Photo Essays
Arkansas and Missouri Railroad Photo Essay – Seeing the Ozarks from Ground Level (mostly)
We almost missed the Arkansas and Missouri Railroad, hearing the horn blare as we ran up the street from the shops in downtown Van Buren. It felt straight out of a black and white movie, though nothing could make me want to shoot in black and white. Color is too lush, too powerful. Jennifer Carman is warm and chatty and was deep in conversation with a shop owner who publishes a monster magazine and had just moved there from California. We lost track of time. I didn’t even have a chance to stop by the car for the rest of my equipment. By the time we boarded, my Canon battery was nearly dead, and I only had a 50mm lens. A 50mm isn’t ideal for a tight train car, but I like it when I’m forced to shoot in new ways.
Jennifer surprised me with tickets for this rare sunset journey, and the ride gave me a completely new view of a route I’ve driven a million times since I was a teenager. Seeing it from the tracks instead of the highway felt like stepping into another dimension. My dad is obsessed with trains and swears this route is the second best in the country. It really did feel like I was in Arkansas in 1922, but I also couldn’t help imagining fleeing into these hills if the government ever turned on us and started rounding up lesbians for camps. Maybe it was the gummy; it was strong. Side note: I’ve since quit all weed. That was one of the last times I partook, and really, I quit to lose weight and get my head out of the clouds.
My sudden interest in the train comes from two things. First, Jennifer and I just bought a house in downtown Winslow right next to the train stop that’s been there since 1881. The house was built around that same time, and one of our main draws to buying it was the thought of the train roaring by, a very romantic vision for two artists. Second, my former job enabled me to plan events for Downtown Springdale, and I got to work with the team that runs the Arkansas and Missouri Railroad. They’re as impressive as they are collaborative, even allowing us to host artists in their caboose for Art Walk events.
My battery light blinked the whole time, and I kept turning the camera on and off between shots to make it last. Every frame counted. I focused on the towering overpasses and massive structures the train passed beneath. It felt like watching a movie about the end of the world. Then again, I did just watch 28 Years Later.
Looking back at the photo essay, I would edit it differently now, but it’s nice to see this version of myself too.
My First Photo Essay: Black Biker Clubs of Arkansas
