Vlachos’ Views…Photos and Captions by Paul Vlachos

Paul Vlachos is a New Yorker who understands The West. And he is a New Yorker who understands New York. Wherever Paul goes, he finds signs of life…

Uvalde, Texas. I would have gotten the whole building, but I was dealing with a camera glitch and temporarily lost my mind. I think I found it again. It’s a windowless plywood shack. Not sure when it’s open or what goes on there, although I’d wager there’s some drinking and socializing. Who knows, though? I’d like to meet Beto, though, that’s for sure. I’d also like to know for certain how he pronounces his name. I’d probably also kick back and invest whatever time it took to hear his story and how he got to Uvalde. If he really wanted to open up and tell me, of course. And I wouldn’t even mind if some of it were made up.

Cape Charles, Virginia. A really, really old, but fairly well-preserved gas station. The kind of place Hopper might have painted at night. I have always been fascinated with gas station design. Even now, when you could make a strong argument that there is no more imaginative or whimsical modern gas station design aesthetic, there is a certain glory in the way people build these places. For the record, I think there’s a lot more to gas station design now than the simple functional box that most new ones seem to be on the surface. That’s for another caption, though. For now, take a moment to glory in the little emotional hiccup that brought this one about. It has weathered the years well, too. The pumps are gone, but it still sits, guarding that tiny crossroads. It’s for sale, too. A shame it’s zoned commercial only.

It’s the fence and the field that are the border. From where I took this, on the Maryland side, there’s a really low-rent, discount cigarette place. Kind of rough-and-ready, “maybe they’ll cash your paycheck, maybe not” type of place. Get some gas, use the porta-pottie, buy some smokes and get out. Nothing here. Move right along. Take a few steps into the corn rows, though, and you’re in Virginia. Not that a whole lot changes – state borders are always limbo zones, places where you can get something cheaper on one side of the line, something legal that’s not legal on the other side. Places where legal jurisdiction ends for one person and begins for another. Anyway, I like the colors here.

There were a few old chairs under the sagging overhang on this building. They were sitting on a ledge so low you could not even call it a porch. Those chairs looked like they had been abandoned quickly in a nuclear attack. Or, in another version, some old guys could have just gotten up, grunting and creaking, walked slowly off to dinner, then never come back to work again. Everything looked to be in place, simply unused or untouched for the past 25 years.

Eastern Mojave Desert – 2004. It’s actually at the site of Vidal Junction, a busy, but lonely crossroads in the Mojave on the California/Arizona border. Stuff changes here, but very slowly. Every time I pass through, it’s a little different. I don’t know how long this truck camper was here, but it’s long gone now.

Somewhere on the southern tip of the Delmarva Peninsula. The typeface, the colors, the inverted airplane wing shape. It’s all there. What the hell would that typeface be, anyway? I see it so often on these ancient sign remnants. “Mid-century American Motel?” I’d love to get a hold of it. Any font people out there who can recommend an analog? I used to be a font person, back in the days of Prestype and Letraset…

Sunset Park, Brooklyn. It’s old enough to not have an area code listed. I, of course, have become old enough to start marking segments of life with “before and after” annotations. “Pre-area codes,” “pre cell phone,” “pre cable TV” et cetera. Luckily, I don’t wallow in it. Those thoughts just come and go occasionally when I’m reminded by something. It’s not my job to preserve the past or remind people of these things. Then again, it’s not my nature to forget. As our lives creep along – they rush along, actually – we have more and more memories. The trick, I suppose, is to not let them interfere with the present. And when I start to sound like an inspirational daybook, it’s time to knock off for a while.