NEAR WORTHINGTON, MINNESOTA - I-90 Open year-round, Interstate 90 in Minnesota is 276 miles and traverses the southern side of the state, parallel to the Minnesota-Iowa state line. The route connects the cities of Worthington, Albert Lea, and Austin.  Near Worthington, Minn., Oil on Canvas, 20 x 42 inches, 2013 * * * Nate Burbeck is a State Guide to Minnesota and an At-Large Guide to the Midwest. he curates a few regionally-themed art tumblrs — beyond 9th avenue (Northeastern artists), fly over art (Midwestern artists) and in the new frontier (Western artists) and has himself been named one of “Ten Artists to Watch in 2013” on the Walker Art Center’s mnartists blog. Follow Nate’s work on Tumblr at nburbeck.tumblr.com or on his website.
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NEAR WORTHINGTON, MINNESOTA - I-90 Open year-round, Interstate 90 in Minnesota is 276 miles and traverses the southern side of the state, parallel to the Minnesota-Iowa state line. The route connects the cities of Worthington, Albert Lea, and Austin.  Near Worthington, Minn., Oil on Canvas, 20 x 42 inches, 2013 * * * Nate Burbeck is a State Guide to Minnesota and an At-Large Guide to the Midwest. he curates a few regionally-themed art tumblrs — beyond 9th avenue (Northeastern artists), fly over art (Midwestern artists) and in the new frontier (Western artists) and has himself been named one of “Ten Artists to Watch in 2013” on the Walker Art Center’s mnartists blog. Follow Nate’s work on Tumblr at nburbeck.tumblr.com or on his website.
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NEAR WORTHINGTON, MINNESOTA - I-90 Open year-round, Interstate 90 in Minnesota is 276 miles and traverses the southern side of the state, parallel to the Minnesota-Iowa state line. The route connects the cities of Worthington, Albert Lea, and Austin.  Near Worthington, Minn., Oil on Canvas, 20 x 42 inches, 2013 * * * Nate Burbeck is a State Guide to Minnesota and an At-Large Guide to the Midwest. he curates a few regionally-themed art tumblrs — beyond 9th avenue (Northeastern artists), fly over art (Midwestern artists) and in the new frontier (Western artists) and has himself been named one of “Ten Artists to Watch in 2013” on the Walker Art Center’s mnartists blog. Follow Nate’s work on Tumblr at nburbeck.tumblr.com or on his website.
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NEAR WORTHINGTON, MINNESOTA - I-90 Open year-round, Interstate 90 in Minnesota is 276 miles and traverses the southern side of the state, parallel to the Minnesota-Iowa state line. The route connects the cities of Worthington, Albert Lea, and Austin.  Near Worthington, Minn., Oil on Canvas, 20 x 42 inches, 2013 * * * Nate Burbeck is a State Guide to Minnesota and an At-Large Guide to the Midwest. he curates a few regionally-themed art tumblrs — beyond 9th avenue (Northeastern artists), fly over art (Midwestern artists) and in the new frontier (Western artists) and has himself been named one of “Ten Artists to Watch in 2013” on the Walker Art Center’s mnartists blog. Follow Nate’s work on Tumblr at nburbeck.tumblr.com or on his website.
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NEAR WORTHINGTON, MINNESOTA - I-90 Open year-round, Interstate 90 in Minnesota is 276 miles and traverses the southern side of the state, parallel to the Minnesota-Iowa state line. The route connects the cities of Worthington, Albert Lea, and Austin.  Near Worthington, Minn., Oil on Canvas, 20 x 42 inches, 2013 * * * Nate Burbeck is a State Guide to Minnesota and an At-Large Guide to the Midwest. he curates a few regionally-themed art tumblrs — beyond 9th avenue (Northeastern artists), fly over art (Midwestern artists) and in the new frontier (Western artists) and has himself been named one of “Ten Artists to Watch in 2013” on the Walker Art Center’s mnartists blog. Follow Nate’s work on Tumblr at nburbeck.tumblr.com or on his website.
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NEAR WORTHINGTON, MINNESOTA - I-90 Open year-round, Interstate 90 in Minnesota is 276 miles and traverses the southern side of the state, parallel to the Minnesota-Iowa state line. The route connects the cities of Worthington, Albert Lea, and Austin.  Near Worthington, Minn., Oil on Canvas, 20 x 42 inches, 2013 * * * Nate Burbeck is a State Guide to Minnesota and an At-Large Guide to the Midwest. he curates a few regionally-themed art tumblrs — beyond 9th avenue (Northeastern artists), fly over art (Midwestern artists) and in the new frontier (Western artists) and has himself been named one of “Ten Artists to Watch in 2013” on the Walker Art Center’s mnartists blog. Follow Nate’s work on Tumblr at nburbeck.tumblr.com or on his website.
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NEAR WORTHINGTON, MINNESOTA - I-90 Open year-round, Interstate 90 in Minnesota is 276 miles and traverses the southern side of the state, parallel to the Minnesota-Iowa state line. The route connects the cities of Worthington, Albert Lea, and Austin.  Near Worthington, Minn., Oil on Canvas, 20 x 42 inches, 2013 * * * Nate Burbeck is a State Guide to Minnesota and an At-Large Guide to the Midwest. he curates a few regionally-themed art tumblrs — beyond 9th avenue (Northeastern artists), fly over art (Midwestern artists) and in the new frontier (Western artists) and has himself been named one of “Ten Artists to Watch in 2013” on the Walker Art Center’s mnartists blog. Follow Nate’s work on Tumblr at nburbeck.tumblr.com or on his website.
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NEAR WORTHINGTON, MINNESOTA - I-90 Open year-round, Interstate 90 in Minnesota is 276 miles and traverses the southern side of the state, parallel to the Minnesota-Iowa state line. The route connects the cities of Worthington, Albert Lea, and Austin.  Near Worthington, Minn., Oil on Canvas, 20 x 42 inches, 2013 * * * Nate Burbeck is a State Guide to Minnesota and an At-Large Guide to the Midwest. he curates a few regionally-themed art tumblrs — beyond 9th avenue (Northeastern artists), fly over art (Midwestern artists) and in the new frontier (Western artists) and has himself been named one of “Ten Artists to Watch in 2013” on the Walker Art Center’s mnartists blog. Follow Nate’s work on Tumblr at nburbeck.tumblr.com or on his website.
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NEAR WORTHINGTON, MINNESOTA - I-90

Open year-round, Interstate 90 in Minnesota is 276 miles and traverses the southern side of the state, parallel to the Minnesota-Iowa state line. The route connects the cities of Worthington, Albert Lea, and Austin. 

Near Worthington, Minn., Oil on Canvas, 20 x 42 inches, 2013

* * *

Nate Burbeck is a State Guide to Minnesota and an At-Large Guide to the Midwest. he curates a few regionally-themed art tumblrs — beyond 9th avenue (Northeastern artists), fly over art (Midwestern artists) and in the new frontier (Western artists) and has himself been named one of “Ten Artists to Watch in 2013” on the Walker Art Center’s mnartists blog. Follow Nate’s work on Tumblr at nburbeck.tumblr.com or on his website.

TEN PIN JESUS - SAINT PAUL, MINNESOTA There’s a friendly reminder when you walk into the St. Francis Bowling Center in Saint Paul, Minn., players are asked to “be courteous and respectful to other players by using appropriate, Christian behavior.” That’s because this is a church basement bowling alley.   Once common across the Midwest and parts of the Northeast, there are less than 200 church bowling lanes left in America today. German immigrants started building these holy alleys in the 1860s as meeting places and moral refuges for wholesome, after-quitting-time fun (i.e. to keep family breadwinners from blowing their paychecks at the bar). Most started closing down in the 1980s and ’90s. But, you might be glad to know, some of the church lanes that are left now sell beer. * * * Tom McNamara is the co-editor of THE AMERICAN GUIDE.
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TEN PIN JESUS - SAINT PAUL, MINNESOTA There’s a friendly reminder when you walk into the St. Francis Bowling Center in Saint Paul, Minn., players are asked to “be courteous and respectful to other players by using appropriate, Christian behavior.” That’s because this is a church basement bowling alley.   Once common across the Midwest and parts of the Northeast, there are less than 200 church bowling lanes left in America today. German immigrants started building these holy alleys in the 1860s as meeting places and moral refuges for wholesome, after-quitting-time fun (i.e. to keep family breadwinners from blowing their paychecks at the bar). Most started closing down in the 1980s and ’90s. But, you might be glad to know, some of the church lanes that are left now sell beer. * * * Tom McNamara is the co-editor of THE AMERICAN GUIDE.
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TEN PIN JESUS - SAINT PAUL, MINNESOTA There’s a friendly reminder when you walk into the St. Francis Bowling Center in Saint Paul, Minn., players are asked to “be courteous and respectful to other players by using appropriate, Christian behavior.” That’s because this is a church basement bowling alley.   Once common across the Midwest and parts of the Northeast, there are less than 200 church bowling lanes left in America today. German immigrants started building these holy alleys in the 1860s as meeting places and moral refuges for wholesome, after-quitting-time fun (i.e. to keep family breadwinners from blowing their paychecks at the bar). Most started closing down in the 1980s and ’90s. But, you might be glad to know, some of the church lanes that are left now sell beer. * * * Tom McNamara is the co-editor of THE AMERICAN GUIDE.
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TEN PIN JESUS - SAINT PAUL, MINNESOTA There’s a friendly reminder when you walk into the St. Francis Bowling Center in Saint Paul, Minn., players are asked to “be courteous and respectful to other players by using appropriate, Christian behavior.” That’s because this is a church basement bowling alley.   Once common across the Midwest and parts of the Northeast, there are less than 200 church bowling lanes left in America today. German immigrants started building these holy alleys in the 1860s as meeting places and moral refuges for wholesome, after-quitting-time fun (i.e. to keep family breadwinners from blowing their paychecks at the bar). Most started closing down in the 1980s and ’90s. But, you might be glad to know, some of the church lanes that are left now sell beer. * * * Tom McNamara is the co-editor of THE AMERICAN GUIDE.
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TEN PIN JESUS - SAINT PAUL, MINNESOTA There’s a friendly reminder when you walk into the St. Francis Bowling Center in Saint Paul, Minn., players are asked to “be courteous and respectful to other players by using appropriate, Christian behavior.” That’s because this is a church basement bowling alley.   Once common across the Midwest and parts of the Northeast, there are less than 200 church bowling lanes left in America today. German immigrants started building these holy alleys in the 1860s as meeting places and moral refuges for wholesome, after-quitting-time fun (i.e. to keep family breadwinners from blowing their paychecks at the bar). Most started closing down in the 1980s and ’90s. But, you might be glad to know, some of the church lanes that are left now sell beer. * * * Tom McNamara is the co-editor of THE AMERICAN GUIDE.
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TEN PIN JESUS - SAINT PAUL, MINNESOTA There’s a friendly reminder when you walk into the St. Francis Bowling Center in Saint Paul, Minn., players are asked to “be courteous and respectful to other players by using appropriate, Christian behavior.” That’s because this is a church basement bowling alley.   Once common across the Midwest and parts of the Northeast, there are less than 200 church bowling lanes left in America today. German immigrants started building these holy alleys in the 1860s as meeting places and moral refuges for wholesome, after-quitting-time fun (i.e. to keep family breadwinners from blowing their paychecks at the bar). Most started closing down in the 1980s and ’90s. But, you might be glad to know, some of the church lanes that are left now sell beer. * * * Tom McNamara is the co-editor of THE AMERICAN GUIDE.
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TEN PIN JESUS - SAINT PAUL, MINNESOTA

There’s a friendly reminder when you walk into the St. Francis Bowling Center in Saint Paul, Minn., players are asked to “be courteous and respectful to other players by using appropriate, Christian behavior.”

That’s because this is a church basement bowling alley.  

