I pulled over for this shot because the whole scene hit exactly the things I’m drawn to — that weathered, half-collapsed fence in the foreground and the old grain elevator sitting out there like a relic from when this place was busier, louder, and more alive. I’ve always had a soft spot for grain elevators; they’re anchors in the landscape, part of the story of every small town they watch over. Seeing it paired with the broken fence was too much to ignore. The fence is worn out, barely holding itself together, and the elevator is fading too — but both still have a presence. That contrast of endurance and decay is what made me stop, get out, and make the image. It felt like Corral’s past laid out in two simple lines: what used to hold things in, and what used to hold things up.
I pulled over for this shot because the whole scene hit exactly the things I’m drawn to — that weathered, half-collapsed fence in the foreground and the old grain elevator sitting out there like a relic from when this place was busier, louder, and more alive. I’ve always had a soft spot for grain elevators; they’re anchors in the landscape, part of the story of every small town they watch over. Seeing it paired with the broken fence was too much to ignore. The fence is worn out, barely holding itself together, and the elevator is fading too — but both still have a presence. That contrast of endurance and decay is what made me stop, get out, and make the image. It felt like Corral’s past laid out in two simple lines: what used to hold things in, and what used to hold things up.