Randsburg isn’t a place you end up by accident—we missed inconspicuous turnoffs twice. The defunct mining town (aka living ghost town) was actually bustling on a Friday afternoon, revivified as a hub for off-roaders. This form of recreation was completely off my radar, so it was interesting to see who does it—mostly ruddied families wearing plastic gladiator gear—and to notice the number of parks and trails available (we saw more dune buggies from our hike into the Owens Peak Wilderness).
I found the town gorgeous and curious. I couldn’t really tell which businesses were open or closed, which houses were lived in and which were abandoned (my explorations were curtailed by my dog). There were shiny new cars and No Trespassing signs. I felt nosy. Most of all I admired the art with which the townspeople had arranged their gardens, their storefronts, their trash, their past—
The bricoleur, says Levi-Strauss, is someone who uses ‘the means at hand,’ that is, the instruments he finds at his disposition around him, those which are already there … not hesitating to change them whenever it appears necessary, or to try several of them at once, even if their form and their origin are heterogenous… If one calls bricolage the necessity of borrowing one’s concepts from the text of a heritage which is more or less coherent or ruined, it must be said that every discourse is bricoleur. —Jacques Derrida
Randsburg photos 1, 2, 3, 4