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of life he depicts. But here, too, one gets the distinct impression that this way of life will not continue indefinitely; the pictures capture a certain melancholy of inevitability, as if this were the last chance to record the data of a place before it vanishes forever.
The same could be said for Frank Herrera’s North To Signal Fork, a black and white photograph of three wooden crosses erected in rural Virginia. Herrera has been given a grant to document the rise of these clusters of crosses - they are being constructed throughout the rural Southeast courtesy of wealthy fundamentalist Bernard Coffendaffer - and the decline and shrinkage of the areas for which they are destined. Herrera’s picture appears to have been taking during a cold twilight - that this could be a dawn is unimaginable - in which the time of day embodies much more than a particular hour marked on a clock. Suffused throughout is the peculiar poetry of decline, the understated elegance of the star that flares up brightest just before it implodes.
Similarly, gallery artist Rex Slack’s Night Train seems to be a sort of archive preserving the memory of a vanishing type of domesticity. Inside the shell of an old Philco TV set, Slack has constructed a miniature living room complete, with a
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