Clown Town

A note from photographer Slate Vernick about this image:  
"Canaryville is known for its selection of restaurants, all of which have been in business for nearly 100 years at this point. The nostalgic diners and dinerfare remind people of a more peaceful time, I think."  
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This portrait is an excerpt from the photographic archives of beloved photographer Slate Vernick. From 2082-2084, Slate photographed the residents of Canaryville, a coastal community known to outsiders as "Clown Town." For almost two decades, the citizens of Canaryville had widely embraced the practice of dressing up as clowns each day. What started as a unifying form of anti-war protest became a nearly religious cultural tradition and aspect of town identity. The devoted continuation of the practice had long puzzledand frightenedvisitors who would stop for lunch or ice cream before setting their back to "Clown Town" forever.

Built largely in the 1950s-1960s as an affordable tourist resort town not far from the coast, the town fell into disrepair in the late 1980s. In 2059, some 65% of the dilapidated town was then purchased by an internet fast fashion company, whose oversea operations had been bombed in the events leading up to the war. They hastily repurposed several warehouse buildings into textile and clothing factories, making Canaryville an unlikely company town. As war fully broke out, the factory slashed operations to a fraction of the usual volume, leaving thousands unemployed and contributing to the wartime frustration. It was around this time that the first instances of clowns were recorded.

Commissioned by the Esterland Times, Slate Vernick set out to better understand the residents of Canaryville and their obsession with dressing up as clowns. Was it an elaborate technique to encourage tourism in a timid, post-war world? A way to cope with the loss of family members and friends? A form of protest? By immersing himself in the community, members of the town opened up to him. For nearly two years, he photographed and conducted interviews with citizens, seeking to understand with a tape recorder in one hand and a medium format film camera in the other. He felt the analog approach to the work would portray the story in a more authentic way, not shying away from the difficult symptoms of residual radioactivityfeathery, multiple fingers, mishappen facial features, and the like.

Some met his curiosity with cheerful vulnerability, and others with puzzlement. Most averted their gaze with melancholy in their eyes. By the end of his time in Clown Town, he was respected, but still not necessarily befriended. The Esterland Times never published the work, afraid they might frighten their readers and over-humanize the residents of a town that was so often the brunt of political jokes.

While his tape recordings have been long lost, Slate Vernick's film archives have been rediscovered and published here in an attempt to preserve his thoughtful, unsettling, intimate, and beautiful body of work on the puzzling place known as "Clown Town."

Clown Town #19

This portrait is an excerpt from the photographic archives of beloved photographer Slate Vernick. From 2082-2084, Slate photographed the residents of Canaryville, a coastal community known to outsiders as "Clown Town." For almost two decades, the citizens of Canaryville had widely embraced the practice of dressing up as clowns each day. What started as a unifying form of anti-war protest became a nearly religious cultural tradition and aspect of town identity. The devoted continuation of the practice had long puzzledand frightenedvisitors who would stop for lunch or ice cream before setting their back to "Clown Town" forever.

Built largely in the 1950s-1960s as an affordable tourist resort town not far from the coast, the town fell into disrepair in the late 1980s. In 2059, some 65% of the dilapidated town was then purchased by an internet fast fashion company, whose oversea operations had been bombed in the events leading up to the war. They hastily repurposed several warehouse buildings into textile and clothing factories, making Canaryville an unlikely company town. As war fully broke out, the factory slashed operations to a fraction of the usual volume, leaving thousands unemployed and contributing to the wartime frustration. It was around this time that the first instances of clowns were recorded.

Commissioned by the Esterland Times, Slate Vernick set out to better understand the residents of Canaryville and their obsession with dressing up as clowns. Was it an elaborate technique to encourage tourism in a timid, post-war world? A way to cope with the loss of family members and friends? A form of protest? By immersing himself in the community, members of the town opened up to him. For nearly two years, he photographed and conducted interviews with citizens, seeking to understand with a tape recorder in one hand and a medium format film camera in the other. He felt the analog approach to the work would portray the story in a more authentic way, not shying away from the difficult symptoms of residual radioactivityfeathery, multiple fingers, mishappen facial features, and the like.

Some met his curiosity with cheerful vulnerability, and others with puzzlement. Most averted their gaze with melancholy in their eyes. By the end of his time in Clown Town, he was respected, but still not necessarily befriended. The Esterland Times never published the work, afraid they might frighten their readers and over-humanize the residents of a town that was so often the brunt of political jokes.

