pool

It was early, around seven a.m., when I stood on the motel balcony in Jackson, Tennessee. The coffee I made in the bathroom tasted foul, as if the beans were ground and brewed in dish soap. The light drew smudged peach lines through the sky congested with billboards advertising the best of American mediocre fare—Waffle House, Cracker Barrel, Taco Bell. I scanned the horizon for something more, a small diner or breakfast joint. A place for locals, with counter service, bottomless coffee, and fresh doughnuts.

pool Jackson, Tennessee

There was a place like that where I grew up in Indiana. It was downtown near the library where I biked to on many summer days. The waitresses wore matching pinstriped uniforms, wrote orders on guests checks, called you Sugar, and made you feel famous for being a regular kid. I sat at the counter, listening to strangers talk about the intimate details of their lives as I buried my head in a new Nancy Drew book and ate slow savoring bites of an iced cheese filled danish or a honey-glazed doughnut or whatever I could buy with the loose change I found around the house. Rode my bike there whenever I found loose change in my pocket. A stack of books and a stop at the diner.

poolside Tennessee 72 dpi

That’s the sort of place I wanted to find in Jackson as I studied the skyline and watched a guy walk in and out of his room with a stack of towels. The heat was already on the rise, even at that hour. I was surprised to find the outdoor pool to be empty. It was the middle of summer after all and the weather had been in the low hundreds for days.

swimming pool side Wells, Maine

I went back into the room, found my camera and snapped a few photos of the pool. I’m not sure why I felt compelled to photograph that pool and others before and since. Part of it was an articulation of place, the decay and decline of bygone days. Days of travel and adventure. Driving with the car windows down, The Beach Boys playing on the stereo, a truck stop souvenir on the dash.

swimming pool Wells, Maine

p.s. As I mentioned in an earlier post, I’m writing a book about photography. I haven’t told you all the details yet, but the book is essentially about developing your visual voice with a camera. I’m pretty excited (and at times pretty overwhelmed) that I’m putting this book together. It’s the sort of book I wish I had on the shelf. I’m currently working on a small sampler chapter that I hope to share with you very soon, so stay tuned.

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Comments

  1. This post had me engaged from beginning to end. Beautiful photos, too. Looking forward to the book excerpt!!

    • ArtandLemons says:

      Thanks, Shanna. I’m having one of those did I really just put that out there moments about the book days, as in, can I really do this? Of course, I can and will and this is exactly the reason to talk about it—for accountability. So, yes, I’m also looking forward to the excerpt…

  2. A pictorial definition of the word “bleak.” Superbly crafted.

  3. I cannot put words to how I feel about this post, Nikki. The emptiness you’ve captured… it’s something that comes over me when I visit my hometown in Arkansas. A lot of the mom and pop shops I frequented in my youth are gone, and even the strip malls are vacant. I can’t wait to read a sample chapter of your upcoming book.

    • ArtandLemons says:

      Jess, Wow, that must be devastating to return to Arkansas and experience such desolation. Such places and scenes continue to pull me in, the always have in fact. For many reasons. Thanks again for your support!

  4. Your description of Jackson reminded me of so many places I’ve been – and of the place I grew up. And that barren pool…wow.

    I look forward to your book, Nikki. The concept is wonderful – and it completely suits you.

  5. Wow, beautiful and bleak. I could feel the hot, humid desolation of that summer day rising off the asphalt. I look forward to learning more about your book project!

    • ArtandLemons says:

      Ann, Thank you! One of the many reasons I love photography is that it acts as an aid to memory, fills in the small details that can be written in later. This series feels like that for me anyway. Familiar places we enter and respond to based on our personal experiences.

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