The stretch is north of here, where for months an empty house sat on a raised bed on a gravel lot next to the freeway. The lot was otherwise full of boats. The nice, vaguely Colonial-style white house with black trim had its back to the boats, as if the freeway was its front yard.
A couple of weeks ago I drove by, and even though the house is gone, I still saw it there. This is one of the magics of photographs—the way they pop up like memories grafted onto a place, even though you experienced them in the photograph before you experienced them in the place.
Satushek, a fairly young Seattle artist, is particularly good at turning your attention to how weird the world already is—that house, just staring at the freeway—and that it's weird without being mythical or mystical or maybe even meaningful. Just: this is the place we live now.