Once common across the Midwest and parts of the Northeast, there are less than 200 church bowling lanes left in America today. German immigrants started building these holy alleys in the 1860s as meeting places and moral refuges for wholesome, after-quitting-time fun (i.e. to keep family breadwinners from blowing their paychecks at the bar).

Most started closing down in the 1980s and ’90s. But, you might be glad to know, some of the church lanes that are left now sell beer.

* * *

Tom McNamara is the co-editor of THE AMERICAN GUIDE.

STEARNS COUNTY, MINNESOTA ST. CLOUD (alt. 1,032; pop. 21,000), on the Mississippi River, which forms the eastern boundary of Stearns County, is the county seat and trade center for a large agricultural area that extends in all directions…In other parts of the country, St. Cloud’s importance rests on its numerous quarries, the stones of which have been used since the 1870’s by builders and architects throughout the United States for many of their most noteworthy structures. — Minnesota, A State Guide (WPA, 1938) Artist and Guide to Minnesota Nate Burbeck scouts around the country, shooting panoramic images to use as the basis of his paintings. Yesterday, we posted part one of his dispatch — the photos from his latest reconnoiter. Today, Nate provides images of the process and results: Stearns County, Minn., Oil on Canvas, 24x50 inches, 2013. * * * Nate Burbeck is a State Guide to Minnesota and an At-Large Guide to the Midwest. He curates a few regionally-themed art tumblrs — beyond 9th avenue (Northeastern artists), fly over art (Midwestern artists) and in the new frontier (Western artists) and has himself been named one of “Ten Artists to Watch in 2013” on the Walker Art Center’s mnartists blog. Follow Nate’s work on Tumblr at nburbeck.tumblr.com or on his website.
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STEARNS COUNTY, MINNESOTA ST. CLOUD (alt. 1,032; pop. 21,000), on the Mississippi River, which forms the eastern boundary of Stearns County, is the county seat and trade center for a large agricultural area that extends in all directions…In other parts of the country, St. Cloud’s importance rests on its numerous quarries, the stones of which have been used since the 1870’s by builders and architects throughout the United States for many of their most noteworthy structures. — Minnesota, A State Guide (WPA, 1938) Artist and Guide to Minnesota Nate Burbeck scouts around the country, shooting panoramic images to use as the basis of his paintings. Yesterday, we posted part one of his dispatch — the photos from his latest reconnoiter. Today, Nate provides images of the process and results: Stearns County, Minn., Oil on Canvas, 24x50 inches, 2013. * * * Nate Burbeck is a State Guide to Minnesota and an At-Large Guide to the Midwest. He curates a few regionally-themed art tumblrs — beyond 9th avenue (Northeastern artists), fly over art (Midwestern artists) and in the new frontier (Western artists) and has himself been named one of “Ten Artists to Watch in 2013” on the Walker Art Center’s mnartists blog. Follow Nate’s work on Tumblr at nburbeck.tumblr.com or on his website.
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STEARNS COUNTY, MINNESOTA ST. CLOUD (alt. 1,032; pop. 21,000), on the Mississippi River, which forms the eastern boundary of Stearns County, is the county seat and trade center for a large agricultural area that extends in all directions…In other parts of the country, St. Cloud’s importance rests on its numerous quarries, the stones of which have been used since the 1870’s by builders and architects throughout the United States for many of their most noteworthy structures. — Minnesota, A State Guide (WPA, 1938) Artist and Guide to Minnesota Nate Burbeck scouts around the country, shooting panoramic images to use as the basis of his paintings. Yesterday, we posted part one of his dispatch — the photos from his latest reconnoiter. Today, Nate provides images of the process and results: Stearns County, Minn., Oil on Canvas, 24x50 inches, 2013. * * * Nate Burbeck is a State Guide to Minnesota and an At-Large Guide to the Midwest. He curates a few regionally-themed art tumblrs — beyond 9th avenue (Northeastern artists), fly over art (Midwestern artists) and in the new frontier (Western artists) and has himself been named one of “Ten Artists to Watch in 2013” on the Walker Art Center’s mnartists blog. Follow Nate’s work on Tumblr at nburbeck.tumblr.com or on his website.
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STEARNS COUNTY, MINNESOTA

ST. CLOUD (alt. 1,032; pop. 21,000), on the Mississippi River, which forms the eastern boundary of Stearns County, is the county seat and trade center for a large agricultural area that extends in all directions…In other parts of the country, St. Cloud’s importance rests on its numerous quarries, the stones of which have been used since the 1870’s by builders and architects throughout the United States for many of their most noteworthy structures.

— Minnesota, A State Guide (WPA, 1938)

Artist and Guide to Minnesota Nate Burbeck scouts around the country, shooting panoramic images to use as the basis of his paintings. Yesterday, we posted part one of his dispatch — the photos from his latest reconnoiter. Today, Nate provides images of the process and results:

Stearns County, Minn., Oil on Canvas, 24x50 inches, 2013.

* * *

Nate Burbeck is a State Guide to Minnesota and an At-Large Guide to the Midwest. He curates a few regionally-themed art tumblrs — beyond 9th avenue (Northeastern artists), fly over art (Midwestern artists) and in the new frontier (Western artists) and has himself been named one of “Ten Artists to Watch in 2013” on the Walker Art Center’s mnartists blog. Follow Nate’s work on Tumblr at nburbeck.tumblr.com or on his website.

WHITE BEAR LAKE / STEARNS COUNTY, MINNESOTA WHITE BEAR LAKE, 142.9 m. (941 alt., 2,600 pop.), is a resort town favored by St. Paulites. Indians believed that the lake, whose shores are lined with summer homes, was haunted by the spirit of a white bear, slain by a brave as it was about to attack his beloved. — Minnesota, A State Guide (WPA, 1938) Artist and Guide to Minnesota Nate Burbeck scouts around the country, shooting panoramic images to use as the basis of his paintings. We’ll be bringing you another post with the results of this expedition, but for now, part one of his dispatch: The first cluster of photos I took was in White Bear Lake, Minn., a northern, “inner-ring” suburb of St. Paul that I suppose I would categorize as older (post-War housing boom), with maybe even slightly blue-collar type of neighborhoods — at least when compared to some of the further out, newer exurbs I’ve photographed before.  A few weeks later I drove up I-94 to Stearns County, Minn., to take pictures of a small cluster of houses just outside the St. Joseph/St. Cloud area. This part of Central Minnesota (and Stearns County in particular) is considered by many to be one of the more politically conservative areas in the state. I even saw a yellow “Don’t Tread on Me” flag flying on a pole in one of the neighboring yards (not pictured here). Though still mostly rural, the area’s been steadily growing as more people have flocked to commuter towns spilling out of the Twin Cities Metro. The housing sites I photographed here worked very well and thankfully the weather was nice and gloomy — just what I was hoping for. It’s a lot more open than the more established suburb of White Bear Lake, and the house/backyard I ended up using for my painting is right next to unused wooded areas and small-scale farmland that surrounds it. * * * Nate Burbeck is a State Guide to Minnesota and an At-Large Guide to the Midwest. he curates a few regionally-themed art tumblrs — beyond 9th avenue (Northeastern artists), fly over art (Midwestern artists) and in the new frontier (Western artists) and has himself been named one of “Ten Artists to Watch in 2013” on the Walker Art Center’s mnartists blog. Follow Nate’s work on Tumblr at nburbeck.tumblr.com or on his website.
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WHITE BEAR LAKE / STEARNS COUNTY, MINNESOTA WHITE BEAR LAKE, 142.9 m. (941 alt., 2,600 pop.), is a resort town favored by St. Paulites. Indians believed that the lake, whose shores are lined with summer homes, was haunted by the spirit of a white bear, slain by a brave as it was about to attack his beloved. — Minnesota, A State Guide (WPA, 1938) Artist and Guide to Minnesota Nate Burbeck scouts around the country, shooting panoramic images to use as the basis of his paintings. We’ll be bringing you another post with the results of this expedition, but for now, part one of his dispatch: The first cluster of photos I took was in White Bear Lake, Minn., a northern, “inner-ring” suburb of St. Paul that I suppose I would categorize as older (post-War housing boom), with maybe even slightly blue-collar type of neighborhoods — at least when compared to some of the further out, newer exurbs I’ve photographed before.  A few weeks later I drove up I-94 to Stearns County, Minn., to take pictures of a small cluster of houses just outside the St. Joseph/St. Cloud area. This part of Central Minnesota (and Stearns County in particular) is considered by many to be one of the more politically conservative areas in the state. I even saw a yellow “Don’t Tread on Me” flag flying on a pole in one of the neighboring yards (not pictured here). Though still mostly rural, the area’s been steadily growing as more people have flocked to commuter towns spilling out of the Twin Cities Metro. The housing sites I photographed here worked very well and thankfully the weather was nice and gloomy — just what I was hoping for. It’s a lot more open than the more established suburb of White Bear Lake, and the house/backyard I ended up using for my painting is right next to unused wooded areas and small-scale farmland that surrounds it. * * * Nate Burbeck is a State Guide to Minnesota and an At-Large Guide to the Midwest. he curates a few regionally-themed art tumblrs — beyond 9th avenue (Northeastern artists), fly over art (Midwestern artists) and in the new frontier (Western artists) and has himself been named one of “Ten Artists to Watch in 2013” on the Walker Art Center’s mnartists blog. Follow Nate’s work on Tumblr at nburbeck.tumblr.com or on his website.
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WHITE BEAR LAKE / STEARNS COUNTY, MINNESOTA WHITE BEAR LAKE, 142.9 m. (941 alt., 2,600 pop.), is a resort town favored by St. Paulites. Indians believed that the lake, whose shores are lined with summer homes, was haunted by the spirit of a white bear, slain by a brave as it was about to attack his beloved. — Minnesota, A State Guide (WPA, 1938) Artist and Guide to Minnesota Nate Burbeck scouts around the country, shooting panoramic images to use as the basis of his paintings. We’ll be bringing you another post with the results of this expedition, but for now, part one of his dispatch: The first cluster of photos I took was in White Bear Lake, Minn., a northern, “inner-ring” suburb of St. Paul that I suppose I would categorize as older (post-War housing boom), with maybe even slightly blue-collar type of neighborhoods — at least when compared to some of the further out, newer exurbs I’ve photographed before.  A few weeks later I drove up I-94 to Stearns County, Minn., to take pictures of a small cluster of houses just outside the St. Joseph/St. Cloud area. This part of Central Minnesota (and Stearns County in particular) is considered by many to be one of the more politically conservative areas in the state. I even saw a yellow “Don’t Tread on Me” flag flying on a pole in one of the neighboring yards (not pictured here). Though still mostly rural, the area’s been steadily growing as more people have flocked to commuter towns spilling out of the Twin Cities Metro. The housing sites I photographed here worked very well and thankfully the weather was nice and gloomy — just what I was hoping for. It’s a lot more open than the more established suburb of White Bear Lake, and the house/backyard I ended up using for my painting is right next to unused wooded areas and small-scale farmland that surrounds it. * * * Nate Burbeck is a State Guide to Minnesota and an At-Large Guide to the Midwest. he curates a few regionally-themed art tumblrs — beyond 9th avenue (Northeastern artists), fly over art (Midwestern artists) and in the new frontier (Western artists) and has himself been named one of “Ten Artists to Watch in 2013” on the Walker Art Center’s mnartists blog. Follow Nate’s work on Tumblr at nburbeck.tumblr.com or on his website.
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WHITE BEAR LAKE / STEARNS COUNTY, MINNESOTA WHITE BEAR LAKE, 142.9 m. (941 alt., 2,600 pop.), is a resort town favored by St. Paulites. Indians believed that the lake, whose shores are lined with summer homes, was haunted by the spirit of a white bear, slain by a brave as it was about to attack his beloved. — Minnesota, A State Guide (WPA, 1938) Artist and Guide to Minnesota Nate Burbeck scouts around the country, shooting panoramic images to use as the basis of his paintings. We’ll be bringing you another post with the results of this expedition, but for now, part one of his dispatch: The first cluster of photos I took was in White Bear Lake, Minn., a northern, “inner-ring” suburb of St. Paul that I suppose I would categorize as older (post-War housing boom), with maybe even slightly blue-collar type of neighborhoods — at least when compared to some of the further out, newer exurbs I’ve photographed before.  A few weeks later I drove up I-94 to Stearns County, Minn., to take pictures of a small cluster of houses just outside the St. Joseph/St. Cloud area. This part of Central Minnesota (and Stearns County in particular) is considered by many to be one of the more politically conservative areas in the state. I even saw a yellow “Don’t Tread on Me” flag flying on a pole in one of the neighboring yards (not pictured here). Though still mostly rural, the area’s been steadily growing as more people have flocked to commuter towns spilling out of the Twin Cities Metro. The housing sites I photographed here worked very well and thankfully the weather was nice and gloomy — just what I was hoping for. It’s a lot more open than the more established suburb of White Bear Lake, and the house/backyard I ended up using for my painting is right next to unused wooded areas and small-scale farmland that surrounds it. * * * Nate Burbeck is a State Guide to Minnesota and an At-Large Guide to the Midwest. he curates a few regionally-themed art tumblrs — beyond 9th avenue (Northeastern artists), fly over art (Midwestern artists) and in the new frontier (Western artists) and has himself been named one of “Ten Artists to Watch in 2013” on the Walker Art Center’s mnartists blog. Follow Nate’s work on Tumblr at nburbeck.tumblr.com or on his website.
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WHITE BEAR LAKE / STEARNS COUNTY, MINNESOTA WHITE BEAR LAKE, 142.9 m. (941 alt., 2,600 pop.), is a resort town favored by St. Paulites. Indians believed that the lake, whose shores are lined with summer homes, was haunted by the spirit of a white bear, slain by a brave as it was about to attack his beloved. — Minnesota, A State Guide (WPA, 1938) Artist and Guide to Minnesota Nate Burbeck scouts around the country, shooting panoramic images to use as the basis of his paintings. We’ll be bringing you another post with the results of this expedition, but for now, part one of his dispatch: The first cluster of photos I took was in White Bear Lake, Minn., a northern, “inner-ring” suburb of St. Paul that I suppose I would categorize as older (post-War housing boom), with maybe even slightly blue-collar type of neighborhoods — at least when compared to some of the further out, newer exurbs I’ve photographed before.  A few weeks later I drove up I-94 to Stearns County, Minn., to take pictures of a small cluster of houses just outside the St. Joseph/St. Cloud area. This part of Central Minnesota (and Stearns County in particular) is considered by many to be one of the more politically conservative areas in the state. I even saw a yellow “Don’t Tread on Me” flag flying on a pole in one of the neighboring yards (not pictured here). Though still mostly rural, the area’s been steadily growing as more people have flocked to commuter towns spilling out of the Twin Cities Metro. The housing sites I photographed here worked very well and thankfully the weather was nice and gloomy — just what I was hoping for. It’s a lot more open than the more established suburb of White Bear Lake, and the house/backyard I ended up using for my painting is right next to unused wooded areas and small-scale farmland that surrounds it. * * * Nate Burbeck is a State Guide to Minnesota and an At-Large Guide to the Midwest. he curates a few regionally-themed art tumblrs — beyond 9th avenue (Northeastern artists), fly over art (Midwestern artists) and in the new frontier (Western artists) and has himself been named one of “Ten Artists to Watch in 2013” on the Walker Art Center’s mnartists blog. Follow Nate’s work on Tumblr at nburbeck.tumblr.com or on his website.
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WHITE BEAR LAKE / STEARNS COUNTY, MINNESOTA

