Ocala, FL, December 2007 [Click to embiggen]
Quick note: This week's Thematic Photographic theme is monochrome. So if you've got any black and white or sepia-toned visions of your world, please click here and submit to your heart's content.It's early evening in northern Florida. We've got hours of driving ahead of us as we pull off exit 352 on Interstate 75 and look for a place to get a quick snack, let the kids run around for a few minutes and then get back on the road. I spot a Dunkin Donuts and, thanks to two days of accumulated fatigue, take the wrong entrance. I end up in the motel next door and can't get back to Dunkin without some serious vehicular backtracking. I park the wondervan at the edge of the crumbling asphalt. We can walk.
As Debbie goes on ahead, I take some quiet time to observe the desolate building behind me. A tattered vinyl banner covers the roadside sign, peeled paint visible all around it. There's not a soul in sight. It reminds me of the ghost towns in the wake of 1950s nuclear tests in the Nevada desert. Time definitely forgot this place. Out comes the camera - this is too reminiscent of urban ruins to pass up.
Suddenly, an even half-dozen polyester-clad folks of a certain age emerge, almost from nowhere. Three men, three women, obviously couples, all dressed in colors that remind me of the bright stucco used on buildings down here. They stare at me as I point my lens in their general direction. I lower it, not wanting them to think I'm capturing them. The lady with the blue hair and shiny white purse waves at me. I wave back as they make their way to the landau-roofed Grand Marquis with the wire hubcaps.
Even without the camera set to sepia, this place seems old, worn, devoid of color or spirit. Wait, it has a spirit. You just have to stand still for a bit and focus on it for a bit.
Your turn: A place that seemed monochrome as soon as you laid eyes on it. Please discuss.