In the skies above Lompoc there is a pale fringe to the blue--a mixture of the microscopic skeletons (diatoms) that make up the white hills surrounding the valley, agricultural dust, and ocean moisture. Even on warm, clear days the air carries a reminder of the cold Pacific fog that is never far away--a solid calm wave that fills the valley, advancing and retreating with tidal regularity. It's a strangely isolated place. People come to Lompoc with purpose--it's not on the way to anywhere. The persistent and defining wind that blows into town from the ocean holds back warmer air--and, perhaps, tourists--pushing in from the east. Unusually wide streets lined with low-roofed 1950s and 1960s tract houses, funnel the wind through town. I grew up in Lompoc but haven't lived there for more than 30 years. With the perspective of time and absence, I"ve been revisiting the streets and alleys making photographs. My familiarity with this place and its imprint on my character has brought clarity of purpose--I know what I want to describe. I hope the images have relevance and resonance beyond the scope of one small city in California. Kam Jacoby 2009
East Airport Avenue, Lompoc
Lompoc Museum, South H Street, Lompoc
North K Street, Lompoc
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