WHITE BEAR LAKE, 142.9 m. (941 alt., 2,600 pop.), is a resort town favored by St. Paulites. Indians believed that the lake, whose shores are lined with summer homes, was haunted by the spirit of a white bear, slain by a brave as it was about to attack his beloved.

— Minnesota, A State Guide (WPA, 1938)

Artist and Guide to Minnesota Nate Burbeck scouts around the country, shooting panoramic images to use as the basis of his paintings. We’ll be bringing you another post with the results of this expedition, but for now, part one of his dispatch:

The first cluster of photos I took was in White Bear Lake, Minn., a northern, “inner-ring” suburb of St. Paul that I suppose I would categorize as older (post-War housing boom), with maybe even slightly blue-collar type of neighborhoods — at least when compared to some of the further out, newer exurbs I’ve photographed before. 

A few weeks later I drove up I-94 to Stearns County, Minn., to take pictures of a small cluster of houses just outside the St. Joseph/St. Cloud area. This part of Central Minnesota (and Stearns County in particular) is considered by many to be one of the more politically conservative areas in the state. I even saw a yellow “Don’t Tread on Me” flag flying on a pole in one of the neighboring yards (not pictured here). Though still mostly rural, the area’s been steadily growing as more people have flocked to commuter towns spilling out of the Twin Cities Metro. The housing sites I photographed here worked very well and thankfully the weather was nice and gloomy — just what I was hoping for. It’s a lot more open than the more established suburb of White Bear Lake, and the house/backyard I ended up using for my painting is right next to unused wooded areas and small-scale farmland that surrounds it.

* * *

Nate Burbeck is a State Guide to Minnesota and an At-Large Guide to the Midwest. he curates a few regionally-themed art tumblrs — beyond 9th avenue (Northeastern artists), fly over art (Midwestern artists) and in the new frontier (Western artists) and has himself been named one of “Ten Artists to Watch in 2013” on the Walker Art Center’s mnartists blog. Follow Nate’s work on Tumblr at nburbeck.tumblr.com or on his website.

Post offices in Philip, South Dakota and Balaton, Minnesota, documented as a part of Mary Rothlisberger’s very cool photography project, GOD BLESS THE USPS. In Rothlisberger’s words, the project seeks to appreciate, evidence, celebrate and archive the post offices of the United States with careful attention to rural and small-town communities. … SAVE THE ECONOMY, SEND MORE LETTERS. Follow GOD BLESS THE USPS on Tumblr and check out Rothlisberger’s website for more great work.  (h/t cabin-time)
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Post offices in Philip, South Dakota and Balaton, Minnesota, documented as a part of Mary Rothlisberger’s very cool photography project, GOD BLESS THE USPS. In Rothlisberger’s words, the project seeks to appreciate, evidence, celebrate and archive the post offices of the United States with careful attention to rural and small-town communities. … SAVE THE ECONOMY, SEND MORE LETTERS. Follow GOD BLESS THE USPS on Tumblr and check out Rothlisberger’s website for more great work.  (h/t cabin-time)
Zoom

Post offices in Philip, South Dakota and Balaton, Minnesota, documented as a part of Mary Rothlisberger’s very cool photography project, GOD BLESS THE USPS.

In Rothlisberger’s words, the project

seeks to appreciate, evidence, celebrate and archive the post offices of the United States with careful attention to rural and small-town communities. … SAVE THE ECONOMY, SEND MORE LETTERS.

Follow GOD BLESS THE USPS on Tumblr and check out Rothlisberger’s website for more great work. 

(h/t cabin-time)

Nate Burbeck from Minneapolis, Minnesota, travels the country taking panoramic landscape photos he uses as the basis for his paintings. Here’s a series of #AmericanGuideWeek dispatches (L to R, top to bottom): Lakeville, Minnesota American Decadence (Codington Co., South Dakota) Shakopee, Minnesota Culberson, Texas Sighting Near Scipio, Utah For more of Nate’s wide open skies and hints of the surreal, follow him on Tumblr and check out his website. Nate also curates a couple of very cool regionally-themed art tumblrs — beyond9thavenue (northeastern artists) and flyoverart (art from the midwest).
Zoom Info
Nate Burbeck from Minneapolis, Minnesota, travels the country taking panoramic landscape photos he uses as the basis for his paintings. Here’s a series of #AmericanGuideWeek dispatches (L to R, top to bottom): Lakeville, Minnesota American Decadence (Codington Co., South Dakota) Shakopee, Minnesota Culberson, Texas Sighting Near Scipio, Utah For more of Nate’s wide open skies and hints of the surreal, follow him on Tumblr and check out his website. Nate also curates a couple of very cool regionally-themed art tumblrs — beyond9thavenue (northeastern artists) and flyoverart (art from the midwest).
Zoom Info
Nate Burbeck from Minneapolis, Minnesota, travels the country taking panoramic landscape photos he uses as the basis for his paintings. Here’s a series of #AmericanGuideWeek dispatches (L to R, top to bottom): Lakeville, Minnesota American Decadence (Codington Co., South Dakota) Shakopee, Minnesota Culberson, Texas Sighting Near Scipio, Utah For more of Nate’s wide open skies and hints of the surreal, follow him on Tumblr and check out his website. Nate also curates a couple of very cool regionally-themed art tumblrs — beyond9thavenue (northeastern artists) and flyoverart (art from the midwest).
Zoom Info
Nate Burbeck from Minneapolis, Minnesota, travels the country taking panoramic landscape photos he uses as the basis for his paintings. Here’s a series of #AmericanGuideWeek dispatches (L to R, top to bottom): Lakeville, Minnesota American Decadence (Codington Co., South Dakota) Shakopee, Minnesota Culberson, Texas Sighting Near Scipio, Utah For more of Nate’s wide open skies and hints of the surreal, follow him on Tumblr and check out his website. Nate also curates a couple of very cool regionally-themed art tumblrs — beyond9thavenue (northeastern artists) and flyoverart (art from the midwest).
Zoom Info
Nate Burbeck from Minneapolis, Minnesota, travels the country taking panoramic landscape photos he uses as the basis for his paintings. Here’s a series of #AmericanGuideWeek dispatches (L to R, top to bottom): Lakeville, Minnesota American Decadence (Codington Co., South Dakota) Shakopee, Minnesota Culberson, Texas Sighting Near Scipio, Utah For more of Nate’s wide open skies and hints of the surreal, follow him on Tumblr and check out his website. Nate also curates a couple of very cool regionally-themed art tumblrs — beyond9thavenue (northeastern artists) and flyoverart (art from the midwest).
Zoom Info

Nate Burbeck from Minneapolis, Minnesota, travels the country taking panoramic landscape photos he uses as the basis for his paintings. Here’s a series of #AmericanGuideWeek dispatches (L to R, top to bottom):

Lakeville, Minnesota

American Decadence (Codington Co., South Dakota)

Shakopee, Minnesota

Culberson, Texas

Sighting Near Scipio, Utah

For more of Nate’s wide open skies and hints of the surreal, follow him on Tumblr and check out his website. Nate also curates a couple of very cool regionally-themed art tumblrs — beyond9thavenue (northeastern artists) and flyoverart (art from the midwest).

