Wandering through a carnival in the process of being set up, I stumbled upon the familiar sight of little race cars, getting ready to spin endlessly in their neon-lit track—going nowhere, yet carrying memories in their loops. The chrome gleam of the ‘76’ gas logo catches flickering reflection of another tiny vehicle, a nostalgic beacon of roadside Americana. Behind it, a miniature red Corvette sits poised, frozen in time, its glossy curves promising the thrill of the open road within the confines of its small, circular world. The scene is both charming and bittersweet—a reminder that sometimes, the joy isn't in the destination, but in the ride itself.
- Sherry Ross
- 76
- Photography
- 24 x 24 x 1 in
Wandering through a carnival in the process of being set up, I stumbled upon the familiar sight of little race cars, getting ready to spin endlessly in their neon-lit track—going nowhere, yet carrying memories in their loops. The chrome gleam of the ‘76’ gas logo catches flickering reflection of another tiny vehicle, a nostalgic beacon of roadside Americana. Behind it, a miniature red Corvette sits poised, frozen in time, its glossy curves promising the thrill of the open road within the confines of its small, circular world. The scene is both charming and bittersweet—a reminder that sometimes, the joy isn't in the destination, but in the ride itself.
- Subject Matter: car
