I used to collect Matchbox cars as a kid, finely detailed die-cast metal frames with spinning wheels - I still have them all. They brought me countless hours of joy as a child not because of what they were physically, but because of the rich imagination needed to power them. Photographs now have that same effect on me. They allow my imagination to return back to my parent's living room floor, with a matchbox car in each hand, mustering my best vocal impression of screeching tires and police sirens, and once again becoming lost in a world without rules or boundaries.
Matchbox (2017)
by Jack Simpson
Napa, California
Edition of 20
Oxygen-rich blue skies contrast against phosphoric reds and sulfuric yellows. The upward slope of the car frame mimics the same trajectory used to strike matches. Below the red line that bisects the image, we sense the potential for speed, friction, and heat. As our eyes move downward, the frame quickly consumes its fuel, cascading into charred black. The scorched shadows offer nothing to hold our attention, so we drift upward, past the splintered street light, and into the clouds like smoke from a discarded match.
