From the Author
At 17 I bought my first car, a very small, sporty MG Bugeye in need of total rehab, only to realize the repairs went well beyond my less-than-comprehensive knowledge of automotive mechanics. Next came the dream of a much-sought-after '57 Chevy with a V8 engine, comparable in magnificence to GTOs and Mustangs, but it never became a reality. Instead I opted for an inexpensive and less desirable '58 Belair. I never got this clunky hotel on wheels on the road either, proceeding to a 360cc Honda motorcycle on which I almost lost everything in a youthful episode of speed and alcohol. My misadventures with cars and the like were halted in 1969 by the draft. Upon returning to the States, I bought a car often described as only slightly better than Nader's "unsafe at any speed" Beetle, an oil-leaking Chevy Corvair. Thankfully, after moving to Manhattan from Queens in the early 1970s I was relieved of the obligation of car ownership for the next 25 years, as subways, buses, bicycles, and simple footwork became my means of transportation.
Around this time, the American psyche changed: the oil embargo of 1973-74 caught America by surprise and dramatized the reality of relying on fossil fuel for the economy. The auto industry especially felt this shift. Detroit watched its market shares plummet, and in a panicked scramble retooled its focus as efficient models, primarily from Japan, pointed perhaps to a better way. Mainstream America began understanding the advantages of smaller cars with greater fuel efficiency, a realization that seriously altered their vehicle preferences. This was a reality, at least for a while. Gasoline prices normalized again in the 1980s. With fuel still relatively inexpensive for American consumers, the 1990s ushered in a new era where an impressive display of seemingly safer SUVs like Explorers, Cherokees, Hummers, and Muranos became commonplace. The American love affair with the automobile returned with an excitement that infused the population with enthusiasm for machines that dominated the road, again representing American comfort, ingenuity, power, and freedom.
The photographs in this book, made between 2005 and 2006, are pictures of urban traffic, a glimpse at the way we live and the decisions we are making as a society in need of transport. The faces are mostly presented as portraits in profile, framed not only by the lens, but also by the cockpit-like windows of the cars. The drivers display the familiar expressions of vulnerability, determination, and frustration that anyone who has ever been behind the wheel of a car has worn at some time or other.
It now seems that we have become accustomed to being strapped in mobile boxes, existing in a space that is neither private nor public where people gaze off into the distance, seemingly focused on a fixed destination point beyond the reality of the traffic before them.
About the Author
Michael Spano, former director and curator of the nonprofit Midtown Y Photography Gallery, holds an MFA from Yale University and currently teaches at Sarah Lawrence College. The author of
Time Frames: City Pictures (powerHouse Books, 2002), Spano is the recipient of many honors and awards, including fellowships from the New York Foundation for the Arts, CameraWorks, and the John Simon Guggenheim Memorial Foundation. Spano has exhibited his work at The Museum of Modern Art, the Cleveland Museum of Art, Harvard University’s Fogg Museum in Cambridge, The Museum of Contemporary Photography in Chicago, and the Los Angeles County Museum, among others. Represented by the Laurence Miller Gallery, New York, Spano’s work is featured in the collections of The Museum of Modern Art, the Whitney Museum, and the Brooklyn Museum of Art, New York, the Cleveland Museum of Art, the Boston Museum of Fine Art, and the Art Institute of Chicago. He lives and works in New York City.