Travel, like existence, is a non-figurative art.
Travel is in the head. It is the allegiance to a complicated spatial ritual and a radical simplification of being alive. It is a moon-landing at the outlying point of all the rest.
I use to believe, when we would, as a family, travel by car from Washington to visit family in Missouri, that the surroundings outside of the vehicle were a distorted projection or moving screen. One that became visible only when viewed in a special manner, like driving across America along the freeway. I believe another word for this is Anamorphosis. I'd still like to think that the visions of the badlands, and of Wyoming were of some distorted screen or projection, all built to fill the imagination of the passer-by, or a wondering child with ideas of painting the world around himself.