All photos and text by David Walter Banks and Kendrick Brinson
A journey with no destination, made simple by the archaic navigation of following the coast, straddling the line between the edge of our country and the grey, undulating abyss.
It’s rare that we set-out to enjoy the process of going somewhere. No, not without fixating on the goal, or making plans for the next stop along the way. It’s not often that the ride there is enough to satisfy us–it’s not often we let it. It’s not often we look out the window and take in the sights without thinking of the next turn, usually they just blur by and are left behind, ignored or quickly forgotten. Life is all too often stricken with too much planning, deadlines, schedules and stress, all as an expense for some feeling of control over our own destiny even when the very nature of the word proves our goal impossible.
We want to slow down. We aim to stop when the opportunity arises and just soak it in. We hope to roll down the windows. We take the long route just for the sake of the long route, ignoring where the next stop will be until we pull up in the parking lot at dusk. We turn around and go back to take one more sip of the majestic.
As we set out from Seattle, Washington heading for the Olympic Peninsula, that was our goal. We made our mantra one of letting go of control, and allowing the journey to serve as the destination. We searched for a renewed sense of love for photography and for each other while meandering down the coastal highways of the Pacific Northwest towards the epic cliffs of Big Sur, California, equipped with suitcases full of old Polaroid cameras and instant film.
Instant photography conjures up a sense of nostalgia in us all. Whether the image was taken 23 years ago or five minutes ago, it carries the heavy weight of memory. Memories of our past, of family and friends, of moments and life being lived. This nostalgia transcends the facts contained within that familiar white border, with much of the same feelings emerging–whether we know the central characters or not. The familiar mechanical sounds echo out as we wait for the often-unplanned results to chemically materialize onto that little white slip the antiquated camera spits out. The instant gratification of watching the colors and outlines slowly appear is unparalleled, and unveiled is a scene a little more magical than the one before us. And for that brief time, we are living both our lives and photography completely within that one instantly-nostalgic moment.
This journey down the coast was a journey of love. A journey of exploration. A journey of beauty. A parade marching through the rain in Coos Bay, a bridge to Oregon blanketed in grey fog, along the side of a cliff, a wind so brisk and strong it felt it carried an electricity, an ocean rocking back and forth in shades of grey and blending into a monochromatic sky, tree tops peeking over the storm clouds along windy roads of the lonesome 101. This was the journey. This was enjoying being and seeing. This was not letting tomorrow get in the way of vision.
What we found, as the photos piled up in the backseat, was a nostalgic love. A love both old and retrospective, while also new and immediate.
(This project made possible in-part by the good folks at The Impossible Project keeping the analog tradition alive.)