While his tape recordings have been long lost, Slate Vernick's film archives have been rediscovered and published here in an attempt to preserve his thoughtful, unsettling, intimate, and beautiful body of work on the puzzling place known as "Clown Town."

Clown Town #20

A note from photographer Slate Vernick about this image:  
"Many a tourist passes through to try one of Canaryville's famous restaurants, but few stay for much else. I found that the mornings were the best time to photograph them."  
-----

This portrait is an excerpt from the photographic archives of beloved photographer Slate Vernick. From 2082-2084, Slate photographed the residents of Canaryville, a coastal community known to outsiders as "Clown Town." For almost two decades, the citizens of Canaryville had widely embraced the practice of dressing up as clowns each day. What started as a unifying form of anti-war protest became a nearly religious cultural tradition and aspect of town identity. The devoted continuation of the practice had long puzzledand frightenedvisitors who would stop for lunch or ice cream before setting their back to "Clown Town" forever.

Built largely in the 1950s-1960s as an affordable tourist resort town not far from the coast, the town fell into disrepair in the late 1980s. In 2059, some 65% of the dilapidated town was then purchased by an internet fast fashion company, whose oversea operations had been bombed in the events leading up to the war. They hastily repurposed several warehouse buildings into textile and clothing factories, making Canaryville an unlikely company town. As war fully broke out, the factory slashed operations to a fraction of the usual volume, leaving thousands unemployed and contributing to the wartime frustration. It was around this time that the first instances of clowns were recorded.

Commissioned by the Esterland Times, Slate Vernick set out to better understand the residents of Canaryville and their obsession with dressing up as clowns. Was it an elaborate technique to encourage tourism in a timid, post-war world? A way to cope with the loss of family members and friends? A form of protest? By immersing himself in the community, members of the town opened up to him. For nearly two years, he photographed and conducted interviews with citizens, seeking to understand with a tape recorder in one hand and a medium format film camera in the other. He felt the analog approach to the work would portray the story in a more authentic way, not shying away from the difficult symptoms of residual radioactivityfeathery, multiple fingers, mishappen facial features, and the like.

Some met his curiosity with cheerful vulnerability, and others with puzzlement. Most averted their gaze with melancholy in their eyes. By the end of his time in Clown Town, he was respected, but still not necessarily befriended. The Esterland Times never published the work, afraid they might frighten their readers and over-humanize the residents of a town that was so often the brunt of political jokes.

While his tape recordings have been long lost, Slate Vernick's film archives have been rediscovered and published here in an attempt to preserve his thoughtful, unsettling, intimate, and beautiful body of work on the puzzling place known as "Clown Town."

Clown Town #21

A note from photographer Slate Vernick about this image:  
"This establishment had phenomenal meat pies. Jonathan was particularly friendly, too."  
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This portrait is an excerpt from the photographic archives of beloved photographer Slate Vernick. From 2082-2084, Slate photographed the residents of Canaryville, a coastal community known to outsiders as "Clown Town." For almost two decades, the citizens of Canaryville had widely embraced the practice of dressing up as clowns each day. What started as a unifying form of anti-war protest became a nearly religious cultural tradition and aspect of town identity. The devoted continuation of the practice had long puzzledand frightenedvisitors who would stop for lunch or ice cream before setting their back to "Clown Town" forever.

Built largely in the 1950s-1960s as an affordable tourist resort town not far from the coast, the town fell into disrepair in the late 1980s. In 2059, some 65% of the dilapidated town was then purchased by an internet fast fashion company, whose oversea operations had been bombed in the events leading up to the war. They hastily repurposed several warehouse buildings into textile and clothing factories, making Canaryville an unlikely company town. As war fully broke out, the factory slashed operations to a fraction of the usual volume, leaving thousands unemployed and contributing to the wartime frustration. It was around this time that the first instances of clowns were recorded.

Commissioned by the Esterland Times, Slate Vernick set out to better understand the residents of Canaryville and their obsession with dressing up as clowns. Was it an elaborate technique to encourage tourism in a timid, post-war world? A way to cope with the loss of family members and friends? A form of protest? By immersing himself in the community, members of the town opened up to him. For nearly two years, he photographed and conducted interviews with citizens, seeking to understand with a tape recorder in one hand and a medium format film camera in the other. He felt the analog approach to the work would portray the story in a more authentic way, not shying away from the difficult symptoms of residual radioactivityfeathery, multiple fingers, mishappen facial features, and the like.

