I’ve seen Andrew Bush’s freeway photographs here and there before (there’s even a book of them, Drive), and every time I catch a glimpse I’m more intrigued. The composition is always the same: a car door, a driver, a bit of landscape, and a simultaneous velocity and stillness, the striking (and vaguely unsettling) intermixing of private and public spaces and moments—of life in the million bubbles of our highway culture.