MIDWESTERN  In August 2010, artist and musician Tom Cops travelled around the American Midwest for three weeks with his band, supporting the acclaimed Minnesotan blues musician Charlie Parr. During the tour, Tom attempted to photograph everyone he met, and places they passed through, looking for odd details in the landscape. Here’s Tom’s dispatch for #AmericanGuideWeek. A note to the reader: Tom is from Bristol, England—a stranger in a strange land: Touring with a band is a weird way to experience a place. It’s weirder still when you’re also a photographer because everything becomes a somewhat intense task trying to capture that place in the time you have between getting into town, soundchecking, eating dinner and the sun setting. In 2010 my band played in Grand Forks and Fargo in North Dakota (with an ill-advised drive to Minnesota in between). At Grand Forks we played outside at the Museum of Art, next to the train tracks. As we played, trains rumbled past and we witnessed our first taste of what we later dubbed the “Midwestern Pocket Dance” (hands in pockets and an enthusiastic shuffle of the feet, almost like line dancing on your own). We met a lot of nice people that night, and I photographed many (although lost those films somewhere in Wyoming) before returning to our far-too-posh hotel. The hotel was massive and from our room on the eleventh floor we could see over the whole town; it was totally flat. I felt dislocated from the place though; this was our first show and we were jet lagged. Fargo was very different. We arrived as the sun was setting and as a classic car parade lumbered through town. We had a baby with us, so took turns in between sets pushing her through the streets in her pram. The whole place was quite surreal and felt like Hill Valley in Back to the Future. We met Jimmy who had been coming to shows by Charlie Parr, who we were touring with, for years. He bought all of our records and chatted for ages, sitting with us while Charlie played. We instantly felt like we belonged in the place, like we were with friends. We ended up signing loads of records for people, something that almost never happens (why would it?) and staying out far past the end of the show. We stayed in a weird motel that night, the kind that in movies people die in, and headed towards Montana the next day. We coincided our tour with some kind of huge motorbike festival (which may or may not have something to do with a festival of eating testicles, Charlie was unclear on the details). We had planned to stay near a national park, but every motel we tried was full. We ended up in Beach, a tiny town right on the border with Montana. There was no beach in the town, and I’m assuming never was, but the sky opened out above us spreading amazing light over everything. Charlie said you’d only ever stay there if you had to. The lady that ran the place had loads of poodles and was quite fierce. Some of the doors didn’t close properly. In the morning we drove past the train tracks and huge grain storage things into town because I wanted to take some photographs. Beach was everything I love about small Midwestern towns; beautiful buildings, with all their history painted on the side in faded layers. The streets were nearly empty as we wandered around photographing, and every corner we turned presented another beautiful scene. A man named Larry saw me from across the street and called me over, asking what I was doing. When I told him, he invited me into the building he was standing by. This was Beach museum, which he and his wife ran. I stood in the first room talking to them about our trip, and looking around thinking that this was a nice room, but there wasn’t much there. He then asked me to look around the rest of the building, and as I walked through I saw room after room of amazing sights. There was a room where everyone in the town had a glass box and could fill it with whatever they wanted, giving an almost complete history of the town. There was a room with collections of pens, pencils and buttons all creating wild patterns on the walls. There was a collection of calendars from the 1920s onwards, weird old vehicles, collections of different toys. It was amazing, and the highlight of the whole tour for us. Charlie was baffled by why we were so excited by the town, he kept saying that it was just a little, empty town, the kind that he’d see everywhere on his travels around the Midwest, but it was beautiful to us. I don’t know if I could explain the difference between North Dakota and South Dakota, between North Dakota and Wisconsin or Minnesota (I know there are differences!) because it’s too subtle to an outsider, but I know that the Midwest is totally different to the coasts. The Midwest, and places like Beach, North Dakota, make real what I always believed America was like from films and photographs growing up. I am grateful that I made myself walk around the towns looking for photographs, because I wouldn’t have experienced them if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have met people like Larry and Shirley Shulte and I wouldn’t have learnt all about the tiny town of Beach. Find Tom Cops on his website, on Tumblr and on Flickr.
Zoom
MIDWESTERN  In August 2010, artist and musician Tom Cops travelled around the American Midwest for three weeks with his band, supporting the acclaimed Minnesotan blues musician Charlie Parr. During the tour, Tom attempted to photograph everyone he met, and places they passed through, looking for odd details in the landscape. Here’s Tom’s dispatch for #AmericanGuideWeek. A note to the reader: Tom is from Bristol, England—a stranger in a strange land: Touring with a band is a weird way to experience a place. It’s weirder still when you’re also a photographer because everything becomes a somewhat intense task trying to capture that place in the time you have between getting into town, soundchecking, eating dinner and the sun setting. In 2010 my band played in Grand Forks and Fargo in North Dakota (with an ill-advised drive to Minnesota in between). At Grand Forks we played outside at the Museum of Art, next to the train tracks. As we played, trains rumbled past and we witnessed our first taste of what we later dubbed the “Midwestern Pocket Dance” (hands in pockets and an enthusiastic shuffle of the feet, almost like line dancing on your own). We met a lot of nice people that night, and I photographed many (although lost those films somewhere in Wyoming) before returning to our far-too-posh hotel. The hotel was massive and from our room on the eleventh floor we could see over the whole town; it was totally flat. I felt dislocated from the place though; this was our first show and we were jet lagged. Fargo was very different. We arrived as the sun was setting and as a classic car parade lumbered through town. We had a baby with us, so took turns in between sets pushing her through the streets in her pram. The whole place was quite surreal and felt like Hill Valley in Back to the Future. We met Jimmy who had been coming to shows by Charlie Parr, who we were touring with, for years. He bought all of our records and chatted for ages, sitting with us while Charlie played. We instantly felt like we belonged in the place, like we were with friends. We ended up signing loads of records for people, something that almost never happens (why would it?) and staying out far past the end of the show. We stayed in a weird motel that night, the kind that in movies people die in, and headed towards Montana the next day. We coincided our tour with some kind of huge motorbike festival (which may or may not have something to do with a festival of eating testicles, Charlie was unclear on the details). We had planned to stay near a national park, but every motel we tried was full. We ended up in Beach, a tiny town right on the border with Montana. There was no beach in the town, and I’m assuming never was, but the sky opened out above us spreading amazing light over everything. Charlie said you’d only ever stay there if you had to. The lady that ran the place had loads of poodles and was quite fierce. Some of the doors didn’t close properly. In the morning we drove past the train tracks and huge grain storage things into town because I wanted to take some photographs. Beach was everything I love about small Midwestern towns; beautiful buildings, with all their history painted on the side in faded layers. The streets were nearly empty as we wandered around photographing, and every corner we turned presented another beautiful scene. A man named Larry saw me from across the street and called me over, asking what I was doing. When I told him, he invited me into the building he was standing by. This was Beach museum, which he and his wife ran. I stood in the first room talking to them about our trip, and looking around thinking that this was a nice room, but there wasn’t much there. He then asked me to look around the rest of the building, and as I walked through I saw room after room of amazing sights. There was a room where everyone in the town had a glass box and could fill it with whatever they wanted, giving an almost complete history of the town. There was a room with collections of pens, pencils and buttons all creating wild patterns on the walls. There was a collection of calendars from the 1920s onwards, weird old vehicles, collections of different toys. It was amazing, and the highlight of the whole tour for us. Charlie was baffled by why we were so excited by the town, he kept saying that it was just a little, empty town, the kind that he’d see everywhere on his travels around the Midwest, but it was beautiful to us. I don’t know if I could explain the difference between North Dakota and South Dakota, between North Dakota and Wisconsin or Minnesota (I know there are differences!) because it’s too subtle to an outsider, but I know that the Midwest is totally different to the coasts. The Midwest, and places like Beach, North Dakota, make real what I always believed America was like from films and photographs growing up. I am grateful that I made myself walk around the towns looking for photographs, because I wouldn’t have experienced them if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have met people like Larry and Shirley Shulte and I wouldn’t have learnt all about the tiny town of Beach. Find Tom Cops on his website, on Tumblr and on Flickr.
Zoom
MIDWESTERN  In August 2010, artist and musician Tom Cops travelled around the American Midwest for three weeks with his band, supporting the acclaimed Minnesotan blues musician Charlie Parr. During the tour, Tom attempted to photograph everyone he met, and places they passed through, looking for odd details in the landscape. Here’s Tom’s dispatch for #AmericanGuideWeek. A note to the reader: Tom is from Bristol, England—a stranger in a strange land: Touring with a band is a weird way to experience a place. It’s weirder still when you’re also a photographer because everything becomes a somewhat intense task trying to capture that place in the time you have between getting into town, soundchecking, eating dinner and the sun setting. In 2010 my band played in Grand Forks and Fargo in North Dakota (with an ill-advised drive to Minnesota in between). At Grand Forks we played outside at the Museum of Art, next to the train tracks. As we played, trains rumbled past and we witnessed our first taste of what we later dubbed the “Midwestern Pocket Dance” (hands in pockets and an enthusiastic shuffle of the feet, almost like line dancing on your own). We met a lot of nice people that night, and I photographed many (although lost those films somewhere in Wyoming) before returning to our far-too-posh hotel. The hotel was massive and from our room on the eleventh floor we could see over the whole town; it was totally flat. I felt dislocated from the place though; this was our first show and we were jet lagged. Fargo was very different. We arrived as the sun was setting and as a classic car parade lumbered through town. We had a baby with us, so took turns in between sets pushing her through the streets in her pram. The whole place was quite surreal and felt like Hill Valley in Back to the Future. We met Jimmy who had been coming to shows by Charlie Parr, who we were touring with, for years. He bought all of our records and chatted for ages, sitting with us while Charlie played. We instantly felt like we belonged in the place, like we were with friends. We ended up signing loads of records for people, something that almost never happens (why would it?) and staying out far past the end of the show. We stayed in a weird motel that night, the kind that in movies people die in, and headed towards Montana the next day. We coincided our tour with some kind of huge motorbike festival (which may or may not have something to do with a festival of eating testicles, Charlie was unclear on the details). We had planned to stay near a national park, but every motel we tried was full. We ended up in Beach, a tiny town right on the border with Montana. There was no beach in the town, and I’m assuming never was, but the sky opened out above us spreading amazing light over everything. Charlie said you’d only ever stay there if you had to. The lady that ran the place had loads of poodles and was quite fierce. Some of the doors didn’t close properly. In the morning we drove past the train tracks and huge grain storage things into town because I wanted to take some photographs. Beach was everything I love about small Midwestern towns; beautiful buildings, with all their history painted on the side in faded layers. The streets were nearly empty as we wandered around photographing, and every corner we turned presented another beautiful scene. A man named Larry saw me from across the street and called me over, asking what I was doing. When I told him, he invited me into the building he was standing by. This was Beach museum, which he and his wife ran. I stood in the first room talking to them about our trip, and looking around thinking that this was a nice room, but there wasn’t much there. He then asked me to look around the rest of the building, and as I walked through I saw room after room of amazing sights. There was a room where everyone in the town had a glass box and could fill it with whatever they wanted, giving an almost complete history of the town. There was a room with collections of pens, pencils and buttons all creating wild patterns on the walls. There was a collection of calendars from the 1920s onwards, weird old vehicles, collections of different toys. It was amazing, and the highlight of the whole tour for us. Charlie was baffled by why we were so excited by the town, he kept saying that it was just a little, empty town, the kind that he’d see everywhere on his travels around the Midwest, but it was beautiful to us. I don’t know if I could explain the difference between North Dakota and South Dakota, between North Dakota and Wisconsin or Minnesota (I know there are differences!) because it’s too subtle to an outsider, but I know that the Midwest is totally different to the coasts. The Midwest, and places like Beach, North Dakota, make real what I always believed America was like from films and photographs growing up. I am grateful that I made myself walk around the towns looking for photographs, because I wouldn’t have experienced them if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have met people like Larry and Shirley Shulte and I wouldn’t have learnt all about the tiny town of Beach. Find Tom Cops on his website, on Tumblr and on Flickr.
Zoom
