Along a Path of Impermanence

My project A Path of Impermanence: life along a highway expansion had a very specific beginning. In October 2023, I read an article by Nathan Bernier reported for KUT, the National Public Radio member station in central Texas. The article is focused on a building that at the time stood adjacent to Interstate 35 in Austin — a structure that, since 1989, had housed offices for The Austin Chronicle newspaper. The building would soon be torn down, along with 100 other businesses and homes, to make way for the I-35 Capital Express Central Project, a multibillion-dollar widening of the main highway running through the city. The building was originally built in 1957 for the Elgin-Butler Brick Co., a business founded in 1873. In view of this historic status, Bernier’s article explains, the agency constructing the expansion, the Texas Department of Transportation, “agreed to document the structure before demolishing it. Experts will sketch floor plans and take photographs of each room. The documents will be handed to the Austin History Center.” ¹

My objective was to create a nuanced and accessible record of what would soon be destroyed.

I tried to imagine how these administrative photographs would be taken, with what type of equipment, and what degree of care. Would people also be photographed? Would they be interviewed? I imagined low-res photos of empty rooms hastily made with a phone; lifeless images failing to convey the spirit of the place or of the people who inhabited it. It was easy to assume that the other sites slated for destruction would not be acknowledged with even this tepid attempt at historical documentation.

I have lived in Austin for 20 years, and had frequented, or often driven by, many of the businesses subject to removal for the Capital Express Central Project. Mexican restaurants, a communal teahouse, a bilingual daycare center, an Ethiopian restaurant, a crystal-and-rock shop, a goth novelty store and hangout space, a strip club, a barbershop, and more. After reading the KUT article, I looked out especially for these establishments during my daily commutes, and noticed demolitions already starting to occur.

During times of rapid change to a physical and cultural landscape, we become more aware of the historical weight of the present. I realized that if I wanted to photograph these buildings and the people occupying them, I’d have to start immediately, before there was nothing left but rubble.

I realized that if I wanted to photograph these buildings and the people occupying them, I’d have to start immediately.

Soon after starting the project in spring 2024, I went to the Austin History Center to do archival research. I was already familiar with the discriminatory origins of I-35, which went through the city in the 1950s and ’60s, replacing East Avenue. Construction displaced homes and businesses, creating a physical barrier that separated downtown Austin from East Austin. In so doing, the highway reinforced a pattern of racial segregation that had been established in 1928 with the Koch & Fowler City Plan, under which Black residents were forced to move east of East Avenue; those who didn’t relocate from neighborhoods on the city’s west side had their utilities cut off.

My search turned up images documenting physical structures acquired by eminent domain, and images following the progress of I-35’s construction, along with newspaper clippings of ribbon cuttings once the highway was complete. The absence, in this visual record, of displaced people was pronounced. The question that loomed largest in my mind was this: where were the testimonies from and portraits of the very individuals who were enduring a profound change outside their control?

For six months, I photographed people, places, and landscapes along I-35 frontage roads in Austin, using a medium-format camera. Almost all the businesses affected were small, and situated on the east side, whereas larger establishments on the west side were untouched. My objective across the project was to create a nuanced and accessible record of what would soon be destroyed in its current form, and to ensure that this record included the perspectives of communities who have traditionally been neglected in many artistic and archival spaces. My process was both fluid and regimented; scheduled and organic. Because I live close to the locations, I was able to make the project part of my daily life. I shot more than 90 rolls of film.

I visited businesses, coming back several times to introduce myself and get to know the owners, employees, and patrons. Then I set up interviews. Opinions shared with me vary widely, and illustrate a broad range of emotions: confusion, fear, excitement, anger, hope. A few of the people photographed I happened to meet by chance, walking up and down the frontage road. Some of those whose portraits I made didn’t want to be interviewed, or because of a language barrier couldn’t enter into extended conversation.

During the months of my project and after its completion, businesses have been relocated, demolished, permanently closed, or stuck in limbo, unsure if they will be able to move, and if so where they will go. Two establishments, Escuelita del Alma and the West China Tea House, were designated “community impact businesses,” and each received a grant from TxDOT. As a result, they were able to buy their own buildings in which to relocate. They will not have to worry ever again about being forced to move. Others have not been so lucky. Most recently, Aster’s Ethiopian Restaurant, a beloved Austin establishment for over 30 years, quietly and permanently closed their doors. The proprietors had initially been told by TxDOT that their site would not be torn down. Then, at the beginning of October, Aster’s building, along with a vacant Rodeway Inn Motel, were gutted in a massive fire that is currently under investigation. ² As history continues to unfold, we witness how cycles of urban development and displacement lead often to powerlessness and loss, and occasionally, silver linings and success.

The process was both fluid and regimented; scheduled and organic. Because I live close to the locations, I was able to make the project part of my daily life.

In order to share the stories of these Austinites with a wider local audience, I produced a community event and exhibition at Future Front House, a nonprofit gallery in East Austin. ³ The show included archival images, interview quotes printed and presented next to the interviewees’ photographs, and site-specific artifacts selected by project participants. A restaurant menu, a purple amethyst, a cracked teapot, a brick from The Austin Chronicle building, a tampon box shaped like a coffin, and other meaningful items were displayed throughout the space. We held a Q&A panel with Rosa, Programs Manager at Preservation Austin, and small business owners Alma, of Escuelita del Alma, So-Han of West China Tea House, and Jay of Cafe Hornitos. Attendees had the opportunity to write down their own memories related to I-35, the businesses featured in the show, and Austin in general. A selection of these notes will be compiled into a zine, to be donated to the Austin History Center. My hope is that the zine, which will include all elements of the project, can become a reference for people who wish to enhance their understanding of this city’s complex and ever-evolving cultural story.