While driving in downtown Willcox, I saw a small, old gas station that was converted into a hobby shop that’s been out-of-business some time now. The building was painted entirely white expect for a red and blue rocket ship painted vertically on the side of the building. I placed, photographed and documented #120 on a window sill not far from where the rocket ship was painted. An art piece alongside a rocket ship - “the sky is the limit.” Ooooooooh!
Saturday, December 31, 2011
Monday, December 19, 2011
I placed, photographed and documented #119 on an old rusty tractor I drive by often throughout the course of a day seeing patients.
Sunday, December 18, 2011
When I’m driving down Safford-Bryce Road I often go by a gravel road that goes to the top of a hill. At the top of the hill is Hubbard Cemetery. Curiosity got the better of me so I turned on to that road to check out this cemetery. One knows that they are out in the country when signs are used for target practice. The sign, “Hubbard Cemetery. Hours open 6:00am – 9:00pm.” was riddled with bullet holes.
I parked at the entrance and got out of my SUV. I decided to talk a walk through the cemetery since today’s summer sun was shaded by cumulus clouds anchored in the sky. A grave stone caught my attention. It read, “Mosiah Lyman Reed Hancock – April 9, 1854 – January 14, 1907 – Grandfather.” Now this was a guy who was around these them parts when the local Indian Wars were in progress. I placed, photographed and documented #118 next to his grave stone. So badly I wish he could somehow tell me his stories. However, for now, rest in peace.
Up and down the main drag of the city of Willcox is occupied by handful of motels that are now out of business. A few have been converted into low income housing. A tiny room to live in, however, it’s at the right price for someone’s budget. Every now and then I have to visit one of my patients in these cozy abodes that once were a refuse for couples having lurid affairs or perhaps a visitor to Rex Allen Days’ festivities.
I placed, photographed and documented #117 at was once the front door to the manager’s office. The quaint collection of white, cement- block cottages with stucco roofs were now a home to “art.” The new tenants consisted of one plastic cowboy and one plastic indian. They just checked in for a bit of tourism and adventure. “Welcome to Willcox – the home of singing cowboy Rex Allen.”