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“Seat Photography”


Crenshaw Plaza


Intersection, the 101 Downtown


Self-portrait, Sunset & Hyperion at dawn


(Just roaming for the moment)



I’ve begun to enjoy the driver’s seat as a handicap of sorts, a restriction on the potential for a composition, and it’s an interesting challenge to make decent shots from

(—these are all taken whilst parked, i’m not in motion and composing or anything—)

This has been the only photo series I’ve attempted in some time, as it still feels like an odd time to be documenting anything—with so many people growing up playing to a camera lens, it seems more logical to turn it away for a while. I’ve felt very at odds with the camera lately, except for when I’m driving around—it just seems to be a medium inappropriate for our current moment, perhaps because it is in some way at fault for it.

“The Routes We Wander”

coming up with names for my favorite driving / meditation routes. so far “the south carolina” and “batmobile.”

i’m in a strange creative spot where part of me wants to take this time and do some kind of grand task (that isn’t book-related) while waiting out the rest of the pandemic, and the other part of me is so infuriated / saddened at how the past 12 months have been living in this country that i want to contribute absolutely nothing to any concept of productivity out of spite to whatever metrics it throws off and so i end up tracing highways on google maps.

then i realize it doesn’t matter either way and shit gets real dark, so i go for one of these drives

“Evidence Of Past Damage”

“Shoulder To The Wheel”


The 405 exchange at Sunset

I love to drive. It calms me down, it helps me think, and it’s fun as hell. Since moving to Los Angeles, it’s been a substantial part of coping with the pandemic: whenever I need to just deal with shit going on in my head, I get in the car.

LA is built for people like me in this way, because there are so many great loops of road one can just rely on for a good ride. I’ve made a hobby on Saturday mornings of driving to Malibu via Sunset Boulevard—straight through Beverly Hills and Brentwood. While I usually make a point to avoid wealthy neighborhoods, when driving, you go where the best road is.

(I learned this in college, when my girlfriend lived in Connecticut while I was in New Hampshire. Driving to see her, I always knew which routes to take to get through western Massachusetts as quickly as possible, because its two-lane roads were full of potholes, whereas richest-state-in-the-nation Connecticut had four lanes and fresh paint on its roads in even the lesser-populated areas. The best roads are on the land where they keep all the gold.)

Beverly Hills

Driving through Beverly Hills

To drive as a hobby can be sometimes difficult to rationalize. The automobile has a complicated history in the United States, and directly allowed for the ‘white flight’ and suburban expansion to take place that re-instated the ongoing racial divide geographically & economically for another two generations. It directly impacts the willingness of public spending on transit, which thusly affects urban planning and the physical shape our society takes. Plus, the whole oil industry, carbon footprints, “Detroit,” etc., etc., etc.

It’s also one of those American conveniences that is a luxury everywhere else. I took a road trip with a friend in Croatia who hadn’t been able to afford the driving program and licensing fees until 29, and the process took her over a year after that to actually finish the exam and receive the card. That’s just a process nobody imagines in the States.

This is all why I try to appreciate the open road now, in the same way I sometimes taken an extra-long, extra-hot shower—in 50 years, chances are hot water for a shower will be a resource I may or may not be able to afford. Yes, sometimes it’s an indulgence, but I let myself off the hook for understanding that since nothing means anything anymore anyway.


Fishing along the PCH in Malibu

Driving is also a strange habit because car culture isn’t my scene at all. I am not a fan of how it’s represented (the Fast and Furious franchise is fun and all, but … I mean, come on), and I’d rather use a warehouse to host an art show than fix up a Mustang. It’s an odd feeling to feel something meaningful, but not having any way to relate to it other than the act itself—like if someone loved to play music, but not listen to it or watch it or wear the t-shirt of their favorite band. Or, even have a favorite band.

(Speaking of music & driving, I drive with the radio scanning until I hear a song that grabs my attention, & today this comes on, one about driving nonetheless, goddamn what a pop song…)

Nevertheless, as I attempt to stabilize the precarious balancing act I call a life in this absolutely batshit insane world, being in a car on an open road is kind of a wonderful feeling. Even, or perhaps especially, without a destination, the act is one that creates potential for inspiration. It’s kind of like the inverse of the internet: while online, one can follow various wormholes of links and videos, as focus is distracted from one thing to the next. In the car, your focus is just as engaged with real-world events, but the mind is inspired by them to think on its own—a much different process than sitting in front of a screen.

Plus you can sing sad-ass broken heart teenage pop songs and nobody gives a damn.


Colin Smith is an interdisciplinary artist & art director living & working in Los Angeles. His assembly-based work focuses on human nature and its relationship to media, language, time, and systems of control.

For more information, social links, as well as various writings on practice & theory, visit the about page.

To quickly get in touch, e-mail hello@.


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