Some met his curiosity with cheerful vulnerability, and others with puzzlement. Most averted their gaze with melancholy in their eyes. By the end of his time in Clown Town, he was respected, but still not necessarily befriended. The Esterland Times never published the work, afraid they might frighten their readers and over-humanize the residents of a town that was so often the brunt of political jokes.

While his tape recordings have been long lost, Slate Vernick's film archives have been rediscovered and published here in an attempt to preserve his thoughtful, unsettling, intimate, and beautiful body of work on the puzzling place known as "Clown Town."

Clown Town #22

A note from photographer Slate Vernick about this image:  
"The effects of radiation have affected some residents more than others."  
-----

This portrait is an excerpt from the photographic archives of beloved photographer Slate Vernick. From 2082-2084, Slate photographed the residents of Canaryville, a coastal community known to outsiders as "Clown Town." For almost two decades, the citizens of Canaryville had widely embraced the practice of dressing up as clowns each day. What started as a unifying form of anti-war protest became a nearly religious cultural tradition and aspect of town identity. The devoted continuation of the practice had long puzzledand frightenedvisitors who would stop for lunch or ice cream before setting their back to "Clown Town" forever.

Built largely in the 1950s-1960s as an affordable tourist resort town not far from the coast, the town fell into disrepair in the late 1980s. In 2059, some 65% of the dilapidated town was then purchased by an internet fast fashion company, whose oversea operations had been bombed in the events leading up to the war. They hastily repurposed several warehouse buildings into textile and clothing factories, making Canaryville an unlikely company town. As war fully broke out, the factory slashed operations to a fraction of the usual volume, leaving thousands unemployed and contributing to the wartime frustration. It was around this time that the first instances of clowns were recorded.

Commissioned by the Esterland Times, Slate Vernick set out to better understand the residents of Canaryville and their obsession with dressing up as clowns. Was it an elaborate technique to encourage tourism in a timid, post-war world? A way to cope with the loss of family members and friends? A form of protest? By immersing himself in the community, members of the town opened up to him. For nearly two years, he photographed and conducted interviews with citizens, seeking to understand with a tape recorder in one hand and a medium format film camera in the other. He felt the analog approach to the work would portray the story in a more authentic way, not shying away from the difficult symptoms of residual radioactivityfeathery, multiple fingers, mishappen facial features, and the like.

Some met his curiosity with cheerful vulnerability, and others with puzzlement. Most averted their gaze with melancholy in their eyes. By the end of his time in Clown Town, he was respected, but still not necessarily befriended. The Esterland Times never published the work, afraid they might frighten their readers and over-humanize the residents of a town that was so often the brunt of political jokes.

While his tape recordings have been long lost, Slate Vernick's film archives have been rediscovered and published here in an attempt to preserve his thoughtful, unsettling, intimate, and beautiful body of work on the puzzling place known as "Clown Town."

Clown Town #23

Clown Town #24

Clown Town #25

A note from photographer Slate Vernick about this image:  
"Edward graduated from Canaryville High School last year. He didn"t seem to understand when I asked what his plans for the future were. He seems pretty content with his job on Restaurant Row."  
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This portrait is an excerpt from the photographic archives of beloved photographer Slate Vernick. From 2082-2084, Slate photographed the residents of Canaryville, a coastal community known to outsiders as "Clown Town." For almost two decades, the citizens of Canaryville had widely embraced the practice of dressing up as clowns each day. What started as a unifying form of anti-war protest became a nearly religious cultural tradition and aspect of town identity. The devoted continuation of the practice had long puzzledand frightenedvisitors who would stop for lunch or ice cream before setting their back to "Clown Town" forever.

Built largely in the 1950s-1960s as an affordable tourist resort town not far from the coast, the town fell into disrepair in the late 1980s. In 2059, some 65% of the dilapidated town was then purchased by an internet fast fashion company, whose oversea operations had been bombed in the events leading up to the war. They hastily repurposed several warehouse buildings into textile and clothing factories, making Canaryville an unlikely company town. As war fully broke out, the factory slashed operations to a fraction of the usual volume, leaving thousands unemployed and contributing to the wartime frustration. It was around this time that the first instances of clowns were recorded.

