OK, those are mostly just depressing, and the reason they were painted is too. And in “cafe pub,” he got the moon reversed — top to bottom reversed if he was looking East at dawn; left to right reversed if he was looking West at sunset. Maybe he was trying to say Steubeville is in some never-never land.
The bridge leaving … that looks a little familiar.
I perceive that Mr. Miller has found some some artfulness in the weathered, worn industrial landscapes, but I agree — kinda grim. The church and its attendant art are quite nice, though — I hope there’s still a flock … And I see you’re still DUI, Mikey (Driving Und Imaging … ).
That church was open and contained beautiful stained glass windows, but there were people seated in pews and lined up for confession, so I beat one of those hasty retreats.
I spent part of my childhood in St. Clairsville, OH. I can attest to the sad beauty. We lived in a brand new cookie cutter housing development as my father was a branch manager for Burroughs (one of the first computer companies), but one street over were trailer parks and a very run down VFW where all the locals who were layed off from the steel plants would hang. In the distance you could always hear the drone and clang of the strip mining machinery. The beauty came from the Blue Ridge Mountains and the many, many lakes doting the countryside.
I wish I’d known before hand; I would’ve taken pictures of your old home. There’s an awful beaten-down feel to that area, especially around the houses closest to the power plants, which are big enough to swallow small cities.
But just think how disappointed she’d have been if you’d promised to visit her old neighborhood but then decided without even telling her that you’d take another way back.
OK, those are mostly just depressing, and the reason they were painted is too. And in “cafe pub,” he got the moon reversed — top to bottom reversed if he was looking East at dawn; left to right reversed if he was looking West at sunset. Maybe he was trying to say Steubeville is in some never-never land.
The bridge leaving … that looks a little familiar.
I perceive that Mr. Miller has found some some artfulness in the weathered, worn industrial landscapes, but I agree — kinda grim. The church and its attendant art are quite nice, though — I hope there’s still a flock … And I see you’re still DUI, Mikey (Driving Und Imaging … ).
That church was open and contained beautiful stained glass windows, but there were people seated in pews and lined up for confession, so I beat one of those hasty retreats.
I spent part of my childhood in St. Clairsville, OH. I can attest to the sad beauty. We lived in a brand new cookie cutter housing development as my father was a branch manager for Burroughs (one of the first computer companies), but one street over were trailer parks and a very run down VFW where all the locals who were layed off from the steel plants would hang. In the distance you could always hear the drone and clang of the strip mining machinery. The beauty came from the Blue Ridge Mountains and the many, many lakes doting the countryside.
I wish I’d known before hand; I would’ve taken pictures of your old home. There’s an awful beaten-down feel to that area, especially around the houses closest to the power plants, which are big enough to swallow small cities.
But just think how disappointed she’d have been if you’d promised to visit her old neighborhood but then decided without even telling her that you’d take another way back.