I was driving through Thrall, Texas today and spotted a garden of dead cars on the side of the road. I had to film it.

The Garden Of Dead Cars is not some splashy experimental film. You may find it boring. I found it accidentally. I merely filmed what I saw. And what I saw was the shadows of leaves playing against rusted and decaying cars. It was a breezy day and the shadows were excited. What I also saw was the metal of the cars eroding and oxidizing and taking on the appearance of planet Earth viewed from deep space, hoods and door panels looking like continents adrift in massive oceans, jutting walls of monolithic desert mesas and craggy, desolate mountain ranges or topographical maps of lunar landscapes.

As I looked intently at what I was filming, I realized that even the automobile has a body that is organic and that the elements will work upon that body until a Chevrolet or Ford becomes dirt, mineral and dust. All highways lead to the all-forgiving cunt of Earth to be ground into some essential molecular construct that will generate new forms, new life. In the extreme long run, not even cars die. Carma.

The video’s audio is what was going on around me: wind, birds, and the occasional sound of a car or motorcycle revving its engine, calling out to their dead brothers.

In these images I see our past but also our future.