The word "junkyard" never even entered my mind. From the moment I found out about it, until after I had taken all the photos, I always saw it as a car collection, in the most unfortunate and twisted sense.
How does this happen? The specificity of it — just one car, the maligned, misunderstood, fried-egg-headlamped Boxster — makes it such an unusual and jarring sight. Discarded, lined up in a row, and not-that-different-looking from the roadsters being sold in Porsche showrooms today. Where had they all come from? How does one 'fall into' this? Was he a classic Porsche purist collecting them out of spite? Had a train carrying Porsches derailed here in 1998?
The reality is somehow stranger and more improbable.
"I was sourcing brakes for my 911 SC project," John Wood told me, "and it was cheaper to buy a salvaged Boxster for its brakes than it would've been to buy them alone."
He sold more parts off it, and it proved to be a lucrative business (Woody's Parts LLC, if you're in the market).
"I ship 986 parts to people all over the country, overseas, everywhere." He told me he hopes to one day have "over a hundred" Boxsters on his land.
Shooting way-too-serious photos in a junkyard is something every art school student has done (or maybe that was just me?), but instead of emphasizing the destruction and the macabre, I wanted to shoot the cars as if they were still the shiny, expensive roadsters that once commanded $50,000 prices.
I knew the sunlight would be unpredictable, and the cars would be dirty from being left outdoors, but I still wanted to make them 'pop' and shine, as they had in their prime. By adding some harsh light, I hoped to bring out the luster and drama to their metallic finishes. I photographed them like I might do for any other sports car, seeking out their best angles, details, and lighting them to stand out.
With the wide shots, I wanted to convey the sheer quantity of cars. I framed it like a magazine group test photo, lit each car separately, and combined them all together afterward.
It was something I planned on, and I liked the end result, but in the moment, it took on new meaning: it felt like a symbolic gesture to give these neglected machines just a little bit of individual attention.
Fifteen years ago, their owners proudly took photos with each of the cars you see here – it was a measure of success and pride of ownership. I hope that by giving these discarded roadsters one last photo, they can have one more moment of dignity before they meet their end. They were the cars that saved Porsche, but they couldn't save themselves.
From: Road & Track
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