Growing up in Algonac, Michigan, I didn’t know any kids who didn’t have at least one Hot Wheels car. Back then, I think they were 99¢. Mine was the amazing Antifreeze Green Silhouette. Probably not the most practical car to get in and out if it were real, and more like a frying pan on any Arizona street with the bubble glass canopy. But this one was mine, and I knew one day I’d have to draw it larger than life. As I did, it brought back all the American Material Memories in vivid color — just like the car.
This drawing is part of my ongoing exploration of American Material Memory, the idea that ordinary objects quietly preserve extraordinary lives. The Silhouette isn't simply a toy; it's a reminder of afternoons spent at imaginary orange race tracks, cheering crowds, imaginations at work, and a childhood measured not by screens, but by the worlds we created.
Growing up in Algonac, Michigan, I didn’t know any kids who didn’t have at least one Hot Wheels car. Back then, I think they were 99¢. Mine was the amazing Antifreeze Green Silhouette. Probably not the most practical car to get in and out if it were real, and more like a frying pan on any Arizona street with the bubble glass canopy. But this one was mine, and I knew one day I’d have to draw it larger than life. As I did, it brought back all the American Material Memories in vivid color — just like the car.
This drawing is part of my ongoing exploration of American Material Memory, the idea that ordinary objects quietly preserve extraordinary lives. The Silhouette isn't simply a toy; it's a reminder of afternoons spent at imaginary orange race tracks, cheering crowds, imaginations at work, and a childhood measured not by screens, but by the worlds we created.