A collection of photographs made with my Leica M8 rangefinder camera.
I used to walk past this stand of garages on my way into town. Like a visitor to elderly relatives, I'd look in on them with my camera. Some were really frail and worn out - they'd almost lived out their lives. Sometimes, the light would fall in such a way that I could make a picture.
Born into a post-war era of jazz and rock'n'roll, many of these prefabricated structures are now in their sixties and seventies - survivors from the early days of mass motoring. They were built to keep the delicate internal combustion motor cars of the 1950s and 60s. These objects of our dreams and desires required protection from the elements.
The lifespan of a garage appears to be similar to our own. They've outlived many generations of makes and models; the cars being short lived, like our pets. Over the years they've acquired layers of paint and personality - their doors unselfconsciously mimicking abstract paintings of the twentieth century. But these artworks aren't cherished, they won't last.
Skin over frame, shoulder to shoulder, encamped together, they wait; their peeling paint revealing the efforts of past owners to preserve. Unlike sheds, which are sometimes inhabited, these are places of temporary storage; their misshapen containment holding secrets, stories, and surprises.