Ghost houses

I’ve always been fascinated with the old and abandoned. Some time as a child, my parents and I stopped by the ruins of a “ghost town”. In my memory, it was like one of the abandoned towns in Scooby-Doo, complete with hinged swinging wooden doors. In reality, I think it must have been much more scarce and I just filled in the details over the years. One thing I do remember is a small metal doll carriage (very typical I know) with an old doll in it. I was mesmerized by this image and thinking about the little girl who owned it filled my imagination for quite some time. Incidentally, I was also very preoccupied with death and the finite amount of time we have on this Earth. My mom tells a story of me when I was 4. I asked her if a flower I picked would die. Of course she said yes and this started a period of questions over the next few days about everything I knew in the world and whether it would die. She knew what I was leading up to which was of course “Will you die?”. She explained that yes, she would, some time in the far off future, etc. My mom said at first I was sad and cried inconsolably. But then I got angry and demanded to know why she would give birth to me if she knew she would leave me some day. The knowledge that everything and everyone we love will die someday was a truth that my 4 year old brain that horrified and angered me. It also gave me an urge to preserve and document the old and broken, the past and present, before the physical evidence was gone. This isn’t of course, a novel idea, as many people are drawn to abandoned houses, buildings, cemeteries. Maybe it is a way to ease anxiety, to honour not only what was once vibrant, but also to mark the beauty of that which no longer is. Anyway, a brief background to explain one of the reasons I love to take pictures. These are a few I took on the weekend near Kincardine. (cam phone)








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