person standing outside the liquor store, having just exited carrying the morning’s beverage.

    Urban #250207.2. A color photograph of Kelcy’s Restaurant in Tehachapi.
    Urban #250207.2.

    Kelcy’s is all the rage in the summer months, when “hikers” fill the booths and take up much of the counter space. Tehachapi used to be a significant stop on the railroad, as the local museum will tell you. Today, trains slow as they pass through town but don’t stop. Hikers, however, seem to fill the town, telling stories of their adventures along the PCT. They seem more devoted to talking about hiking than about hiking.

    Urban #250207.3. A color photograph of the Tehachapi Arts Center, in Tehachapi.
    Urban #250207.3.

    Businesses that don’t cater to the hikers passing through have a tougher time of it. This building has been an auto parts store, a secondhand shop, and an arts center. I suspect it won’t be long before the arts center becomes something else.

    That February morning I felt Tehachapi’s fatigue.

  • N. 44th Street

    N. 44th Street

    I had planned to walk from gate A5 to B16, about half a mile in PHX. However, my flight arrived at A5 scant moments before they closed the boarding door at B16. A frantic dash through the airport merely got me to the customer assistance counter a few minutes quicker than walking would have. Rebooked on a flight the next morning, I was going to be spending the night in the hotel version of tofu: soft, beige, tasteless, forgettable.

    Urban #250417.0. A color photo of an underpass, at night. Looking across a street, the lights of a moving car streak across the scene.
    Urban #250417.0.

    I don’t find Phoenix particularly pleasant. Too much sprawl. But I can enjoy spending an evening anywhere. And so N. 44th Street it was. Lots of cars, nondescript office buildings, more tofu hotels, empty lots, and gas stations. I passed some guy out for a late-night run, a guy sitting on a plastic bucket panhandling, and some teenagers in a parking lot. And lots and lots of cars.

    Urban #250417.1. A color photo at night of a palm tree and a “one way” sign. A bright streak from the lights of a passing car.
    Urban #250417.1.

    It wasn’t a pretty walk, by any stretch of the imagination, but I enjoyed it. Why were there so many people driving and where were they going? Who thought an escape room would do well here? Why do you convert a gas station into a spa? And it’s hard to take seriously the Pat Tillman Middle School’s commitment to excellence and achievement when half their sign is burnt out.

    Urban #250417.2. A color photo of an empty parking garage at night. A fire hose at the far end adds a splash of red.
    Urban #250417.2.

    I’m not sure I’m better for having seen N. 44th Street, and never need to see it again. But it was more fun than sitting in a bland hotel room.

  • Looking in …

    Looking in …

    I had an hour to waste, so I walked around the block, a bunch of times. I looked in the various windows as I circled Castle Green. I had crashed a wedding there once, years ago. I was promptly thrown out. The old women talking in the sitting room looked disapprovingly at me as if they recognized me as the wedding crasher. The woman arranging wedding dresses stood out starkly in her no-nonsense all black outfit moving amongst the elegant white and ivory dresses. One time around she had left her soda can in the window, a garish splash of color. By my next pass, it was gone.

    The violin shop caught my attention — I hadn’t expected to see a violin repair shop. Each time I passed the windows I noticed something else. I was fascinated by the evidence of craftsmanship — the tools, the disheveled workbench, the repurposed shampoo.

    Photo “Urban #250228.1.” A color photo of a workbench covered in tools and stuff.
    Urban #250228.1.

    One time I passed and saw the man working. I watched for a few minutes, a master at his trade. I wonder how much work he has these days. His shop was packed with instruments, if that means anything.

    Photo “Urban #250228.2” A color photo looking in a window. In a convex mirror a craftsman can be seen working.
    Urban #250228.2

    My afternoon with Castle Green will surely become a zine.

  • Packing List

    Packing List

    The trains pass slowly through town. I could probably run alongside and climb on. I wonder where I would end up. Years ago, when a freight line still ran through the local town, I did climb on. Hours later it stopped outside some dusty town. I got off and went in search of a phone. Today I resisted the urge to go for a ride. Instead, I watched and imagined where this train loaded with freight was headed.

    Photo “Urban #250207.1.” A color photo of a line of military vehicles being shipped somewhere on rail cars.
    Urban #250207.1.

    Flatcar after flatcar each carrying two combat vehicles. Hundreds of them rumbled slowly by. Millions of dollars of sophisticated military equipment. And yet, how banal: a “packing list” duck-taped to each one, as if they are nothing more than typical Amazon packages.

    Photo “Urban #250207.2.” A color photo of a cammoflage military vehicle on a train car.
    Urban #250207.2.

    I wonder if there’s a return shipping label inside too?

  • Corners

    Corners

    One day I saw an oil painting of corner in some quotidian street corner in an unnamed (and unremarkable) Dutch town. I was struck by the vivid blue sky and the bold orange and red of the buildings. Two figures stood at the corner. Corners, I thought.

    Photo title: Urban #250109. A color photo of a TD Bank at a corner, a figure standing in the shadow cast by the building across the street.
    Urban #250109.