MIDWESTERN  In August 2010, artist and musician Tom Cops travelled around the American Midwest for three weeks with his band, supporting the acclaimed Minnesotan blues musician Charlie Parr. During the tour, Tom attempted to photograph everyone he met, and places they passed through, looking for odd details in the landscape. Here’s Tom’s dispatch for #AmericanGuideWeek. A note to the reader: Tom is from Bristol, England—a stranger in a strange land: Touring with a band is a weird way to experience a place. It’s weirder still when you’re also a photographer because everything becomes a somewhat intense task trying to capture that place in the time you have between getting into town, soundchecking, eating dinner and the sun setting. In 2010 my band played in Grand Forks and Fargo in North Dakota (with an ill-advised drive to Minnesota in between). At Grand Forks we played outside at the Museum of Art, next to the train tracks. As we played, trains rumbled past and we witnessed our first taste of what we later dubbed the “Midwestern Pocket Dance” (hands in pockets and an enthusiastic shuffle of the feet, almost like line dancing on your own). We met a lot of nice people that night, and I photographed many (although lost those films somewhere in Wyoming) before returning to our far-too-posh hotel. The hotel was massive and from our room on the eleventh floor we could see over the whole town; it was totally flat. I felt dislocated from the place though; this was our first show and we were jet lagged. Fargo was very different. We arrived as the sun was setting and as a classic car parade lumbered through town. We had a baby with us, so took turns in between sets pushing her through the streets in her pram. The whole place was quite surreal and felt like Hill Valley in Back to the Future. We met Jimmy who had been coming to shows by Charlie Parr, who we were touring with, for years. He bought all of our records and chatted for ages, sitting with us while Charlie played. We instantly felt like we belonged in the place, like we were with friends. We ended up signing loads of records for people, something that almost never happens (why would it?) and staying out far past the end of the show. We stayed in a weird motel that night, the kind that in movies people die in, and headed towards Montana the next day. We coincided our tour with some kind of huge motorbike festival (which may or may not have something to do with a festival of eating testicles, Charlie was unclear on the details). We had planned to stay near a national park, but every motel we tried was full. We ended up in Beach, a tiny town right on the border with Montana. There was no beach in the town, and I’m assuming never was, but the sky opened out above us spreading amazing light over everything. Charlie said you’d only ever stay there if you had to. The lady that ran the place had loads of poodles and was quite fierce. Some of the doors didn’t close properly. In the morning we drove past the train tracks and huge grain storage things into town because I wanted to take some photographs. Beach was everything I love about small Midwestern towns; beautiful buildings, with all their history painted on the side in faded layers. The streets were nearly empty as we wandered around photographing, and every corner we turned presented another beautiful scene. A man named Larry saw me from across the street and called me over, asking what I was doing. When I told him, he invited me into the building he was standing by. This was Beach museum, which he and his wife ran. I stood in the first room talking to them about our trip, and looking around thinking that this was a nice room, but there wasn’t much there. He then asked me to look around the rest of the building, and as I walked through I saw room after room of amazing sights. There was a room where everyone in the town had a glass box and could fill it with whatever they wanted, giving an almost complete history of the town. There was a room with collections of pens, pencils and buttons all creating wild patterns on the walls. There was a collection of calendars from the 1920s onwards, weird old vehicles, collections of different toys. It was amazing, and the highlight of the whole tour for us. Charlie was baffled by why we were so excited by the town, he kept saying that it was just a little, empty town, the kind that he’d see everywhere on his travels around the Midwest, but it was beautiful to us. I don’t know if I could explain the difference between North Dakota and South Dakota, between North Dakota and Wisconsin or Minnesota (I know there are differences!) because it’s too subtle to an outsider, but I know that the Midwest is totally different to the coasts. The Midwest, and places like Beach, North Dakota, make real what I always believed America was like from films and photographs growing up. I am grateful that I made myself walk around the towns looking for photographs, because I wouldn’t have experienced them if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have met people like Larry and Shirley Shulte and I wouldn’t have learnt all about the tiny town of Beach. Find Tom Cops on his website, on Tumblr and on Flickr.
Zoom
MIDWESTERN  In August 2010, artist and musician Tom Cops travelled around the American Midwest for three weeks with his band, supporting the acclaimed Minnesotan blues musician Charlie Parr. During the tour, Tom attempted to photograph everyone he met, and places they passed through, looking for odd details in the landscape. Here’s Tom’s dispatch for #AmericanGuideWeek. A note to the reader: Tom is from Bristol, England—a stranger in a strange land: Touring with a band is a weird way to experience a place. It’s weirder still when you’re also a photographer because everything becomes a somewhat intense task trying to capture that place in the time you have between getting into town, soundchecking, eating dinner and the sun setting. In 2010 my band played in Grand Forks and Fargo in North Dakota (with an ill-advised drive to Minnesota in between). At Grand Forks we played outside at the Museum of Art, next to the train tracks. As we played, trains rumbled past and we witnessed our first taste of what we later dubbed the “Midwestern Pocket Dance” (hands in pockets and an enthusiastic shuffle of the feet, almost like line dancing on your own). We met a lot of nice people that night, and I photographed many (although lost those films somewhere in Wyoming) before returning to our far-too-posh hotel. The hotel was massive and from our room on the eleventh floor we could see over the whole town; it was totally flat. I felt dislocated from the place though; this was our first show and we were jet lagged. Fargo was very different. We arrived as the sun was setting and as a classic car parade lumbered through town. We had a baby with us, so took turns in between sets pushing her through the streets in her pram. The whole place was quite surreal and felt like Hill Valley in Back to the Future. We met Jimmy who had been coming to shows by Charlie Parr, who we were touring with, for years. He bought all of our records and chatted for ages, sitting with us while Charlie played. We instantly felt like we belonged in the place, like we were with friends. We ended up signing loads of records for people, something that almost never happens (why would it?) and staying out far past the end of the show. We stayed in a weird motel that night, the kind that in movies people die in, and headed towards Montana the next day. We coincided our tour with some kind of huge motorbike festival (which may or may not have something to do with a festival of eating testicles, Charlie was unclear on the details). We had planned to stay near a national park, but every motel we tried was full. We ended up in Beach, a tiny town right on the border with Montana. There was no beach in the town, and I’m assuming never was, but the sky opened out above us spreading amazing light over everything. Charlie said you’d only ever stay there if you had to. The lady that ran the place had loads of poodles and was quite fierce. Some of the doors didn’t close properly. In the morning we drove past the train tracks and huge grain storage things into town because I wanted to take some photographs. Beach was everything I love about small Midwestern towns; beautiful buildings, with all their history painted on the side in faded layers. The streets were nearly empty as we wandered around photographing, and every corner we turned presented another beautiful scene. A man named Larry saw me from across the street and called me over, asking what I was doing. When I told him, he invited me into the building he was standing by. This was Beach museum, which he and his wife ran. I stood in the first room talking to them about our trip, and looking around thinking that this was a nice room, but there wasn’t much there. He then asked me to look around the rest of the building, and as I walked through I saw room after room of amazing sights. There was a room where everyone in the town had a glass box and could fill it with whatever they wanted, giving an almost complete history of the town. There was a room with collections of pens, pencils and buttons all creating wild patterns on the walls. There was a collection of calendars from the 1920s onwards, weird old vehicles, collections of different toys. It was amazing, and the highlight of the whole tour for us. Charlie was baffled by why we were so excited by the town, he kept saying that it was just a little, empty town, the kind that he’d see everywhere on his travels around the Midwest, but it was beautiful to us. I don’t know if I could explain the difference between North Dakota and South Dakota, between North Dakota and Wisconsin or Minnesota (I know there are differences!) because it’s too subtle to an outsider, but I know that the Midwest is totally different to the coasts. The Midwest, and places like Beach, North Dakota, make real what I always believed America was like from films and photographs growing up. I am grateful that I made myself walk around the towns looking for photographs, because I wouldn’t have experienced them if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have met people like Larry and Shirley Shulte and I wouldn’t have learnt all about the tiny town of Beach. Find Tom Cops on his website, on Tumblr and on Flickr.
Zoom
MIDWESTERN  In August 2010, artist and musician Tom Cops travelled around the American Midwest for three weeks with his band, supporting the acclaimed Minnesotan blues musician Charlie Parr. During the tour, Tom attempted to photograph everyone he met, and places they passed through, looking for odd details in the landscape. Here’s Tom’s dispatch for #AmericanGuideWeek. A note to the reader: Tom is from Bristol, England—a stranger in a strange land: Touring with a band is a weird way to experience a place. It’s weirder still when you’re also a photographer because everything becomes a somewhat intense task trying to capture that place in the time you have between getting into town, soundchecking, eating dinner and the sun setting. In 2010 my band played in Grand Forks and Fargo in North Dakota (with an ill-advised drive to Minnesota in between). At Grand Forks we played outside at the Museum of Art, next to the train tracks. As we played, trains rumbled past and we witnessed our first taste of what we later dubbed the “Midwestern Pocket Dance” (hands in pockets and an enthusiastic shuffle of the feet, almost like line dancing on your own). We met a lot of nice people that night, and I photographed many (although lost those films somewhere in Wyoming) before returning to our far-too-posh hotel. The hotel was massive and from our room on the eleventh floor we could see over the whole town; it was totally flat. I felt dislocated from the place though; this was our first show and we were jet lagged. Fargo was very different. We arrived as the sun was setting and as a classic car parade lumbered through town. We had a baby with us, so took turns in between sets pushing her through the streets in her pram. The whole place was quite surreal and felt like Hill Valley in Back to the Future. We met Jimmy who had been coming to shows by Charlie Parr, who we were touring with, for years. He bought all of our records and chatted for ages, sitting with us while Charlie played. We instantly felt like we belonged in the place, like we were with friends. We ended up signing loads of records for people, something that almost never happens (why would it?) and staying out far past the end of the show. We stayed in a weird motel that night, the kind that in movies people die in, and headed towards Montana the next day. We coincided our tour with some kind of huge motorbike festival (which may or may not have something to do with a festival of eating testicles, Charlie was unclear on the details). We had planned to stay near a national park, but every motel we tried was full. We ended up in Beach, a tiny town right on the border with Montana. There was no beach in the town, and I’m assuming never was, but the sky opened out above us spreading amazing light over everything. Charlie said you’d only ever stay there if you had to. The lady that ran the place had loads of poodles and was quite fierce. Some of the doors didn’t close properly. In the morning we drove past the train tracks and huge grain storage things into town because I wanted to take some photographs. Beach was everything I love about small Midwestern towns; beautiful buildings, with all their history painted on the side in faded layers. The streets were nearly empty as we wandered around photographing, and every corner we turned presented another beautiful scene. A man named Larry saw me from across the street and called me over, asking what I was doing. When I told him, he invited me into the building he was standing by. This was Beach museum, which he and his wife ran. I stood in the first room talking to them about our trip, and looking around thinking that this was a nice room, but there wasn’t much there. He then asked me to look around the rest of the building, and as I walked through I saw room after room of amazing sights. There was a room where everyone in the town had a glass box and could fill it with whatever they wanted, giving an almost complete history of the town. There was a room with collections of pens, pencils and buttons all creating wild patterns on the walls. There was a collection of calendars from the 1920s onwards, weird old vehicles, collections of different toys. It was amazing, and the highlight of the whole tour for us. Charlie was baffled by why we were so excited by the town, he kept saying that it was just a little, empty town, the kind that he’d see everywhere on his travels around the Midwest, but it was beautiful to us. I don’t know if I could explain the difference between North Dakota and South Dakota, between North Dakota and Wisconsin or Minnesota (I know there are differences!) because it’s too subtle to an outsider, but I know that the Midwest is totally different to the coasts. The Midwest, and places like Beach, North Dakota, make real what I always believed America was like from films and photographs growing up. I am grateful that I made myself walk around the towns looking for photographs, because I wouldn’t have experienced them if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have met people like Larry and Shirley Shulte and I wouldn’t have learnt all about the tiny town of Beach. Find Tom Cops on his website, on Tumblr and on Flickr.
Zoom
MIDWESTERN  In August 2010, artist and musician Tom Cops travelled around the American Midwest for three weeks with his band, supporting the acclaimed Minnesotan blues musician Charlie Parr. During the tour, Tom attempted to photograph everyone he met, and places they passed through, looking for odd details in the landscape. Here’s Tom’s dispatch for #AmericanGuideWeek. A note to the reader: Tom is from Bristol, England—a stranger in a strange land: Touring with a band is a weird way to experience a place. It’s weirder still when you’re also a photographer because everything becomes a somewhat intense task trying to capture that place in the time you have between getting into town, soundchecking, eating dinner and the sun setting. In 2010 my band played in Grand Forks and Fargo in North Dakota (with an ill-advised drive to Minnesota in between). At Grand Forks we played outside at the Museum of Art, next to the train tracks. As we played, trains rumbled past and we witnessed our first taste of what we later dubbed the “Midwestern Pocket Dance” (hands in pockets and an enthusiastic shuffle of the feet, almost like line dancing on your own). We met a lot of nice people that night, and I photographed many (although lost those films somewhere in Wyoming) before returning to our far-too-posh hotel. The hotel was massive and from our room on the eleventh floor we could see over the whole town; it was totally flat. I felt dislocated from the place though; this was our first show and we were jet lagged. Fargo was very different. We arrived as the sun was setting and as a classic car parade lumbered through town. We had a baby with us, so took turns in between sets pushing her through the streets in her pram. The whole place was quite surreal and felt like Hill Valley in Back to the Future. We met Jimmy who had been coming to shows by Charlie Parr, who we were touring with, for years. He bought all of our records and chatted for ages, sitting with us while Charlie played. We instantly felt like we belonged in the place, like we were with friends. We ended up signing loads of records for people, something that almost never happens (why would it?) and staying out far past the end of the show. We stayed in a weird motel that night, the kind that in movies people die in, and headed towards Montana the next day. We coincided our tour with some kind of huge motorbike festival (which may or may not have something to do with a festival of eating testicles, Charlie was unclear on the details). We had planned to stay near a national park, but every motel we tried was full. We ended up in Beach, a tiny town right on the border with Montana. There was no beach in the town, and I’m assuming never was, but the sky opened out above us spreading amazing light over everything. Charlie said you’d only ever stay there if you had to. The lady that ran the place had loads of poodles and was quite fierce. Some of the doors didn’t close properly. In the morning we drove past the train tracks and huge grain storage things into town because I wanted to take some photographs. Beach was everything I love about small Midwestern towns; beautiful buildings, with all their history painted on the side in faded layers. The streets were nearly empty as we wandered around photographing, and every corner we turned presented another beautiful scene. A man named Larry saw me from across the street and called me over, asking what I was doing. When I told him, he invited me into the building he was standing by. This was Beach museum, which he and his wife ran. I stood in the first room talking to them about our trip, and looking around thinking that this was a nice room, but there wasn’t much there. He then asked me to look around the rest of the building, and as I walked through I saw room after room of amazing sights. There was a room where everyone in the town had a glass box and could fill it with whatever they wanted, giving an almost complete history of the town. There was a room with collections of pens, pencils and buttons all creating wild patterns on the walls. There was a collection of calendars from the 1920s onwards, weird old vehicles, collections of different toys. It was amazing, and the highlight of the whole tour for us. Charlie was baffled by why we were so excited by the town, he kept saying that it was just a little, empty town, the kind that he’d see everywhere on his travels around the Midwest, but it was beautiful to us. I don’t know if I could explain the difference between North Dakota and South Dakota, between North Dakota and Wisconsin or Minnesota (I know there are differences!) because it’s too subtle to an outsider, but I know that the Midwest is totally different to the coasts. The Midwest, and places like Beach, North Dakota, make real what I always believed America was like from films and photographs growing up. I am grateful that I made myself walk around the towns looking for photographs, because I wouldn’t have experienced them if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have met people like Larry and Shirley Shulte and I wouldn’t have learnt all about the tiny town of Beach. Find Tom Cops on his website, on Tumblr and on Flickr.
