Once again found myself down by the canal at sunset photographing piles of trash. I can't say why I have such an interest in trash; only that it's always been with me.
I was born on a small street across from the medical center in LR. A gravel alley ran behind our house, and we put our old beat up and rust covered garbage cans out there once a week. I sat in my swing set waiting for the garbage truck. The truck itself wasn't the attraction. It was the men who rode on back, hopping off to grab our garbage cans and then throwing them into the back of the truck with the rest of the trash. They'd grab the cans by the bottom and shake the trash out, then toss them back into our back yard with a terrific crash, re-board the truck and head to the next house before the cans even came to a rest.
I said I wanted to be a garbage man for a while. Vaguely remember people laughing at that. I dunno what's so funny--they make a good living. Class issues I guess.
Anyways, then we moved to a squeaky clean suburb of LR named after the mythical forest where Robin Hood took refuge. When we took trips to cities--like Dallas or Washington DC or Memphis--I can remember sitting in cabs looking out the window at the trash collecting in corners or spilling out of curbside cans, and thinking, There's something to be found in that.
Well, I've tried writing about garbage, I've eaten out of the garbage, I've been the garbage man for a building I lived in in Brooklyn, and now I find myself wandering around photographing it. And I'm trying not to think about why this odd attraction is so pleasing, and instead just enjoy it for what it is.
Still, I feel like I'm confessing when I talk about it with friends. But so what. I'm on the bright side of garbage. Do-dah! Do-dah!