Abandoned places contain an enigma that remains unanswered even if you know the story—most often, however, you don't know the story.
Who lived here? What did they fill their days with? What books did they read? What did they talk about? Why the building is abandoned?
Things that accumulate around abandoned buildings receive a new life. Broken glass looks as if someone arranged a composition on the stairs.
Post box remains intact while the lantern leans to one side.
The gallery must have looked lovely in the evening.
Life outside goes on as usual. And only in these abandoned spots it seems like time stopped its run. What is appealing, what is attractive in ruins, in dilapidated buildings, and old cars is a promise of the possibility. As if by reinventing the past one might reimagine the futute. As if there is always a chance that either those who lived here or thouse who will live will do something differently. As if this is an entrance to another world.
But is this so? Is it possible to imagine another world, another life? More fulfilling, more meaningful? What would people living this more fulfilling life do?
The name of the owner of the mansion remains written on a concrete tomb. An abandon building is a mausoleum of the life past. Letters inform without informing. Windows are broken and shielded with plywood. What was here yesterday, is not here today. What is here today, will not be here tomorrow.