Matt Barnes’ History of Art — Chapter Two — Relocation

“Nomadic” is definitely a word that can be used to describe my childhood. We landed in Ohio in 1992. I was 13 when we moved here. 14 in the pic below. It was my 11th residence since birth in Oregon. It was an unforgettable education and something I would replicate in a heartbeat.

When we moved to Ohio we knew we would be here awhile. I graduated high school, enrolled in that State college, and in my senior year was on my merry way to becoming the next victim of debt enslavement and alcoholic liver disease when my parents told me they were moving to Colorado. I wasn’t phased. I was phased.

I think it may have been reason to assume my aloofness post graduation. I felt a level of responsibility thrust upon me I hadn’t prepared myself for and it made me selfishly resentful. I was slowly flipping through a slideshow on the couch sipping espresso one day when my Mom called and told me they were moving from Colorado to Tennessee and they needed my help to pack up their house and drive cross country with her on Thanksgiving Day. I obliged. Happily. It was 2 weeks of comfort and kinship that I had been longing for since before they left.

Before arriving by plane in Denver I tracked down the $247 owed to me by the shitty little deli owner who’d withheld it from me for 3 weeks. Had to knock on his door for over 30 minutes. He had some addiction and gambling issues. (I’ll definitely be writing more about that deli in the future.) I spent almost all of that paycheck on film and made sure to save just enough to have it all developed upon my return.

I’m not sure what I gained most from that visit. I remember taking a few moments for myself, breathing in the environment, connecting with the earth, and thinking of what to do next. Maybe I gained a deeper or repaired connection to my family. It was definitely a chance for me show up validated by a college education and spend time in the presence of the people I’ve tried to impress the most, post goal achievement. That felt kind of good. It was a finish line I promised myself and them that I would cross. No matter what. And I did it. It’s now worth a sum total of all the bottle caps at the bottom of my trashcan, but hey, principle is principle.

We finished everything up and loaded the truck on the day before Thanksgiving. My dad was already in Tennessee. So it was just my Mom and me. We woke up super early and took off. The roads were eerily empty. We spent the trip leisurely speeding East across I-70, laughing a lot and rehashing old jokes from my childhood. We spoke about religion and politics, of which I now had an opinion about. We spoke about love and commitment and this girl I kind of liked. We stopped off and visited family in St. Louis and stayed overnight before trekking the remaining distance. If I wanted to pull over for a photo or speed up alongside a glimmering semi-truck wheel my Mom would happily oblige. She was and has always been a great road companion. I think about that trip a lot. It was a nice chance to step out of my routine and reflect on my achievements while crafting my next steps. A completely necessary moment in my life.

This work is not a chronological documentation of my experience. Again, subjectlessness is my subject. Rather it’s an attempt at capturing the halo of the moment during that period in my life.

This is the first photo I took when I landed in Colorado. If you’re interested, here is the rest of the portfolio.