Sorting through old photographs, I came across these strange, creepy beauties I’d taken maybe 10 years ago. They’re from an abandoned putt-putt golf course in Austin off of Pleasant Valley, a few blocks from where I used to live. I’d fallen in so much love with the sad little decomposing forgotten bastion of another generation’s happiness that I’d weaved it heavily into the plot/imagery of the most recent issue of Why I’m Not An Artist. Apparently, you can actually visit this place currently without tresspassing (which is probably what I was doing back then), but it looks like they painted over everything so it probably doesn’t hold the same charm.
You can see more pics of the same place here.
Rani Baker Digs You. 
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