Project By: Ashley Pennington
Eugene, OR West 11th T
he bike ride from Franklin Boulevard to West 11th Avenue takes approximately twenty-five minutes. I was chasing the sun, fleeing the comfort of my quiet apartment on the East-Side, for the rainy, abrasive and tacky strip-mall haven that is West Eugene. By the time I broke through the Presidential District and arrived at my destination, darkness had fallen on the city. This is West 11th Avenue after the sun has fallen. Welcome to Eugene’s Suburban Sprawl. Welcome to West 11th.
A
s I pulled over onto the sidewalk to get out my camera I looked up briefly. I found myself overwhelmed with the amount of copy brutally staring me down in every direction. They were giants of needless information, looming over me and my bike.
All of a sudden, I felt very small.
Traveling down the Avenue, I am overwhelmed
They Came for Money, they left with our liberty.
S
ignage dwarfs pedestrians as they make their way down the sidewalk. Asian resaurants proclaim the quality of their hamburgers and convience stores ensure that they’ll take your money, no matter the form. There are plenty of opportunties to play the lottery at almost every block. Need to throw away your hard-earned cash? Do it here! Do it now!
B e ac ons of l i g ht g ui de o u r c o n s u m e r c u l t u r e .
Neon and flourescent boxes float in the air.
room, Vroo m, Vroom? room? room, Vroo
little light of mine, I’m gonna let i ..”
This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it s
Welcome to West 11th Avenue’s Crowning Glory
Welcome to Mecca
As
I found my journey coming to an end, I couldn’t help but think about how much West 11th reminded me of my home. The same businesses, stores and restaurants line the busy stretch of Highway 99W that runs through my hometown. I mounted my bike and sped down the sidewalk in search of an opportunity to find a quieter street. I took a left on 12th and realized that my mind had been working in overdrive. I had been constantly looking around in order to keep track of any potential danger. I took a deep breath and finished my ride home. I was happy to return to the slightly less overwhelming comfort of my East Eugene apartment.
Several
days later I returned to West 11th Avenue. I was in dire need of groceries and decided that the Winco off of Berger was the best place to go. I traveled down the street in my car and realized that all of the glowing signs I had thought were inexplicably large, seemed reasonably sized from the perspective of my four-door sedan. I was still repulsed by what I saw. But I now had an strange appreciation for the signage that flew by my window. Where do you draw the line between advertisement and art? Can anything be art? I don’t think so. However it is strange that these signs command a certain amount of consideration and respect. We all have become conditioned to this visual pollution enough to find it odd when it is missing. We are used to being constantly barraged by images and stimuli. Most people react negatively to this idea, yet every town and every city has a stretch of busy road like this. Is there really such a need for so many strip-malls and fast-food joints?