Views From The Viaduct
Over, under, around and through
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 GARY SUTTO The heavy sweep of the Alaskan Way Viaduct carves into the sky along the Seattle waterfront in March 2005. The possibility that the viaduct might come down, by design, accident or act of nature, led photographer Gary Sutto to study what goes on around it.
GARY SUTTO Looking through the camera in the gathering darkness this past March, I was aware of a group of men heading to the south end of the viaduct. A stiff breeze rattled the plastic tags on a number of small post markers next to me. I knew what the rustling sound was, but all the same, it sounded like someone was approaching. As I made several photographs, I kept snapping my head around to see who might be coming up from behind. Just the wind was all.
GARY SUTTO I'd passed by this tent and thought it was empty. When I returned an hour later, however, this fellow stood up inside and began stretching his legs. His partner, visible on the left, was arranging some of their belongings.
GARY SUTTO Boxes barely wider than a coffin are sometimes used as sleeping chambers, as one of these was in March.
GARY SUTTO Inside, a sleeping box is lined with cardboard; discarded clothing lies in a heap. Weeks later, I found the inside of the boxes had been trashed with waste and apparently abandoned.
GARY SUTTO The shadows of passing traffic play on buildings near the viaduct on a late afternoon in November 2003. This photo and a video were the first studies I made of the span, and the beginning of the project that would become "In the Shadow of the Viaduct."
GARY SUTTO Quite often, I find people sleeping in makeshift shelters, but sometimes they're just out in the open, wherever.
GARY SUTTO In March I found this doll lying on the hard-packed dirt under the north end of the viaduct, piles of junk and worse not too far away. Her smile and green eyes really got to me. Where did she come from and why was she left here? Weeks later, I found the doll tossed into some blackberry bushes.
GARY SUTTO Things like this package, with a Bible zipped up, clean and dry, are also left behind. I've been asked if I arrange any of the things I find. I've not; they are photographed as found.
GARY SUTTO Campers parked under the viaduct were a common sight in March 2005. By 2006, most had been removed as work under the span continues.
GARY SUTTO I found these boots abandoned in April. A great deal of clothing and other personal property is left behind under the viaduct.
GARY SUTTO This bedding site, in the scooped out center of a soft mound of dirt, was at the north end of the viaduct last January. I usually start my walk here and have photographed the place often. The cardboard pad, sleeping bags and clothing remains have changed over time. |
We aren't from here, Susan and I. We are from away, at one time as far away as Portland, Maine. We are here now, though, and have been since 1984. Over the years and sometimes lately, when we've found a particularly nice spot in Seattle, we've caught ourselves saying to each other, "This is Our Town." Making a statement, validating our decision to stay.
Last fall we were looking for another particularly nice spot to confirm our decision, and I suggested we walk under the Alaskan Way Viaduct to our destination. I had been exploring around it, and I wanted to show Susan what kept attracting me to the place. Just into our walk a bit, Susan said she wouldn't choose to come down here again. The noise from the traffic is irritating, and not very conducive to conversation. I understood what she meant; it was not one of our particularly nice Seattle moments. However . . .
Under the viaduct, you hear a certain sound. A long, fizzing swish among the thumping of tires as they pound the gaps in the pavement overhead. It never fails to make me look up, to imagine what type of vehicle causes it.
On the viaduct, you see a sight like no other. When we lived on Capitol Hill, we'd pick up visiting friends at the airport and bring them to our place via the span's upper deck. Who wouldn't? What an introduction to the city.
Then there is what's around the viaduct. In November of 2003, I was walking under it, and the low afternoon sun was lighting up the surrounding buildings, in particular, three old brown-brick ones. I stood there, fascinated by the passing shadows of traffic up on the viaduct, then made a photograph and a few quick video studies. When I got home and looked at what I had captured, I thought I should spend more time to explore and photograph a bit further.
That was the beginning. And ever since, I've been drawn back, captivated by the size of the thing, its presence in the way it hides the sky, divides the city and, of course, carries on its business.
On these trips, I've noted the steel reinforcement bracing on the aging structure and have been reminded of the 2001 Nisqually earthquake and the damage it caused. It's possible the viaduct will come down, either through a planned demolition or, as some predict, from another, stronger earthquake. Documenting the viaduct as we know it might prove valuable to the city some day. So the project that began as my response to a single scene gained a larger purpose.
Now I return to the viaduct often, documenting its many dimensions, and the life within its reach.
Sometimes I never take my camera from its bag. Regardless, I always learn something more, see something new to look for on the next trip when the light might be better.
As I've worked, the images have settled into two general groups. The first are about the structure itself, describing the viaduct in relation to the changing city on either side of the busy highway. While I began with a sort of mental boundary based on the shadow the structure cast, I've recently given myself more room to include what's within earshot or what can be seen of it from neighboring streets. I think it deserves consideration from a bit of distance as well as from underneath.
The second group of photos concerns the life of the neighborhood. Some make their home here in a car or a camper or a makeshift tent; some with even less. All leave their marks.
My eye stops on an empty sleeping pad, cardboard "room dividers," remains of a small campfire, a tightly bundled package of something between two concrete supports. It looks as if the owner will return for it in a few minutes. The belongings are left unguarded, and seem untouched, as though there might be some unspoken trust between the owner and whoever passes by.
I've often seen the locals sleeping, dead to the world, or peacefully reading a book with that incessant din of traffic in their ears. I don't know how they do it day in and day out.
Recently I stopped to examine several boxes. The center one, slightly larger than a casket, was being used as a shelter. I looked in and saw blankets. Just then, it was pretty quiet overhead, a brief break in the traffic. I walked away, powdery earth swirling over my shoes, thinking about the dusty cardboard sleeping mats I find from one end of the viaduct to the other and the bits of personal debris left behind.
I couldn't help thinking that, overhead, someone was breezing into town, showing their guests that fabulous view of the city. Just like I've done.
Gary Sutto is a photographer and owner of Under The Light. He can be reached at gary@underthelight.com. Additional photography from the project, "In the Shadow of the Viaduct," can be viewed at www.seattleviaduct.com.
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