The roller coaster’s thrill is a flesh and blood experience: wind tossed hair, skin-prickling and stomach lurching. Linked to childhood memories of summer days and the fantasy world of amusement parks there is a tinge of innocence and nostalgia to the thrill. The pleasure seekers are safely out of control.
Remove the passengers and cars and the tracks have a life of their own, a distinct animal presence. Skeletal, spine-like, the twists describe the heavy fluidity of a menacing beast. While a real roller coaster has a defined beginning and ending, the fragmented tracks in these images arc and shoot off the edge of the page. Stripped of living color and flesh, the bony rails are a ride into the twilight zone. There is no telling what came before or follows after, only the rushing momentum of the present frame. The iron tracks have a sinewy strength much greater than our own. Yet they are toy like; a collection of strange letters to riddle the eye.
Like prehistoric fossils, they are starkly beautiful and disturbingly bare. The viewer is invited to excavate his or her own fears. As the tracks shift from photorealism into solarized decay and ghostly outlines the sensation shift from corporeal to surreal. The weightlessness offers the serenity of freefall. As the flesh was stripped from the bones, now the bones dissolve until only the spirit remains. There is a sense here of our own lives which exist in a mad rush of energy and intent from birth into death. The source point of our soul cannot be traced. We enter the page and leave it. The rest is unknown.