Zoom
MIDWESTERN  In August 2010, artist and musician Tom Cops travelled around the American Midwest for three weeks with his band, supporting the acclaimed Minnesotan blues musician Charlie Parr. During the tour, Tom attempted to photograph everyone he met, and places they passed through, looking for odd details in the landscape. Here’s Tom’s dispatch for #AmericanGuideWeek. A note to the reader: Tom is from Bristol, England—a stranger in a strange land: Touring with a band is a weird way to experience a place. It’s weirder still when you’re also a photographer because everything becomes a somewhat intense task trying to capture that place in the time you have between getting into town, soundchecking, eating dinner and the sun setting. In 2010 my band played in Grand Forks and Fargo in North Dakota (with an ill-advised drive to Minnesota in between). At Grand Forks we played outside at the Museum of Art, next to the train tracks. As we played, trains rumbled past and we witnessed our first taste of what we later dubbed the “Midwestern Pocket Dance” (hands in pockets and an enthusiastic shuffle of the feet, almost like line dancing on your own). We met a lot of nice people that night, and I photographed many (although lost those films somewhere in Wyoming) before returning to our far-too-posh hotel. The hotel was massive and from our room on the eleventh floor we could see over the whole town; it was totally flat. I felt dislocated from the place though; this was our first show and we were jet lagged. Fargo was very different. We arrived as the sun was setting and as a classic car parade lumbered through town. We had a baby with us, so took turns in between sets pushing her through the streets in her pram. The whole place was quite surreal and felt like Hill Valley in Back to the Future. We met Jimmy who had been coming to shows by Charlie Parr, who we were touring with, for years. He bought all of our records and chatted for ages, sitting with us while Charlie played. We instantly felt like we belonged in the place, like we were with friends. We ended up signing loads of records for people, something that almost never happens (why would it?) and staying out far past the end of the show. We stayed in a weird motel that night, the kind that in movies people die in, and headed towards Montana the next day. We coincided our tour with some kind of huge motorbike festival (which may or may not have something to do with a festival of eating testicles, Charlie was unclear on the details). We had planned to stay near a national park, but every motel we tried was full. We ended up in Beach, a tiny town right on the border with Montana. There was no beach in the town, and I’m assuming never was, but the sky opened out above us spreading amazing light over everything. Charlie said you’d only ever stay there if you had to. The lady that ran the place had loads of poodles and was quite fierce. Some of the doors didn’t close properly. In the morning we drove past the train tracks and huge grain storage things into town because I wanted to take some photographs. Beach was everything I love about small Midwestern towns; beautiful buildings, with all their history painted on the side in faded layers. The streets were nearly empty as we wandered around photographing, and every corner we turned presented another beautiful scene. A man named Larry saw me from across the street and called me over, asking what I was doing. When I told him, he invited me into the building he was standing by. This was Beach museum, which he and his wife ran. I stood in the first room talking to them about our trip, and looking around thinking that this was a nice room, but there wasn’t much there. He then asked me to look around the rest of the building, and as I walked through I saw room after room of amazing sights. There was a room where everyone in the town had a glass box and could fill it with whatever they wanted, giving an almost complete history of the town. There was a room with collections of pens, pencils and buttons all creating wild patterns on the walls. There was a collection of calendars from the 1920s onwards, weird old vehicles, collections of different toys. It was amazing, and the highlight of the whole tour for us. Charlie was baffled by why we were so excited by the town, he kept saying that it was just a little, empty town, the kind that he’d see everywhere on his travels around the Midwest, but it was beautiful to us. I don’t know if I could explain the difference between North Dakota and South Dakota, between North Dakota and Wisconsin or Minnesota (I know there are differences!) because it’s too subtle to an outsider, but I know that the Midwest is totally different to the coasts. The Midwest, and places like Beach, North Dakota, make real what I always believed America was like from films and photographs growing up. I am grateful that I made myself walk around the towns looking for photographs, because I wouldn’t have experienced them if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have met people like Larry and Shirley Shulte and I wouldn’t have learnt all about the tiny town of Beach. Find Tom Cops on his website, on Tumblr and on Flickr.
Zoom
MIDWESTERN  In August 2010, artist and musician Tom Cops travelled around the American Midwest for three weeks with his band, supporting the acclaimed Minnesotan blues musician Charlie Parr. During the tour, Tom attempted to photograph everyone he met, and places they passed through, looking for odd details in the landscape. Here’s Tom’s dispatch for #AmericanGuideWeek. A note to the reader: Tom is from Bristol, England—a stranger in a strange land: Touring with a band is a weird way to experience a place. It’s weirder still when you’re also a photographer because everything becomes a somewhat intense task trying to capture that place in the time you have between getting into town, soundchecking, eating dinner and the sun setting. In 2010 my band played in Grand Forks and Fargo in North Dakota (with an ill-advised drive to Minnesota in between). At Grand Forks we played outside at the Museum of Art, next to the train tracks. As we played, trains rumbled past and we witnessed our first taste of what we later dubbed the “Midwestern Pocket Dance” (hands in pockets and an enthusiastic shuffle of the feet, almost like line dancing on your own). We met a lot of nice people that night, and I photographed many (although lost those films somewhere in Wyoming) before returning to our far-too-posh hotel. The hotel was massive and from our room on the eleventh floor we could see over the whole town; it was totally flat. I felt dislocated from the place though; this was our first show and we were jet lagged. Fargo was very different. We arrived as the sun was setting and as a classic car parade lumbered through town. We had a baby with us, so took turns in between sets pushing her through the streets in her pram. The whole place was quite surreal and felt like Hill Valley in Back to the Future. We met Jimmy who had been coming to shows by Charlie Parr, who we were touring with, for years. He bought all of our records and chatted for ages, sitting with us while Charlie played. We instantly felt like we belonged in the place, like we were with friends. We ended up signing loads of records for people, something that almost never happens (why would it?) and staying out far past the end of the show. We stayed in a weird motel that night, the kind that in movies people die in, and headed towards Montana the next day. We coincided our tour with some kind of huge motorbike festival (which may or may not have something to do with a festival of eating testicles, Charlie was unclear on the details). We had planned to stay near a national park, but every motel we tried was full. We ended up in Beach, a tiny town right on the border with Montana. There was no beach in the town, and I’m assuming never was, but the sky opened out above us spreading amazing light over everything. Charlie said you’d only ever stay there if you had to. The lady that ran the place had loads of poodles and was quite fierce. Some of the doors didn’t close properly. In the morning we drove past the train tracks and huge grain storage things into town because I wanted to take some photographs. Beach was everything I love about small Midwestern towns; beautiful buildings, with all their history painted on the side in faded layers. The streets were nearly empty as we wandered around photographing, and every corner we turned presented another beautiful scene. A man named Larry saw me from across the street and called me over, asking what I was doing. When I told him, he invited me into the building he was standing by. This was Beach museum, which he and his wife ran. I stood in the first room talking to them about our trip, and looking around thinking that this was a nice room, but there wasn’t much there. He then asked me to look around the rest of the building, and as I walked through I saw room after room of amazing sights. There was a room where everyone in the town had a glass box and could fill it with whatever they wanted, giving an almost complete history of the town. There was a room with collections of pens, pencils and buttons all creating wild patterns on the walls. There was a collection of calendars from the 1920s onwards, weird old vehicles, collections of different toys. It was amazing, and the highlight of the whole tour for us. Charlie was baffled by why we were so excited by the town, he kept saying that it was just a little, empty town, the kind that he’d see everywhere on his travels around the Midwest, but it was beautiful to us. I don’t know if I could explain the difference between North Dakota and South Dakota, between North Dakota and Wisconsin or Minnesota (I know there are differences!) because it’s too subtle to an outsider, but I know that the Midwest is totally different to the coasts. The Midwest, and places like Beach, North Dakota, make real what I always believed America was like from films and photographs growing up. I am grateful that I made myself walk around the towns looking for photographs, because I wouldn’t have experienced them if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have met people like Larry and Shirley Shulte and I wouldn’t have learnt all about the tiny town of Beach. Find Tom Cops on his website, on Tumblr and on Flickr.
Zoom
MIDWESTERN  In August 2010, artist and musician Tom Cops travelled around the American Midwest for three weeks with his band, supporting the acclaimed Minnesotan blues musician Charlie Parr. During the tour, Tom attempted to photograph everyone he met, and places they passed through, looking for odd details in the landscape. Here’s Tom’s dispatch for #AmericanGuideWeek. A note to the reader: Tom is from Bristol, England—a stranger in a strange land: Touring with a band is a weird way to experience a place. It’s weirder still when you’re also a photographer because everything becomes a somewhat intense task trying to capture that place in the time you have between getting into town, soundchecking, eating dinner and the sun setting. In 2010 my band played in Grand Forks and Fargo in North Dakota (with an ill-advised drive to Minnesota in between). At Grand Forks we played outside at the Museum of Art, next to the train tracks. As we played, trains rumbled past and we witnessed our first taste of what we later dubbed the “Midwestern Pocket Dance” (hands in pockets and an enthusiastic shuffle of the feet, almost like line dancing on your own). We met a lot of nice people that night, and I photographed many (although lost those films somewhere in Wyoming) before returning to our far-too-posh hotel. The hotel was massive and from our room on the eleventh floor we could see over the whole town; it was totally flat. I felt dislocated from the place though; this was our first show and we were jet lagged. Fargo was very different. We arrived as the sun was setting and as a classic car parade lumbered through town. We had a baby with us, so took turns in between sets pushing her through the streets in her pram. The whole place was quite surreal and felt like Hill Valley in Back to the Future. We met Jimmy who had been coming to shows by Charlie Parr, who we were touring with, for years. He bought all of our records and chatted for ages, sitting with us while Charlie played. We instantly felt like we belonged in the place, like we were with friends. We ended up signing loads of records for people, something that almost never happens (why would it?) and staying out far past the end of the show. We stayed in a weird motel that night, the kind that in movies people die in, and headed towards Montana the next day. We coincided our tour with some kind of huge motorbike festival (which may or may not have something to do with a festival of eating testicles, Charlie was unclear on the details). We had planned to stay near a national park, but every motel we tried was full. We ended up in Beach, a tiny town right on the border with Montana. There was no beach in the town, and I’m assuming never was, but the sky opened out above us spreading amazing light over everything. Charlie said you’d only ever stay there if you had to. The lady that ran the place had loads of poodles and was quite fierce. Some of the doors didn’t close properly. In the morning we drove past the train tracks and huge grain storage things into town because I wanted to take some photographs. Beach was everything I love about small Midwestern towns; beautiful buildings, with all their history painted on the side in faded layers. The streets were nearly empty as we wandered around photographing, and every corner we turned presented another beautiful scene. A man named Larry saw me from across the street and called me over, asking what I was doing. When I told him, he invited me into the building he was standing by. This was Beach museum, which he and his wife ran. I stood in the first room talking to them about our trip, and looking around thinking that this was a nice room, but there wasn’t much there. He then asked me to look around the rest of the building, and as I walked through I saw room after room of amazing sights. There was a room where everyone in the town had a glass box and could fill it with whatever they wanted, giving an almost complete history of the town. There was a room with collections of pens, pencils and buttons all creating wild patterns on the walls. There was a collection of calendars from the 1920s onwards, weird old vehicles, collections of different toys. It was amazing, and the highlight of the whole tour for us. Charlie was baffled by why we were so excited by the town, he kept saying that it was just a little, empty town, the kind that he’d see everywhere on his travels around the Midwest, but it was beautiful to us. I don’t know if I could explain the difference between North Dakota and South Dakota, between North Dakota and Wisconsin or Minnesota (I know there are differences!) because it’s too subtle to an outsider, but I know that the Midwest is totally different to the coasts. The Midwest, and places like Beach, North Dakota, make real what I always believed America was like from films and photographs growing up. I am grateful that I made myself walk around the towns looking for photographs, because I wouldn’t have experienced them if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have met people like Larry and Shirley Shulte and I wouldn’t have learnt all about the tiny town of Beach. Find Tom Cops on his website, on Tumblr and on Flickr.
Zoom

