Route 66 wasn’t built for someone like me. It was a string of civilized and curated experiences offering convenience and demanding money. Despite this, I spend a lot of time traveling and playing along it’s skeletal remains. Although it’s hey day was before my time, I find myself swept up by nostalgia belonging to someone else. The postmortem forensic tourism in the near ghost towns is beautiful and alluring.

Postmortem: Cotton Boll examines the ridiculousness of the place. Opened in 1960, the post card used was pushing nostalgia in 1970 when the interstate bypassed the town. By 1979 it was closed, but time and money were poured into restoration efforts until only the sign remained. Now, in 2026, this place has existed more than twice as long as a memory than as a reality. It’s the ghost of a promise.

Using my 2023 photos, I burned shadows into cradled wood panel then painted the remainder of the sign. Building ghosts were added via gel transfer of a 1970 photo chrome postcard. Blue skies and fluffy clouds were replaced by painted and paper like billboards waiting for new life.