The day was introduced with a dusty barren desert road stretching for miles ahead, sunrays glazing my arm hanging out of the driver-side car window; sunburned slightly–a light breeze disarrayed her hair, yet a slight smile stretched her face in delight of the sun. Desert dust coated the interior of the car, as we proceed down the open road.
Upon our horizon, there it appears–the Salton Sea stretched to infinity, lifeless, presenting with its idiosyncratic story. Here we were coasting at 238 feet below sea level.
Her red cowboy boots against the dry desert bed were that of a desert dream, as we make our first roadside stop: "Stop here quick! And take a picture"
Shortly after, we approach a promising road sign ahead: "Welcome To Bombay Beach". I signal right and proceed.
Here laid a town nestled along the coastline of the Salton Sea, resting in a haunting post-apocalyptic setting, a town to our surprise housed 231current residents–the art seen along each gridlocked street brought life to the decay of Bombay Beach. Trailer homes dismantled one by one, walls stacked like fallen dominos from the environmental harsh conditions; graffitied walls showcased these lots in such beauty however, and what would be seen as trash by most was made into art by the locals living there. Every bit of the decay was formed into beautiful, unparalleled art–a true sight for sore eyes.
Roaming the town's beachfront was an experience straight out of Burning Man.
From her red boots and white shorts to Jesus sandals with socks and denim overalls–one had to do their part to come off like one of the locals.
Okay, so as a traveling photographer and urban explorer, I have been to some completely off-the-wall places believe me, but nothing–and I repeat, nothing–could prepare me for the experience I was about to embark in: Slab City, Welcome.
This place has been on my radar for years, when having come across destination spots such as Salvation Mountain and East Jesus. Now, although having an idea of what to expect, there was no imagining a place like this even existed.
Pocketed so deeply down south, desolated in its own little pocket away from any sense of normal civilization lied Slab City. I tend to not fear much, but I couldn't help but feel a little uneasy being here–she carried a nervous grin as we slowly inched down the unpaved road, passing meth-lab motorhome after meth-lab motorhome. Not a single sign of life could be seen. Oddly silent. A local gift shop was a motorhome-converted-shop, with recycled-tent canopies and make-shift walls made from used cardboard, ropes, and half-broken pallets. A wooden hand-painted sign read "open". I teased to her "Let's check it out?". She responded with a "Hell no".
The road continues, and Salvation Mountain presented itself in the distance.
"God Is Love"–yet in an odd sense, it was truly hard for me to believe this place was anywhere close to God. Or paradoxically, maybe these locals had just found the key to embodying God.
Meth-head Tom might've tried convincing me he was the new-aged Messiah.
Here now stood a place curated by a past-local named Leonard Knight, a place erected as a mountain of salvation for the area, but one question remained: Why here, and for what reason?
Upon quick research, apparently Knight had one agenda after allowing Jesus into his soul years ago: to share the sinner's prayer. One could believe this was Knights calling, to erect the mountain with such intention. As for placement, one may speculate he was placed in Slab City to influence and spiritually transcend such a community? Regardless, a beautifully atmospheric installation.
* * *
We had met a local named Dot, at her eccentric House of Dots. To most, this place could be rather overstimulating–a dramatic collection of deteriorating motorhomes, trailers, piled junk, curated into a maze of themed-experiences. As a rather creative individual myself, it was intriguing tapping into her mental while moving through each different experience. The one that stood out the most was a trailer themed "death": animal bones in cases, taxidermy pets, a fridge that canned animal fetuses, more bones, and a stench that had me gagging even for moments after closing the fridge door. What caught my eye, and what truly placed me in her shoes while she had been curated this trailer, was a frame resembling a bathroom mirror with a skeleton peering into the eyes of what I took as her human form–this installation, as I interpreted it, was her roaming the dead realm. How absolutely trippy.
Upon exiting, Dot gave us the one explanation to the question I was dying to have answered: Why would anyone want to live here? "This is the last free place, where we get fed for free, live freely, away from systems that conform us, and get to make shit like this."
Right next door was yet another place resembling the gift shop we had passed earlier. "Thrift Shop", with another handed painted wooden sign that read "open". The only thing that resembled anything like a shop was the trailer in the center of the lot that resembled Walter White's trailer in Breaking Bad. "Don't you dare stop" she said, as we continued onward.
To my expectation, our experience down to the Salton Sea delivered a truly one-of-a-kind experience. To our surprise however, it left both her and I completely speechless, in awe, transported to a place of another world, where desolation is beauty, where trash is treasure, where artists strive amongst each other and within the art they create to keep such a place on the map.
Salton Sea, California
–238 feet below sea level