MIDWESTERN 

In August 2010, artist and musician Tom Cops travelled around the American Midwest for three weeks with his band, supporting the acclaimed Minnesotan blues musician Charlie Parr. During the tour, Tom attempted to photograph everyone he met, and places they passed through, looking for odd details in the landscape.

Here’s Tom’s dispatch for #AmericanGuideWeek. A note to the reader: Tom is from Bristol, England—a stranger in a strange land:

Touring with a band is a weird way to experience a place. It’s weirder still when you’re also a photographer because everything becomes a somewhat intense task trying to capture that place in the time you have between getting into town, soundchecking, eating dinner and the sun setting. In 2010 my band played in Grand Forks and Fargo in North Dakota (with an ill-advised drive to Minnesota in between). At Grand Forks we played outside at the Museum of Art, next to the train tracks. As we played, trains rumbled past and we witnessed our first taste of what we later dubbed the “Midwestern Pocket Dance” (hands in pockets and an enthusiastic shuffle of the feet, almost like line dancing on your own). We met a lot of nice people that night, and I photographed many (although lost those films somewhere in Wyoming) before returning to our far-too-posh hotel. The hotel was massive and from our room on the eleventh floor we could see over the whole town; it was totally flat. I felt dislocated from the place though; this was our first show and we were jet lagged.

Fargo was very different. We arrived as the sun was setting and as a classic car parade lumbered through town. We had a baby with us, so took turns in between sets pushing her through the streets in her pram. The whole place was quite surreal and felt like Hill Valley in Back to the Future. We met Jimmy who had been coming to shows by Charlie Parr, who we were touring with, for years. He bought all of our records and chatted for ages, sitting with us while Charlie played. We instantly felt like we belonged in the place, like we were with friends. We ended up signing loads of records for people, something that almost never happens (why would it?) and staying out far past the end of the show. We stayed in a weird motel that night, the kind that in movies people die in, and headed towards Montana the next day.

We coincided our tour with some kind of huge motorbike festival (which may or may not have something to do with a festival of eating testicles, Charlie was unclear on the details). We had planned to stay near a national park, but every motel we tried was full. We ended up in Beach, a tiny town right on the border with Montana. There was no beach in the town, and I’m assuming never was, but the sky opened out above us spreading amazing light over everything. Charlie said you’d only ever stay there if you had to. The lady that ran the place had loads of poodles and was quite fierce. Some of the doors didn’t close properly. In the morning we drove past the train tracks and huge grain storage things into town because I wanted to take some photographs. Beach was everything I love about small Midwestern towns; beautiful buildings, with all their history painted on the side in faded layers. The streets were nearly empty as we wandered around photographing, and every corner we turned presented another beautiful scene. A man named Larry saw me from across the street and called me over, asking what I was doing. When I told him, he invited me into the building he was standing by. This was Beach museum, which he and his wife ran. I stood in the first room talking to them about our trip, and looking around thinking that this was a nice room, but there wasn’t much there. He then asked me to look around the rest of the building, and as I walked through I saw room after room of amazing sights. There was a room where everyone in the town had a glass box and could fill it with whatever they wanted, giving an almost complete history of the town. There was a room with collections of pens, pencils and buttons all creating wild patterns on the walls. There was a collection of calendars from the 1920s onwards, weird old vehicles, collections of different toys. It was amazing, and the highlight of the whole tour for us. Charlie was baffled by why we were so excited by the town, he kept saying that it was just a little, empty town, the kind that he’d see everywhere on his travels around the Midwest, but it was beautiful to us.

I don’t know if I could explain the difference between North Dakota and South Dakota, between North Dakota and Wisconsin or Minnesota (I know there are differences!) because it’s too subtle to an outsider, but I know that the Midwest is totally different to the coasts. The Midwest, and places like Beach, North Dakota, make real what I always believed America was like from films and photographs growing up. I am grateful that I made myself walk around the towns looking for photographs, because I wouldn’t have experienced them if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have met people like Larry and Shirley Shulte and I wouldn’t have learnt all about the tiny town of Beach.

Find Tom Cops on his website, on Tumblr and on Flickr.

#AmericanGuideWeek dispatch from the Mill City: Minneapolis, MN. Just don’t mistake it for the city across the river, St. Paul. Even the casual visitor (when he overcomes his bewilderment and determines into which city he has wandered), cannot fail to note certain obvious differences. The St. Paul skyline is all of a piece, Minneapolis sprawls; St. Paul is hilly, Minneapolis level; St. Paul’s bridges leap down from the high shore to the loop; in Minneapolis they snake across the river with no regard for distance; St. Paul’s loop streets are narrow and concentrated, while in its twin city the center of activity extends many blocks along the broad shopping avenues. Minneapolis marks its streets and ornaments its lakes, but leaves its river shore ragged and unkempt below the cream-colored elevators. St. Paul makes much of its river shore but illumines no street sign for a nervous driver. St. Paul has already attained a degree of mellowness and seems to be clinging to its Victorian dignity, while in Minneapolis dignity is less prized than modern spruceness. The visitor from the East will perhaps feel more at home in St. Paul; if from the West he is likely to prefer Minneapolis. —Minnesota: A State Guide (WPA, 1938) * * * Photographs by Mark Ryan, an environmental engineer from the Twin Cities.
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#AmericanGuideWeek dispatch from the Mill City: Minneapolis, MN. Just don’t mistake it for the city across the river, St. Paul. Even the casual visitor (when he overcomes his bewilderment and determines into which city he has wandered), cannot fail to note certain obvious differences. The St. Paul skyline is all of a piece, Minneapolis sprawls; St. Paul is hilly, Minneapolis level; St. Paul’s bridges leap down from the high shore to the loop; in Minneapolis they snake across the river with no regard for distance; St. Paul’s loop streets are narrow and concentrated, while in its twin city the center of activity extends many blocks along the broad shopping avenues. Minneapolis marks its streets and ornaments its lakes, but leaves its river shore ragged and unkempt below the cream-colored elevators. St. Paul makes much of its river shore but illumines no street sign for a nervous driver. St. Paul has already attained a degree of mellowness and seems to be clinging to its Victorian dignity, while in Minneapolis dignity is less prized than modern spruceness. The visitor from the East will perhaps feel more at home in St. Paul; if from the West he is likely to prefer Minneapolis. —Minnesota: A State Guide (WPA, 1938) * * * Photographs by Mark Ryan, an environmental engineer from the Twin Cities.
Zoom
#AmericanGuideWeek dispatch from the Mill City: Minneapolis, MN. Just don’t mistake it for the city across the river, St. Paul. Even the casual visitor (when he overcomes his bewilderment and determines into which city he has wandered), cannot fail to note certain obvious differences. The St. Paul skyline is all of a piece, Minneapolis sprawls; St. Paul is hilly, Minneapolis level; St. Paul’s bridges leap down from the high shore to the loop; in Minneapolis they snake across the river with no regard for distance; St. Paul’s loop streets are narrow and concentrated, while in its twin city the center of activity extends many blocks along the broad shopping avenues. Minneapolis marks its streets and ornaments its lakes, but leaves its river shore ragged and unkempt below the cream-colored elevators. St. Paul makes much of its river shore but illumines no street sign for a nervous driver. St. Paul has already attained a degree of mellowness and seems to be clinging to its Victorian dignity, while in Minneapolis dignity is less prized than modern spruceness. The visitor from the East will perhaps feel more at home in St. Paul; if from the West he is likely to prefer Minneapolis. —Minnesota: A State Guide (WPA, 1938) * * * Photographs by Mark Ryan, an environmental engineer from the Twin Cities.
Zoom
#AmericanGuideWeek dispatch from the Mill City: Minneapolis, MN. Just don’t mistake it for the city across the river, St. Paul. Even the casual visitor (when he overcomes his bewilderment and determines into which city he has wandered), cannot fail to note certain obvious differences. The St. Paul skyline is all of a piece, Minneapolis sprawls; St. Paul is hilly, Minneapolis level; St. Paul’s bridges leap down from the high shore to the loop; in Minneapolis they snake across the river with no regard for distance; St. Paul’s loop streets are narrow and concentrated, while in its twin city the center of activity extends many blocks along the broad shopping avenues. Minneapolis marks its streets and ornaments its lakes, but leaves its river shore ragged and unkempt below the cream-colored elevators. St. Paul makes much of its river shore but illumines no street sign for a nervous driver. St. Paul has already attained a degree of mellowness and seems to be clinging to its Victorian dignity, while in Minneapolis dignity is less prized than modern spruceness. The visitor from the East will perhaps feel more at home in St. Paul; if from the West he is likely to prefer Minneapolis. —Minnesota: A State Guide (WPA, 1938) * * * Photographs by Mark Ryan, an environmental engineer from the Twin Cities.
Zoom

#AmericanGuideWeek dispatch from the Mill City: Minneapolis, MN. Just don’t mistake it for the city across the river, St. Paul.

