It was two years ago today that I snapped some of my favorite pictures of this green 1974 Dodge, a regular to the auto shop on my way to class. I think that one of the mechanics there owned the car as I’d first seen it back in 2007, when it was a far away and half-remembered spot of exotica on the east side of Manhattan. Now Lafayette street doesn’t seem so eastern anymore, and the Dodge doesn’t sit patiently on an empty block, waiting for me to come by every day to practice my photography.
But these pictures don’t feel weighed down with memories, rather they still strike me mainly as examples of some of my older style, leaving out the car as a whole and concentrating on lines and angles.
Still, it is strange to have a moment captured so clearly from exactly two years ago. In 2009, my feelings of exoticism towards this Charger had already faded away thanks to daily exposure. The Dodge had lost its own muscle by the time it was built in 1974, losing the high-compression engines of its supercar glory days to the Oil Crisis, to emissions regs, to changing times.
But I kept snapping away that whole year, wrapped up in those curves and in its familiar, outstretched front. I was forever trying to completely abstract this car – deconstruct it into flat shapes and colors in a 2D digital picture. I never succeeded, but I don’t mind that cold February 9th will never leave this car.