Laundromats. Unloved.
I’m drawn to old laundromats. I think in the same way that people are drawn to photos of Cuba. Except without the brightly rusted vintage cars and peppy dancing octogenarians. In gentrifying or groovifying strips, they are like Barry Humphries’ “suburbs in between” – the uncelebrated, ignored and passed-by, containing a less glamorous but maybe more true version of the place. (I can see postmodern architectural types falling over themselves to talk about “place” and “historicity.”) At other times, they seem almost like installations, or museum pieces – devoid of staff and frozen in time.
I think someone needs to do an encyclopaedic book of art-shots of fading laundromats before they die the death their dilapidation points to. That, and those shopfront ethnic men’s clubs, with tobacco-stained lace curtains, a plywood bar, 80s cathode ray tube and vinyl seats. Until that time, check out the crummy point-and-shoots I took recently over at Picasaweb. The laundros in question are on Smith & Johnston Sts.
i’ve actually been to this laundromat!