Summerland
From the viewpoint in the parking lot of QAD on Ortega Hill in Summerland, it is easy to think about petromodernity at this point. On the one side, we are standing next to a software company, we see the Amazon label on hats, packages, and a multitude of cars parked next to you, while we’re also hearing the noise coming from the passing cars on the 101. On the other hand, the impressive shoreline view gives way to multiple oil platforms that force the viewer to think about how cars are produced, ridden, parked and filled with products.
For what was once intended to be a haven of rest, Summerland today is an incredibly loud place. The town is dominated by the 101 freeway which cuts between Summerland proper and the ocean. Visually and auditorily, there is no escape from the massive stream of concrete and asphalt and the zooming cacophony of cars that flow in both directions. From the perspective of a Summerlander, it seems difficult to imagine a worse place to put a freeway. In a sense, oil culture has inflicted two wounds on the town. The first was the gouging of physical and metaphorical holes into what was once a religious mecca, transforming a pristine landscape into an industrial oil extraction site. The second involved carving a massive scar down it’s center, cutting the town off from the ocean and its natural beauty.