C•AR/T is a 16-page tabloid format zine.
Before becoming a zine, the C•AR/T folders on my phone and desktop were simply the repositories for photographs I made between 2014 and 2021, photos of the car culture goings-on I witnessed in Miami — sights/sites encountered while in the car. That was the rule. Only what I saw from inside the car. Some images capture the crazy, others the kookie, others still the absurd, and others the abundant beauty — all right there, out the window.
Both a meditation and a manifesto, the project was, ultimately, a way to cope with new-to-me car culture, a ceaseless shock to my system after moving to Miami from Vancouver. Until Miami, the 6 other cities I’d lived in were designed to support walking, biking, and public transit (as well as cars), and those alternative modes of locomotion were my go-tos. I owned a car, but not always, and never for daily travel.
C•AR/T is available for purchase at Books & Books, in Coral Gables FL, and from their online store too.
Before becoming a zine, the C•AR/T folders on my phone and desktop were simply the repositories for photographs I made between 2014 and 2021, photos of the car culture goings-on I witnessed in Miami — sights/sites encountered while in the car. That was the rule. Only what I saw from inside the car. Some images capture the crazy, others the kookie, others still the absurd, and others the abundant beauty — all right there, out the window.
Both a meditation and a manifesto, the project was, ultimately, a way to cope with new-to-me car culture, a ceaseless shock to my system after moving to Miami from Vancouver. Until Miami, the 6 other cities I’d lived in were designed to support walking, biking, and public transit (as well as cars), and those alternative modes of locomotion were my go-tos. I owned a car, but not always, and never for daily travel.
C•AR/T is available for purchase at Books & Books, in Coral Gables FL, and from their online store too.
C•AR/T evolved into a zine project in 2020 while I was working from home, as so many of us did during the pandemic — a change that yielded an additional 2 hours to my day (hours not spent commuting*). By 2021, when C•AR/T was completed, I was in Montreal, thinking back on all that time in the car.
The geographic distance gave C•AR/T a more pensive tone, and I created 4 sets of reflections under the banner NOTICED:
1.Commuting kills community
2.Commuting crushes connection
3.Commuting corrodes civility
4.Commuting cuts off corners
The geographic distance gave C•AR/T a more pensive tone, and I created 4 sets of reflections under the banner NOTICED:
1.Commuting kills community
2.Commuting crushes connection
3.Commuting corrodes civility
4.Commuting cuts off corners
* C•AR/T includes the calculation I did to add up how much driving I did as a commuter. I excluded driving for personal use, outings for events, errands and the like. At 2-hours/day multiplied by 48 weeks (deducting 4 commuting weeks for annual vacation), I spent 480 hours a year in my car: 12 weeks (calculated at a 40-hour work-week). Basically, 3 months a year was spent commuting. (I really love data.)
I have a lot of misgivings about the conclusions I drew in 2021. Not that C•AR/T’s observations are unwarranted or even wrong per se. It’s more a sense of melancholy. And loss. I love Miami. I return a lot. And when I’m there, I drive. A lot. And I really enjoy it.
Though, to cut myself some slack, I acknowledge some of the contradiction in C•AR/T’s epilogue, saying:
I gave up a lot when I left Miami. I gave up the grind of the daily drive, and I gave up a whole lot more. (But that’s another story for another time.) Related to driving though, there’s something I gave up that I miss every now and again. Driving was sometimes meditative. Driving slowly along smaller roads. Listening to music and podcasts alone. I listened and watched. I was focused on sight and sound. I didn’t speak. I was quiet. And I was still. I was sitting still. I wasn’t making anything. I wasn’t producing anything. There were times every now and again when it was really relaxing. But only every now and again.
That's still true.
Though, to cut myself some slack, I acknowledge some of the contradiction in C•AR/T’s epilogue, saying:
I gave up a lot when I left Miami. I gave up the grind of the daily drive, and I gave up a whole lot more. (But that’s another story for another time.) Related to driving though, there’s something I gave up that I miss every now and again. Driving was sometimes meditative. Driving slowly along smaller roads. Listening to music and podcasts alone. I listened and watched. I was focused on sight and sound. I didn’t speak. I was quiet. And I was still. I was sitting still. I wasn’t making anything. I wasn’t producing anything. There were times every now and again when it was really relaxing. But only every now and again.
That's still true.
C•AR/T is available for purchase at Books & Books, in Coral Gables FL, and from their online store too.