Commissioned by the Esterland Times, Slate Vernick set out to better understand the residents of Canaryville and their obsession with dressing up as clowns. Was it an elaborate technique to encourage tourism in a timid, post-war world? A way to cope with the loss of family members and friends? A form of protest? By immersing himself in the community, members of the town opened up to him. For nearly two years, he photographed and conducted interviews with citizens, seeking to understand with a tape recorder in one hand and a medium format film camera in the other. He felt the analog approach to the work would portray the story in a more authentic way, not shying away from the difficult symptoms of residual radioactivityfeathery, multiple fingers, mishappen facial features, and the like.

Some met his curiosity with cheerful vulnerability, and others with puzzlement. Most averted their gaze with melancholy in their eyes. By the end of his time in Clown Town, he was respected, but still not necessarily befriended. The Esterland Times never published the work, afraid they might frighten their readers and over-humanize the residents of a town that was so often the brunt of political jokes.

While his tape recordings have been long lost, Slate Vernick"s film archives have been rediscovered and published here in an attempt to preserve his thoughtful, unsettling, intimate, and beautiful body of work on the puzzling place known as "Clown Town."

Clown Town #26

A note from photographer Slate Vernick about this image:  
"Some residents seem to comply, rather than eagerly participate, with the tradition of dressing up as a clown. "  
-----

This portrait is an excerpt from the photographic archives of beloved photographer Slate Vernick. From 2082-2084, Slate photographed the residents of Canaryville, a coastal community known to outsiders as "Clown Town." For almost two decades, the citizens of Canaryville had widely embraced the practice of dressing up as clowns each day. What started as a unifying form of anti-war protest became a nearly religious cultural tradition and aspect of town identity. The devoted continuation of the practice had long puzzledand frightenedvisitors who would stop for lunch or ice cream before setting their back to "Clown Town" forever.

Built largely in the 1950s-1960s as an affordable tourist resort town not far from the coast, the town fell into disrepair in the late 1980s. In 2059, some 65% of the dilapidated town was then purchased by an internet fast fashion company, whose oversea operations had been bombed in the events leading up to the war. They hastily repurposed several warehouse buildings into textile and clothing factories, making Canaryville an unlikely company town. As war fully broke out, the factory slashed operations to a fraction of the usual volume, leaving thousands unemployed and contributing to the wartime frustration. It was around this time that the first instances of clowns were recorded.

Commissioned by the Esterland Times, Slate Vernick set out to better understand the residents of Canaryville and their obsession with dressing up as clowns. Was it an elaborate technique to encourage tourism in a timid, post-war world? A way to cope with the loss of family members and friends? A form of protest? By immersing himself in the community, members of the town opened up to him. For nearly two years, he photographed and conducted interviews with citizens, seeking to understand with a tape recorder in one hand and a medium format film camera in the other. He felt the analog approach to the work would portray the story in a more authentic way, not shying away from the difficult symptoms of residual radioactivityfeathery, multiple fingers, mishappen facial features, and the like.

Some met his curiosity with cheerful vulnerability, and others with puzzlement. Most averted their gaze with melancholy in their eyes. By the end of his time in Clown Town, he was respected, but still not necessarily befriended. The Esterland Times never published the work, afraid they might frighten their readers and over-humanize the residents of a town that was so often the brunt of political jokes.

While his tape recordings have been long lost, Slate Vernick's film archives have been rediscovered and published here in an attempt to preserve his thoughtful, unsettling, intimate, and beautiful body of work on the puzzling place known as "Clown Town."

Clown Town #27

A note from photographer Slate Vernick about this image:  
"Mr. and Mrs. Thompson were hesitant about having their portrait taken, but after some convincing, stiffly complied."  
-----

This portrait is an excerpt from the photographic archives of beloved photographer Slate Vernick. From 2082-2084, Slate photographed the residents of Canaryville, a coastal community known to outsiders as "Clown Town." For almost two decades, the citizens of Canaryville had widely embraced the practice of dressing up as clowns each day. What started as a unifying form of anti-war protest became a nearly religious cultural tradition and aspect of town identity. The devoted continuation of the practice had long puzzledand frightenedvisitors who would stop for lunch or ice cream before setting their back to "Clown Town" forever.