    What can I do with corners? There are remarkably few corners in suburbia, and fewer people walking — one of the many features/flaws of suburbia. If I were more creative, I would find some way to make the Land Rovers and Teslas interesting subjects. But I’m not. So into the city I went in search of interesting corners.

    This is photo “Urban #250201.1.” A color photo of a woman walking in front of a building at a corner. A “Do Not Enter” sign.
    Urban #250201.1.

    Chilly winter days, bright blue sky, pedestrians bundled up to stay warm. Just what I was looking for.

    Photo “Urban #250201.2.” Two women walking in front a building at the corner of some street and an alley. A “One-Way” sign.
    Urban #250201.2.

    I think there’s a zine here.

  • Standing Alone

    Standing Alone

    Increasingly it seems we live in an Edward Hopper painting. We are always alone, even in busy places. Whether we have surrendered to the glowing screen in our hand or staring down at the ground, too much of modern life is profoundly isolated and isolating.

    Man standing along a blue tiled wall. On the wall are the words Jefferson Station.
    Urban #240706

  • Connections

    Connections

    The NY Times publishes a puzzle, “Connections,” that presents you with a grid of 16 words and challenges you to find groups of four that share something. In a recent puzzle, for example, “charcoal, ink, paint, pastel” form the group “Art mediums.”

    Perhaps I can think of photography in a similar way. Set out to make small collections, groups of three or four photographs. Each group coheres around a particular idea. That something will be totally arbitrary, idiosyncratic to my sense of grouping. “Activities that start with ‘S’,” for example, or “Things people do in a city,” or “Random group of four photos that I can group together in some trivial way,” or “Green.” Maybe such a game can guide me as I make photographs.

    I could also look back at pictures I’ve made and see if they fall into groups. Let’s try. In this little game of “Connections,” can you make two groups of three photos? What links those three photos?

    Urban #231015. Color photograph of a woman wearing a pink coat and headphones and flip flops walking up a street in front of a grey building.
    Urban #231015.
    Urban #231013.6. A color photo of a man walking in front of a wall of blue tile. The word "Station” can be seen behind him. Also behind him a woman rides an escalator up.
    Urban #231013.6.
    Urban #231013.8. Color photograph of a man leaning against a wall, looking at his phone.
    Urban #231013.8.
    Urban #231013.4. Color photograph of a woman sitting on a stone ledge in front of a building. She is looking at her phone.
    Urban #231013.4.
    Urban #231013.3. Color photograph of a woman walking along a sidewalk in front of a white wall.
    Urban #231013.3.
    Urban #231013.2. Color photograph of a man strolling into a sunny space, surrounded by shadow.
    Urban #231013.2
  • Pink Morning

    Pink Morning

    She rounded the corner with a purpose. The insistent cadence of her steps — slap slap slap slap — echoed off the buildings as she marched up the street. Was she heading somewhere or leaving something behind? Or just out for an early Sunday walk, wearing color-coordinated pink headphones, jacket, and flip flops? Whatever the backstory, she was a flash of color in the empty, grey streets.

    Urban #231015. Color photograph of a woman wearing a pink coat and headphones and flip flops walking up a street in front of a grey building.
    Urban #231015.
  • Yellow

    Yellow

    The woman sitting at the table outside is the only person not consumed by a screen. She divides her time between a book on Chakra Healing and the tiny dog in her lap, which she has wrapped in a blanket despite the bright, warm day. She looks up eagerly when anybody approaches as if hoping to see an old friend after a long absence. A wide-brimmed hat casts a dark shadow across the top half of her face. Blue-tinted glasses hide her eyes. A large, leather bag lies open on the seat next to her. Conspicuous among the jumble of personal items is the bright yellow journal poking out of the top of the bag. What does she write in the journal? Notes from her Chakra Healing book? Thoughts on the young couple that stopped to pet her dog? Sketches of what she sees? Questions for the person watching her from inside the cafe? She takes the journal out, retrieves a pen, pushes her book to the far side of the table, and prepares to write. For a couple minutes she stares off into the distance, wondering perhaps what to write. Then she changes her mind, cuddles her dog, and returns both pen and journal to her bag. She also puts the Chakra Healing book into her bag. She scoops up her dog still wrapped in its blanket, grabs her bag, and walks down the narrow street.

    Urban #231013.5. A color photo of a woman sitting at a red metal table outside a cafe.
    Urban #231013.5.

    A mile away, a different, slightly older woman slouches outside another coffee shop, next to two yellow plastic toy trucks she had carefully arranged on the ledge when she first sat down. She struggled with her phone, treating it more like a microphone than a telephone. Holding it in front of her, she would say loudly “I can’t hear you” and poke at the screen a few times. She would then quickly raise the phone to her ear and just as quickly pull it from her ear, saying once again to the screen, “I can’t hear you.” Her conversation continued like this for a surprisingly long time. Eventually, she stuffed her phone into her bag and wandered off, leaving the toy trucks on the ledge. I don’t know if she came back for them.