I BECAME CONVINCED there were diamonds nestled in a box in my closet. If not diamonds, then certainly amethyst or emeralds; something special. If I could only find them.
Ferriday, Louisiana, more or less across the street from Haney’s Big House, Polaroid SX-70 (all photos made sometime between 2020-22, I think). Down the street was a store with a sign trumpeting BABY CHICKEN + BEIGNETS as well as the title of this note to you.
The jewel I dreamed of was a photograph. I wasn’t quite sure when it was made, or really where I was at the time—but I knew it was in Arkansas, on a rainy night when I drove out of the Ozarks. I only had a few frames of film left when I saw the glimmers of neon coating a packed parking lot. I remembered being so excited I called my Pop to tell him about this place. Elvis ate here, I said, doesn’t it just look like the kind of place me and you would love.
Tellico Plains, Tennessee, at the foot of the Cherohala Skyway, Polaroid SX-70 (2020)
But I don’t always keep good track of the Polaroids I make; at best, after returning home, I sift them to A and B sides, and then scan the As. But sometimes things fall by the wayside—and the supposed Arkansas diamonds were lost.
Until yesterday. I was driving in the rain, listening to a record I loved in high school, and promised myself I would find them. When I got home I started digging; I knew the general strata, but wasn’t sure what there was sandwiched in the soil. Here are some of the rocks that tumbled out of the dirt.
Hueytown, Alabama, Polaroid SX-70, date unknown; this was one of the main video stores my family went to when I was in high school.
Hale County, Alabama, Polaroid 600, date unknown, in a thunderstorm at dusk
Election precinct, Hale County, Alabama, Polaroid 600, date unknown, about fifteen minutes later. To learn more about this building, just wander through this travelogue until the artist finds the Red Building.
Demopolis, Alabama, Polaroid SX-70 — clearly I was seeking something the past couple of years, or really rather learning something from a great teacher
Ducktown, Tennessee, Polaroid 600 (2020)
Sewanee, Tennessee, Polaroid SX-70 (2020)
Raymond, Mississippi, Polaroid 600, date unknown
Somewhere in the Mojave, location unknown, Polaroid SX-70 (2021)
Right after a frame of Los Lobos playing at Pappy & Harriet’s, I find them. Seven Polaroids made at night in Russellville, Arkansas, in the parking lot of the Old South Restaurant. It was the red neon that had lured me—FRIED CHICKEN and STEAKS & CHOPS beaming across the darkness.
But they weren’t diamonds. Maybe they weren’t even jewels. I spent two frames trying to make a photo of a reflection of the neon in a puddle in the asphalt. One of the black and white photos was jittery and off center, more Weegee than Friedlander. I had hoped to see the light glimmer back at me from that moment in time, but it was quiet.
Russellville, Arkansas, Polaroid SX-70, I think 2020 en route to Fayetteville
I was happier with some of the funny and strange and off-kilter photos I found while scraping towards this image. Once again, I became convinced that the point of making art isn’t what you’re trying to do—but the journey itself, and what you make along the way.
I want to go back, though, and try again is what the voice in my head says.
“CRAWFISH EGGROLLS” is this week’s installment of GORJUS, a newsletter devoted to art and life in the South on instant film. If you like it, consider sending it to a pal. Just like anything, some weeks are better than others. I’m gorjusjxn on Instagram, and you can see more Polaroids at McCartyPolaroids.
This one hits close to home! I took a photo of the same sign in Tellico Plains, on the drive home from Knoxville a few years back. And I know from experience that the red building is indeed the hardest Christenberry landmark to find. Except for maybe the house w/blue car near Akron, which I've never been able to locate, but I'm fairly sure that's because little (if any) of it remains.