The desert is dry, as deserts are. Sparsely populated by Native Americans in derelict little ranches.
At regular intervals we drive by green oases. Fenced communities keep out the riffraff. There, water seems to be abundant and lush vegetation hides most houses.
Between communities, the barren land has been prepared for development. It’s nice and flat, but there’s no activity yet. Just the street plan has been laid out. A many branched tree of cul-de-sacs stretches out in the distance. Little streets with a no-exit-roundabout at the end. Already you can see all the dead ends. Already you know that once the houses are built, you’ll never find your way out again.
When we arrive at Matt’s house at the end of yet another cul-de-sac, the family is waiting on the immaculately green front lawn. They are unusually slim and dressed predominately in white clothes and shoes. Her car is smaller than his car, but still bigger than mine. Toys are spread out on the grass. The garage holds an impressive collection of motorised garden equipment and sports gear. Matt’s Love For Ducks is materialised in a large collection of duck decoys and camouflaged floaters, umbrella’s and gun rests.
The house is tidy like the lawn. Tidy like the whole neighbourhood. A collection of remotes on the coffee table blabs of TV, electronic toys and games, sound system, massage chair and “curtain ’n candle” control. A TV in the right hand door of the double-door fridge silently shows Tell-Sell. The TV in the living room has about the same size as the entire fridge turned on its side. The kids, watching the Teletubbies, are engulfed by their almost life size friends.
The coffee table further boasts Sears, Ikea, Wallmart and LL Bean catalogues, along with a stack of hunting magazines. Rustic wooden bookshelves are full with DVD’s and video’s. Mainly baseball, Disney and more hunting.
A strange but familiar camouflage-like pattern stains the green grass of the back lawn. Where the dog relieves himself, the grass burns to a dry brown patch. Matt uses green spray-paint to colour the urine sores. Unfortunately it’s disappointingly darker than the natural grass.
The backyard rolls down to a waterway that meanders between the cul the sacs. The oldest sibbling insists on fishing. The small red fishing rod has a large bright red and white float and fairly heavy line. Matt takes a plastic wrapper from the tackle-box, bites it open, takes out a pink fluorescent worm and threads it on the hook. The girl tosses the bait in the water. The water is blue. Very blue. Actually, it is dyed blue by the real estate developers.
The water is also stocked with a very yellowy type of perch. So abundantly, that the water seems to come to a boil around the bait, still visible in the shallow blue waters off Cape Stickboy. One after the other the fish are hooked and landed. Reluctant to touch the animals, they are shaken off the hook with a quick flick of the wrist. The bait somehow remains on the hook, just as the odd upper lip.
“Look daddy, duck!”, titters the little girl, pointing to the far side of the pool. Matt looks over and makes a date with the bird and all its friends and migratory bird relatives for a little later in the year.
Then the photo session ends because Matt “needs to eat now”.
As I drive off I inevitably get lost in the dead-end-street maze, but find the desert in the end.
The desert is no longer Indian country.
It’s Cul de Sac country now.
These oddly shaped street layouts must be the latest human endeavour recognisable from space. In fact, it looks like a giant fractal of magnifying glasses, especially laid there to be able to study the strange species living below.
On the way back, large full colour billboards along the highway sell homes, cars, escort girls, pension plans, time shares and development sites. What you see is what you get. On the signs the grass is green and the water is blue. The houses are spread wide and the garages are triple. Cars can hardly be portrayed life-size on the massive billboards. Women are very richly endowed. The signs continue all the way back to Phoenix, covering a substantial part of the desert on the way.
Back in Amsterdam a patron drives by in his new Range Rover to discuss a portrait commission. I look up at him through the car window. He tells me about a long wall in their new house, that was especially designed and built to accomodate a painting I did some years ago. In the back seat his baby girl is dressed in white. During the photo shoot she is completely mesmerised by a shiny golden Japanese Fortune Cat, with its beckoning paw.
In the MediaMarkt brochure I’ve seen a nice flat screen TV. The upcoming earnings will cover that nicely thank you very much.
(foto: Morad Bouchakour)