I grew up in a world where rust was dreaded. Rust meant the wind at your feet as the bottom of the car was falling out. It was a Subaru where all that was between you and the road was some grungy car mats. Living West gave me a different appreciation of rust. It’s the objects slowly, very slowly disintegrating in the desert. Rust is cold war ghosts in national park land. Reminding us that we’ve managed to reclaim some military bases for more peaceful purposes. I take a lot of photographs for future art projects, and I always photograph rust.