Port Hueneme California is a remote place; the furthest point one can travel, south, beyond suburbia. It's next door to Oxnard, the Wild Wild West or what I liken to "Cuidad Juarez North" with shootings/knifings nightly.
It's a fringe location which few know about, or care to adventure to. It is ripe and destitute; not pretty to look at or smell, but perfect for an artist who's been tasked with making something beautiful (and/or interesting) out of relatively nothing at all.
This location is rich with pure desolation. Making up the back drop of this odious arm pit are the smells of reclaimed sewage wafting in the air, accompanied by the frequent sound of hissing from fuming factory valve releases. The broken glass I tread upon made each step crispy beneath my boots. It glistened under salty sodium vapor lamps, like a carpet of freshly cut diamonds. Banksy style graffiti art decorated the nearby walls; sprucing up the neighborhood.
Yes this is a very rich area for the gritty, down and dirty.
It's been seven years since I've painted in this area, and now I muster the gumption to return and capture it in paint, all over again.
Steam Plant Nocturne
12x16, oil/canvas 1998