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.
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