Drive

You can hear the breaking, the individual explosions that rocket these small candy coated capsules forward – slamming through asphalt doors, concrete tunnels - burning, breathing…purring and screaming with pleasure.

Mehr als genug

Hooked – driven by a lust for speed, solitude, and precision, domination and beauty.  

Boys...men - mostly...what are they?

I'm in a world I know nothing about yet it's apparent that the boys have grown and the first grade wiggle has turned into something much more serious and beautiful. They have made their distraction their focus, their art...their defiance and speed have become their gift.

Unspoken. Unheard.  Empty but for the cyborgs they become in that moment the helmets go on. The stakes are huge as they embrace their ironic gamble…

these cars, fawned over,  and meticulously attended to – are now sent hurtling towards the boundaries of their ability and the dusty edges of the track. 

Their sacrifices are also their indulgences – their indulgences their gift.

I think it's important to choose. I think they have - unlike some.

Indulgence, endurance, speed and ritual.

It would be wrong to condemn this obsession as purely self-serving.

Here, luxury meets functionality, danger and comfort are bedfellows. The attention to detail and the devotion to these conduits of human propulsion is a sweet passion, an art form and a gift as experience and witnessing become drive. 


I want more. I have not had enough.