A vacant lot, tractor trailer, and some seemingly vacant buildings. A pale blue sky that isn’t sure it’s winter or spring. A lonely tilted light pole sits amidst the pastel hues. “Relationship equipped,” reads the trailer.
March 26, 2022
Avenue One
Avenue One is a new development in West Omaha that promises to cover 50 square blocks of old farmland with a variety of housing and commercial space. Signs advertising this new development adorn trailers along Dodge near 192nd Street atop its eventual home. A girl the size of a billboard seems to be broadcasting the possibilities. Bring your new family to a new home.
The signs got me thinking. Who will inhabit these new converted farmlands on the edge of town? Who are the intended residents? Who won’t be living here? And further: What does the loss of farmland—which was prairie before that—mean? What does it mean that existing homes in the older core of Omaha are decaying while we build new ones further out?
With the addition of this photo, I’m also retiring the old working title for my Omaha work Omaha Gothic. It never really fit. For now, I’m renaming this series Facades.
March 19, 2022
Two concrete barriers guard a hole in the road beside a factory in Fremont, NE.
March 13, 2022
The old industrial yards off I480 south of Leavenworth have always caught my attention, so I decided to finally check them out. I didn’t find anything anything extraordinary, but these two photographs are possible additions to Omaha Gothic.
June 18, 2021
This remains one of my favorite photos from my time in Omaha. I can’t quite pinpoint why, but here are some ramshackle thoughts. I’ve always been drawn to isolated objects and this definitely one: an old lone truck in a vacant lot. I like how the whole scene frames the truck with some mirroring that doesn’t quite match up. The trees sort of mirror the building; the cement kinda mirrors the sky. The no parking sign sort of mirrors the City View sign in the background. And in the middle of it all, an off-kilter parked pickup.
This is one of those photos that will probably always bother me. I’ve never quite been happy with the post-processing. Is it too blue? Too orange? I’ve hit my head against the wall and at some point you just have to give up. This one’s going in Omaha Gothic.
February 20, 2022
Union, NE. A little village not far from southern Omaha. A little Airbnb that’s also an junk shop brought us to the town: a lovely stay! This image caught me as we strolled around.
December 19, 2021
Exploring the outskirts of a re-purposed grocery store in south Omaha. These are new additions to Omaha Gothic.
Ode to Sad Disco
Mid February in Fremont, Nebraska. A place that has ghosts. If you believe in that sort of thing, anyway.
This group of photos is for Mark Lanegan, who passed away as I was working on these images. Fremont looks like his voice sounds. A baritone that is full of years. Many of them hard. Yet there’s a triumph in his darkest lyrics and melodies that will haunt me forever in the best of ways. Here’s to you, Mr. Lanegan. “Here I have seen the light.” Indeed.
“One morning, you are going to wake up in a different world.”
It’s hard to find words for the last week. It’s been a roller coaster ride of horror and sheer awe of the courage of the people of Ukraine. My heart goes out to Ukrainians and the protestors on the streets of Russia.
The title of this post comes from the song “Folly” from Sea Power’s new album Everything Was Forever, which has been resonating with me this week.
![Chalk written on a concrete wall that reads "Save [depiction of Ukrainian flag] from Putin." Purple, yellow, and red flowers sit underneath on the sidewalk.](https://i0.wp.com/sbiessel.com/wp-content/uploads/2022/02/dsc2581.jpg?resize=880%2C880&ssl=1)
February 6, 2022
This old railroad (?) building has caught my eye on several occasions on walks in the downtown Omaha area. I think I managed to finally catch the late afternoon light right. That tilted telephone pole in the middle both annoys me and kind of makes the image. I think this is a new addition to Omaha Gothic.
