Peggy Ferris & The Roadrunners
One day in a dark, musty garage Honolulu resident Omer Kursat bought a world in a box for five dollars—and in doing so unleashed a dormant stream of magical, fossilized memories.
What might have been lost forever was thankfully captured on film by one Peggy Ferris, an anonymous young woman with a film camera, a tremendously keen eye and an innate sense of destiny. These majestic, sinless still-lifes of a forgotten band of fledgling theatrical neophytes speak to our collective, anxious dreams for the future while ever so briefly basking in the fleeting radiance of early adulthood. A random cluster of friends bound together by innocence in a sleepy California town formed like amoebae on Main Street for a very fleeting time, seizing life by the horns while exuding unbridled and unconditional freedom, the perennial hallmarks of the wild dreams of youth. With innocent splendor Ferris casts her imprimatur with the truthfulness of Vivian Maier and the majesty of Robert Frank.
Visually captivating, these mysterious, stunning images have re-emerged as an aesthetic espousal of innocence, hope and exuberance, blazing a frantic path towards the eventual realization of passionate and purposeful lives. Who were these people? Let their voices speak to us from time past; we can see them, hear them: their voices are ours.