FORGOTTEN 41

by PRISCILLA WYATT

    Along the northern strip of Sarasota’s US Highway 41, otherwise known as the Tamiami Trail, are a neighborhood of motels. Their luminous neon signs are in a condition suggesting an overdue need for maintenance. However, they're still one-of-a-kind novelties, a nod to the past. These temporary homes to travelers have always had a distinct purpose. Ostensibly, it was to provide Florida commuters an affordable stay after a long highway trek. These glowing signs are often in contrast to the dingy, grim surroundings that accompany them. These buildings are juxtaposed to what we might encounter no more than a stone’s throw away at the nearby, high-end hotels. The nostalgic signage used by these unassuming businesses is a charming inheritance to the current owners of these establishments. 

     The structures are anything but pretentious, their colors picked from an antiquated palette of pastels. The landscaping is far from the pampered gardens you'd find at the local Ritz, just a few minutes down the road. Instead, their lawns tend to be unkempt like we notice near the sign of the Allamanda Motel. Come nighttime, its warm colors spill onto the splotchy yard. Light from the burning neon gas tints the exposed earth with a mysterious, deep orange. 

    As a visitor, these signs greet you with their big boxy shapes, held tall and high, informing us of a quaint Floridian heritage. They are singular and obvious. Presently, they stand more as landmarks and, frequently, objects of interest, echoing an art deco origin. The interior tubes of the Sea Breeze Inn wording are only partially lit. Its large viewable size assures you that, at one time, it was a beacon to fatigued passengers on US-41. It has since been uncleaned and forgotten. Stains created over the years have taken their toll, fostering the appearance of shadows and permanent grime against a pale surface.

    At dusk, the sky dons shades of lavender. These hues invite somberness, a natural result of paying close attention to the neglect. The photographs in this series descend from the magic hour into the darkest period of twilight. This passage of time represents the fortune of these once-welcoming places. The Sarasota sun has beat down on them through the fleeting years, illuminating their chlorinated blue pools and asphalt porches. Today, the neon signs still shine late into the evening, emphasizing details of a questionable fate.