Even the casual visitor (when he overcomes his bewilderment and determines into which city he has wandered), cannot fail to note certain obvious differences. The St. Paul skyline is all of a piece, Minneapolis sprawls; St. Paul is hilly, Minneapolis level; St. Paul’s bridges leap down from the high shore to the loop; in Minneapolis they snake across the river with no regard for distance; St. Paul’s loop streets are narrow and concentrated, while in its twin city the center of activity extends many blocks along the broad shopping avenues. Minneapolis marks its streets and ornaments its lakes, but leaves its river shore ragged and unkempt below the cream-colored elevators. St. Paul makes much of its river shore but illumines no street sign for a nervous driver. St. Paul has already attained a degree of mellowness and seems to be clinging to its Victorian dignity, while in Minneapolis dignity is less prized than modern spruceness. The visitor from the East will perhaps feel more at home in St. Paul; if from the West he is likely to prefer Minneapolis.

—Minnesota: A State Guide (WPA, 1938)

* * *

Photographs by Mark Ryan, an environmental engineer from the Twin Cities.

Follow your guide to a church basement bowling alley in St. Paul, Minnesota. It’s the St. Francis Bowling Center, where players are asked to “be courteous and respectful to other players by using appropriate, Christian behavior.”  Once common across the Midwest and parts of the Northeast, there are less than 200 church bowling lanes left in America today. German immigrants started building these holy alleys in the 1860s as meeting places and moral refuges for wholesome, after quitting time get togethers (i.e. to keep family breadwinners from blowing their paychecks at the bar). Most started closing down in the 1980s and 90s. Though, you’ll be glad to know, some of the church lanes that are left now sell beer. This is one of those times you say to yourself: “Only in America.” Photo Credit: Katie Howie and Marianne McNamara     
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Follow your guide to a church basement bowling alley in St. Paul, Minnesota. It’s the St. Francis Bowling Center, where players are asked to “be courteous and respectful to other players by using appropriate, Christian behavior.”  Once common across the Midwest and parts of the Northeast, there are less than 200 church bowling lanes left in America today. German immigrants started building these holy alleys in the 1860s as meeting places and moral refuges for wholesome, after quitting time get togethers (i.e. to keep family breadwinners from blowing their paychecks at the bar). Most started closing down in the 1980s and 90s. Though, you’ll be glad to know, some of the church lanes that are left now sell beer. This is one of those times you say to yourself: “Only in America.” Photo Credit: Katie Howie and Marianne McNamara     
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Follow your guide to a church basement bowling alley in St. Paul, Minnesota. It’s the St. Francis Bowling Center, where players are asked to “be courteous and respectful to other players by using appropriate, Christian behavior.”  Once common across the Midwest and parts of the Northeast, there are less than 200 church bowling lanes left in America today. German immigrants started building these holy alleys in the 1860s as meeting places and moral refuges for wholesome, after quitting time get togethers (i.e. to keep family breadwinners from blowing their paychecks at the bar). Most started closing down in the 1980s and 90s. Though, you’ll be glad to know, some of the church lanes that are left now sell beer. This is one of those times you say to yourself: “Only in America.” Photo Credit: Katie Howie and Marianne McNamara     
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Follow your guide to a church basement bowling alley in St. Paul, Minnesota. It’s the St. Francis Bowling Center, where players are asked to “be courteous and respectful to other players by using appropriate, Christian behavior.”  Once common across the Midwest and parts of the Northeast, there are less than 200 church bowling lanes left in America today. German immigrants started building these holy alleys in the 1860s as meeting places and moral refuges for wholesome, after quitting time get togethers (i.e. to keep family breadwinners from blowing their paychecks at the bar). Most started closing down in the 1980s and 90s. Though, you’ll be glad to know, some of the church lanes that are left now sell beer. This is one of those times you say to yourself: “Only in America.” Photo Credit: Katie Howie and Marianne McNamara     
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Follow your guide to a church basement bowling alley in St. Paul, Minnesota. It’s the St. Francis Bowling Center, where players are asked to “be courteous and respectful to other players by using appropriate, Christian behavior.”  Once common across the Midwest and parts of the Northeast, there are less than 200 church bowling lanes left in America today. German immigrants started building these holy alleys in the 1860s as meeting places and moral refuges for wholesome, after quitting time get togethers (i.e. to keep family breadwinners from blowing their paychecks at the bar). Most started closing down in the 1980s and 90s. Though, you’ll be glad to know, some of the church lanes that are left now sell beer. This is one of those times you say to yourself: “Only in America.” Photo Credit: Katie Howie and Marianne McNamara     
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Follow your guide to a church basement bowling alley in St. Paul, Minnesota. It’s the St. Francis Bowling Center, where players are asked to “be courteous and respectful to other players by using appropriate, Christian behavior.”  Once common across the Midwest and parts of the Northeast, there are less than 200 church bowling lanes left in America today. German immigrants started building these holy alleys in the 1860s as meeting places and moral refuges for wholesome, after quitting time get togethers (i.e. to keep family breadwinners from blowing their paychecks at the bar). Most started closing down in the 1980s and 90s. Though, you’ll be glad to know, some of the church lanes that are left now sell beer. This is one of those times you say to yourself: “Only in America.” Photo Credit: Katie Howie and Marianne McNamara     
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Follow your guide to a church basement bowling alley in St. Paul, Minnesota. It’s the St. Francis Bowling Center, where players are asked to “be courteous and respectful to other players by using appropriate, Christian behavior.”  Once common across the Midwest and parts of the Northeast, there are less than 200 church bowling lanes left in America today. German immigrants started building these holy alleys in the 1860s as meeting places and moral refuges for wholesome, after quitting time get togethers (i.e. to keep family breadwinners from blowing their paychecks at the bar). Most started closing down in the 1980s and 90s. Though, you’ll be glad to know, some of the church lanes that are left now sell beer. This is one of those times you say to yourself: “Only in America.” Photo Credit: Katie Howie and Marianne McNamara     
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Follow your guide to a church basement bowling alley in St. Paul, Minnesota. It’s the St. Francis Bowling Center, where players are asked to “be courteous and respectful to other players by using appropriate, Christian behavior.”  Once common across the Midwest and parts of the Northeast, there are less than 200 church bowling lanes left in America today. German immigrants started building these holy alleys in the 1860s as meeting places and moral refuges for wholesome, after quitting time get togethers (i.e. to keep family breadwinners from blowing their paychecks at the bar). Most started closing down in the 1980s and 90s. Though, you’ll be glad to know, some of the church lanes that are left now sell beer. This is one of those times you say to yourself: “Only in America.” Photo Credit: Katie Howie and Marianne McNamara     
Zoom Info
Follow your guide to a church basement bowling alley in St. Paul, Minnesota. It’s the St. Francis Bowling Center, where players are asked to “be courteous and respectful to other players by using appropriate, Christian behavior.”  Once common across the Midwest and parts of the Northeast, there are less than 200 church bowling lanes left in America today. German immigrants started building these holy alleys in the 1860s as meeting places and moral refuges for wholesome, after quitting time get togethers (i.e. to keep family breadwinners from blowing their paychecks at the bar). Most started closing down in the 1980s and 90s. Though, you’ll be glad to know, some of the church lanes that are left now sell beer. This is one of those times you say to yourself: “Only in America.” Photo Credit: Katie Howie and Marianne McNamara     
Zoom Info

Follow your guide to a church basement bowling alley in St. Paul, Minnesota. It’s the St. Francis Bowling Center, where players are asked to “be courteous and respectful to other players by using appropriate, Christian behavior.” 

Once common across the Midwest and parts of the Northeast, there are less than 200 church bowling lanes left in America today. German immigrants started building these holy alleys in the 1860s as meeting places and moral refuges for wholesome, after quitting time get togethers (i.e. to keep family breadwinners from blowing their paychecks at the bar).

Most started closing down in the 1980s and 90s. Though, you’ll be glad to know, some of the church lanes that are left now sell beer.

This is one of those times you say to yourself: “Only in America.”

Photo Credit: Katie Howie and Marianne McNamara     

St. Paul, MN, was born in whisky: ‘How solemn and beautiful is the thought that the earliest pioneer of civilization, the van leader, is never the steamboat, never the railroad, never the newspaper, never the Sabbath School, but always the whisky! The missionary comes after the whisky—I mean he arrives after the whisky has arrived; next the trader, next the miscellaneous rush; next the gambler, the desperado, the highwayman, and all their kindred of sin of both sexes, and next the smart chap who has bought up an old grant that covers all the land, this brings the lawyer tribe, the vigilante committees, and this brings the undertaker. All these interests bring the newspaper; the newspaper starts up politics and a railroad; all hands turn to and build a church and a jail and behold! Civilization is established forever in the land. Westward the jug of Empire takes its way!’    —Mark Twain, after visiting St. Paul, in 1882 (excerpted from THE WPA GUIDE TO MINNESOTA)
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St. Paul, MN, was born in whisky:

‘How solemn and beautiful is the thought that the earliest pioneer of civilization, the van leader, is never the steamboat, never the railroad, never the newspaper, never the Sabbath School, but always the whisky! The missionary comes after the whisky—I mean he arrives after the whisky has arrived; next the trader, next the miscellaneous rush; next the gambler, the desperado, the highwayman, and all their kindred of sin of both sexes, and next the smart chap who has bought up an old grant that covers all the land, this brings the lawyer tribe, the vigilante committees, and this brings the undertaker. All these interests bring the newspaper; the newspaper starts up politics and a railroad; all hands turn to and build a church and a jail and behold! Civilization is established forever in the land. Westward the jug of Empire takes its way!’   

—Mark Twain, after visiting St. Paul, in 1882 (excerpted from THE WPA GUIDE TO MINNESOTA)

New Ulm, Minnesota in 1973: After a Large Brush Fire Was Extinguished, the Grateful Farmer Handed Out Locally Made German-Style Beer as a Thirst Quencher. The Man at the Left Center Is Volunteer Fire Department Lieutenant Wallace “Whitey” Wolf Who Works for the City as a Mechanic in Their Repair Garage. New Ulm Is a County Seat Trading Center of 13,000 in a Farming Area of South Central Minnesota. It Was Founded by a German Immigrant Land Company.  National Archives, photo by Bruce Bisping. From Documerica, a photo-documentary project from the EPA in the 1970s.  
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New Ulm, Minnesota in 1973: After a Large Brush Fire Was Extinguished, the Grateful Farmer Handed Out Locally Made German-Style Beer as a Thirst Quencher. The Man at the Left Center Is Volunteer Fire Department Lieutenant Wallace “Whitey” Wolf Who Works for the City as a Mechanic in Their Repair Garage. New Ulm Is a County Seat Trading Center of 13,000 in a Farming Area of South Central Minnesota. It Was Founded by a German Immigrant Land Company. 

National Archives, photo by Bruce Bisping. From Documerica, a photo-documentary project from the EPA in the 1970s.