Imagining the Texas Coast on Instagram
by Jackson Tyler (class of 2018, Architecture School)
To be immersed in petro-culture is to have oil color your field of vision — it is an acknowledgement that embraces both a sense of “awe” in the visualization of human domination over and extraction of nature, but also acknowledges the murkier consequences of this set of actions which surface as “darkened” images (fitting into a lineage of image production that lays bare the less rosy effects of industrialization). One space where narratives of oil may be made partially visible are more covert and less institutional modes of cultural expression such as Instagram. In images of water places, as seen through the eyes of those along the Texas coastline and its corresponding waterways, petro-culture is manifested in visual representations on Instagram — the variety of these representations serving to illuminate the multi-faceted relationship that we hold with oil. Instagram, popular for its “filtering” options for visual postings, allows users to communicate social understandings of water in relationship to the ever-presence of petro-culture: at times emphasizing petro-culture’s relation to waterways, and at others undermining it or even rendering it invisible. Not only do these representations communicate presently held sets of ideas about water and about oil on the Texas coast, but they contribute to the ongoing production of knowledge of what the coastline of Texas is.
Images that are tagged in locations along the Houston Ship Channel, a pathway carved out for cargo travel of large ships which includes the Galveston Bay as well as parts of Buffalo Bayou often feature dull, or grayed out filters. Many of the postings which feature the architectures and infrastructures of oil in the area darken or desaturate the sky, rather than emphasizing its blueness, and the contrast in these images is turned down — evoking a flattened world permeated by smog, by petro-culture. The infrastructures and architectures of oil production often make appearances similar to a downtown skyline (and in fact, some feature the towers of Houston in the far off background). Tall oil rigs in groups rise tall out of the flat marshy landscape and their verticality in relation to their earth is emphasized — their plumes of flames are emphasized and often distinctly targeted when they act up for these postings. These posts communicate a perverse yet accepting perspective on the hard economics of oil culture which get erected into physical reality. Rainy days and storms seem to be favored moments to capture photos in the Houston Ship Channel, especially for accounts that can be attributed to those who are employed in the industry in the area — with many taking advantage of this weather to post gloomy but powerful images of this landscape which necessarily involves massive scale human forces in conversation with nature. In others, the material manifestations of globalization vis-a-vis massive barges and cargo crates are foregrounded. Images of industry, labor, moving cranes, and the muted tones of stacks and stacks of cargo containers are featured and tell a story of the particular byproduct of neoliberal globalization that finds its place specifically here at the Port of Houston.
Still, there are images that are taken in the very same area, along to the ship channel, which emphasize the blues of the skies and the sea, the ripples of the water, or the light of the sun. These images, emphasizing a culture of leisure associated with the beach (a beach that is mostly absent, or underemphasized, in this part of the coastline) are taken from boats or from coastal park areas. They, for the most part, leave out the visible infrastructures of industry in the area, favoring a more naturalistic orientation. The captions of these images put forth ideas about reflection, relaxation, or a pensive escape from the demands of urban life. It would difficult to set up this theme if one were to include the imposing scale and more imposing consequences visible with a massive barge or a forest of oil rigs. The exception is the many images of sail boat races, surely a competition which involves dynamics of winning and losing, of power in some capacity: these posts often do put their sail boat competitors in conversation with the massive barges in the surrounds, or the towering oil rigs in the background.
Compared to the more popular vacation destination of Galveston, and some of the images taken out on recreational boats on the ship channel, which crop out infrastructures of oil and emphasize the blues of the skies and the waters, or the sunset, images posted at the Ship Channel don’t shy away from representing the processes of capital which find themselves acted out in large scale there. In Galveston, although nearby and adjacent, the presence of the beach often overtakes this reality. Images posted in Galveston are instead often highly saturated, and high in contrast. They emphasize the blue of the sky and the sea, the color and texture of the sand. The orange of the sun. A huge proportion of these pictures are taken at sunset, allowing for oranges and pinks that one would not associate with the grey of industrial processes come to the fore. Palm trees are abstractly photographed from below — showing none of the local context — and making invisible the industrial adjacencies. These images make invisible some of the realities of the region and instead evoke a beach dream conceived to be imported from national ideas of water places which originate in California or Hawaii. Not all of these images render this Texan coastline invisible through a conflation with the more nationally understood imaginary of a California beach dream — some work to communicate a sense of locality. Some do this through bringing in traces of the industrial processes which are relatively distinct to this portion of coastline. One post, showing a body of water adjacent to a pseudo-mediterranean McMansion (which is actually photographed along the ship channel) puts forth in its caption that the area is “just like Southern California” — the author stating that Kemah is like Santa Monica and Seabrook is the Malibu equivalent for the area.
Like postings at the ship channel, there are many posts tagged in Galveston that take advantage of rainy or stormy days — images the emphasize grayness and invoke a vague sensibility of ruin. Other posts tagged in Galveston communicate their locality not through connecting to the regional status of an energy capital, but instead by invoking Texan images and symbols. In some, Texas flags are the main subject of the image and we are given the ocean or the beach as the backdrop, evoking the history of American Westward Expansion and the settling of the final frontier — here just sized down and appropriated to the scale of Texas. Many others show huge trucks parked on the beach, their massive weight in contrast with the soft sand — and demonstrating a regulatory difference that may very well be distinct to the Texan coastline at least in comparison with a beach in Hawaii or California — where one would never find a car driving on the beach, much less a massive souped up truck.
In Galveston, the presence of the beach often overtakes the adjacent reality of oil infrastructures. However, like postings at the ship channel, there are many posts tagged in Galveston that take advantage of rainy or stormy days — images the emphasize grayness and invoke a vague sensibility of ruin, and providing clues to the potentially inexorable ties between petroculture and the Texas coastline made in the cultural consciousness, though also likely tinged with the narratives of destruction vis-a-vis hurricanes which get tied to the area, and work “cleanly” with petro-narratives to shape a specific aesthetic view of the region.