I drive. Drive, drive, drive. Stretches of lonely pavement drift past canyons, mesas, sunsets, and rocks. Plenty of rocks. Arizona beckons the artist to drive her. She speaks to the young, she calls to the wild, she haunts the lonely. She is the thing of dreams. Nowhere else do you really feel that you are in America. She is the quest of everybody’s imagination. She is legend. She is past. She is future. She is here. Everyone tries their hands at catching her. But she cannot be caught, for Arizona, the west, defies mans grasp. She belongs to no one, yet exists for all. The open road invites everyone to venture into the mysteries that the west possesses. There exists a sense of yearning in the open landscape. Being out on the highway is the great escape that we all yearn for. We are finally free when we are surrounded by nothing. No distractions. No sound. No life. Only land. Land as far as the eyes can see. Land that belongs to no one. Land in its native state. Land that has been untouched by mans soiled palms. Land that is freer than we’ll ever be.