Built largely in the 1950s-1960s as an affordable tourist resort town not far from the coast, the town fell into disrepair in the late 1980s. In 2059, some 65% of the dilapidated town was then purchased by an internet fast fashion company, whose oversea operations had been bombed in the events leading up to the war. They hastily repurposed several warehouse buildings into textile and clothing factories, making Canaryville an unlikely company town. As war fully broke out, the factory slashed operations to a fraction of the usual volume, leaving thousands unemployed and contributing to the wartime frustration. It was around this time that the first instances of clowns were recorded.

Commissioned by the Esterland Times, Slate Vernick set out to better understand the residents of Canaryville and their obsession with dressing up as clowns. Was it an elaborate technique to encourage tourism in a timid, post-war world? A way to cope with the loss of family members and friends? A form of protest? By immersing himself in the community, members of the town opened up to him. For nearly two years, he photographed and conducted interviews with citizens, seeking to understand with a tape recorder in one hand and a medium format film camera in the other. He felt the analog approach to the work would portray the story in a more authentic way, not shying away from the difficult symptoms of residual radioactivityfeathery, multiple fingers, mishappen facial features, and the like.

Some met his curiosity with cheerful vulnerability, and others with puzzlement. Most averted their gaze with melancholy in their eyes. By the end of his time in Clown Town, he was respected, but still not necessarily befriended. The Esterland Times never published the work, afraid they might frighten their readers and over-humanize the residents of a town that was so often the brunt of political jokes.

While his tape recordings have been long lost, Slate Vernick's film archives have been rediscovered and published here in an attempt to preserve his thoughtful, unsettling, intimate, and beautiful body of work on the puzzling place known as "Clown Town."

Clown Town #28

Clown Town #29

Clown Town #30

Clown Town #31

Clown Town #32

A note from photographer Slate Vernick about this image:  
"I decided to photograph the Jordan family from behind their television set playing some local program. I thought it might help them settle into a more natural pose, without requiring eye contact, but it didn't seem to help much."  
-----

This portrait is an excerpt from the photographic archives of beloved photographer Slate Vernick. From 2082-2084, Slate photographed the residents of Canaryville, a coastal community known to outsiders as "Clown Town." For almost two decades, the citizens of Canaryville had widely embraced the practice of dressing up as clowns each day. What started as a unifying form of anti-war protest became a nearly religious cultural tradition and aspect of town identity. The devoted continuation of the practice had long puzzledand frightenedvisitors who would stop for lunch or ice cream before setting their back to "Clown Town" forever.

Built largely in the 1950s-1960s as an affordable tourist resort town not far from the coast, the town fell into disrepair in the late 1980s. In 2059, some 65% of the dilapidated town was then purchased by an internet fast fashion company, whose oversea operations had been bombed in the events leading up to the war. They hastily repurposed several warehouse buildings into textile and clothing factories, making Canaryville an unlikely company town. As war fully broke out, the factory slashed operations to a fraction of the usual volume, leaving thousands unemployed and contributing to the wartime frustration. It was around this time that the first instances of clowns were recorded.

Commissioned by the Esterland Times, Slate Vernick set out to better understand the residents of Canaryville and their obsession with dressing up as clowns. Was it an elaborate technique to encourage tourism in a timid, post-war world? A way to cope with the loss of family members and friends? A form of protest? By immersing himself in the community, members of the town opened up to him. For nearly two years, he photographed and conducted interviews with citizens, seeking to understand with a tape recorder in one hand and a medium format film camera in the other. He felt the analog approach to the work would portray the story in a more authentic way, not shying away from the difficult symptoms of residual radioactivityfeathery, multiple fingers, mishappen facial features, and the like.

Some met his curiosity with cheerful vulnerability, and others with puzzlement. Most averted their gaze with melancholy in their eyes. By the end of his time in Clown Town, he was respected, but still not necessarily befriended. The Esterland Times never published the work, afraid they might frighten their readers and over-humanize the residents of a town that was so often the brunt of political jokes.

While his tape recordings have been long lost, Slate Vernick's film archives have been rediscovered and published here in an attempt to preserve his thoughtful, unsettling, intimate, and beautiful body of work on the puzzling place known as "Clown Town."