The Train that Gave Me Power, Ringling Bros. and Barnum + Bailey Circus Train in Colorado Springs
Still life photography is one of those things that just doesn't happen often for me. My kiddos are generally always with me or I am elbow deep in schoolwork or tasks for my business. Sometimes though, sometimes I get to take the time to adventure and go beyond my comfort zone. Those are the times I live for. That is where the drive is.
In 2015, when I first moved to Colorado, I remember arriving in Colorado Springs. My path took me towards downtown under the Uintah bridge. I had just spent the last five years of my life on an isolated ranch in the middle of nowhere Nebraska and the sight of a giant shiny CIRCUS train stopped on the bridge was more than my brain could process. This stuff actually exists? I was in awe. Dumbstruck. I had to document this.
The next morning I got up at 5 am and journeyed down to the tracks where the train sat. Focusing on the details of the train, rather than the fact that it was a circus train, was the goal. To tell the story of the metal boxes. In 2016, when the circus and train came back to town, I revisited the metal beast again, this time with a fancy new camera in tow. I tried to take myself back to the day I moved to town. It worked, and something else happened in the process.
When I was photographing the train, I didn’t realize that the set of images created a statement within my soul. To me, they symbolize something beyond what I even knew when I was creating them. A new start. A fresh journey. Hope. Happiness. They mark the turning of a page and the strength of being on my own. I was a woman finally free. Free of the hands that bound me. Free to adventure in life without someone trying to derail your every move. I can do that just fine on my own, thanks. Everyone stumbles, but keeping someone in place just to do it just isn’t the same.
The circus and the circus train are no longer in service, and that's okay with me. I have this set of images that no one will ever be able to take away. I have a memory attached to the giant metal boxes. Boxes that pave the way for new life. Boxes that used to bring joy, town by town. Steadily moving towards a new destination. When I look at them, I do not just see a set of still-life images. I see my life. Renewed, healthy, and just like the train; moving forward. Inch by inch. As the heavy train starts to move, with it’s slow but steady pace, you think, will it ever get up to speed? Then, when it reaches its full power, the train becomes an arrow, difficult to stop without some force.
That is me. Moving forward with such gusto that it would be difficult for someone to stop me in my tracks.
I want to share with you the power of symbolic hope. The train that I captured created a sense of renewed power and drive for me. Trains are heavy, oh so heavy, but they are also powerful and full of might. Difficult to start but even more difficult to stop, I look to the train as my reminder that I too am like a locomotive. You can't stop me. Not without a fight.
