Southwest Stories
This drawing is one in a series based on my visit to the Southwest region of the USA. I find the landscape fascinating, nature as well as cityscapes. My drawings are influenced by movies and TV - making use of camera-like angles to tell a story and to set a particular atmosphere.
1539
A dry wind swept across the foothills. In this transitional zone, pastel bungalows dotted the landscape, struggling to keep inside as much cool air as possible. As the heat took on an almost threatening presence, there was this hint of a quiet tension. A stillness, held in place by the burning sun and the absence of people outside.
Riding Shotgun
"Rolling trough the streets of this town, he marveled at the way some places could feel so totally disjointed while at the same time being so neatly fitted into a grid.
He felt the heat kept people isolated, going from one refridgerated space to another; home, car, work, car, home. Work. To think that hard won comfort could turn against people.
Retreating into their homes, their cars, feeling safe. It was all illusory, of course. It was a desperate grab for control. Why did the heat always bring out the negative in him, he mused.
Maybe it was riding shotgun...driving mostly kept him out of this lane of thought. Better drink some water, keep the ol' brain from overheating."
An Evening Swim
"Submerged in the water, his mind cooled. He wondered why motels always advertised their pools as this great amenity, when no one ever seemed to make use of them. To be fair, this pool didn’t live up to an idealized ad version. At all. Still, he made a point to take a swim. It was better than the hot room with the faulty AC."
Empty Pool
"Every morning she'd cradle her coffee from the local diner to the empty pool nearby. There was no one around this early, so she considered this spot hers. The place always reminded her of that 1990s movie where some mythical guy floated out of a yellow pool, electrified. Imagine that happening here. A magical pool portal. Water rolling in, growing the weeds, after years of neglect. Like a psychedelic garden."
Slushie
The lawn chair he didn’t care about. The towel he could explain away.
It was the slushie that ruined it. No one was supposed to be down there. He tried to come up with a plausible story, one that didn’t involve him having to take any action. He already had enough on his plate as it was.
It could have been anyone, from a homeowner setting up the chair for relaxation, to a maintenance worker doing repairs, or even just a playful scenario where someone decided to place a chair in an unconventional spot. Was there more to it? A stealthy leisure activist? An intermittent squatter?
The slushie, though. Always half molten, so he just knew there was someone out there. He never caught anyone, not as much as a glance of movement, which he had to admit, was pretty impressive.
He watched the towel, gently moving in the wind. And the shlushie. The whole tableau seemed to mock him.
That darn slushie.