Page 5 - Demo

ForewordWhile looking at some of the images you%u2019re about to see in John Bower%u2019s youngest book, 2nd Stories: A Hoosier photographer explores what%u2019s upstairs, on top, and overhead, I was reminded of a time when I was videotaping rural settings in southern Indiana. The audio guy and I had spent the previous day feasting our eyes, and camera, on a veritable farm dinner-table heaped with rustic barns settled amidst picturesque fields and pastures%u2014enough to satisfy a big, hard-working family, and even the Parson, should he happen by.But come Breakfast time, early next morning, my visual taste buds were hankering for a scene that was a little different. So we jostled off, along old asphalt back roads, then bounced onto the dusty roar of gravel. The production van rumbled around a few more snaky curves and then%u2014Behold! Patiently waiting all these years. Growing, changing. Often overlooked and, eventually, forgotten. But now, simply perfect, as the early morning sun crept toward those few brief moments photographers graciously call the %u201cmagic hour.%u201d A special span of time, when the sun is a most friendly and loving source of illumination.I gazed in glee at our discovery, and it was a good one, just on the other side of a rusty farm fence that had probably spent the last 20 years in retirement. No farm building was in sight, but we had passed one, maybe a tenth-of-a-mile back. If someone didn%u2019t want us around, they%u2019d let us know. We got our gear and headed toward a most scrumptious find.As we videotaped, on this gorgeous late summer morning, we soon heard the steady putt-putt of a tractor engine drawing near. A moment later, it rounded a curve and rolled into view. The farmer at the wheel looked like he had just steered that tractor right off the cover of Farm Bureau Magazine. He was sporting comfortable blue coveralls, and a cap that proudly proclaimed the superiority of a particular brand of seed. His gaze was aged with furrows of experience.He didn%u2019t mind we were there, but he certainly was puzzled. Why were we so interested in his old forgotten trash heap of abandoned cars and farm machinery?I tried to explain. The heritage and the metaphor. The goals and the dreams%u2014both real and forgotten%u2014that this big ol%u2019 heap of rusting metal symbolized.He removed his hat and scratched his head%u2014a clear sign of impending prophesy in these parts. A rural sage, he proceeded%u2026%u201cSeems to me there%u2019s just lots purt%u2019yer things to be takin%u2019 pictures of. But suit yerselves. Jess be careful.%u201d Then he settled back, put the tractor back into gear, and disappeared around the next bend.I imagine John Bower has had similar experiences in his travels%u2014folks rubbing their chins in contemplation,