I visited a building. It was once a place a worship. It was then a house. To many, it was a place of bonding, of belonging. To time, it was just another obstacle of order to be dismantled and fall into disrepair.
So lucky, I am, to know people who know people. I was admitted into the building with open arms (literally) to explore, observe, create, and wonder while wandering through hallways that had seen so much more history than I can could ever fathom.
My friend Erin arranged it all, her former doctor had purchased the property, and is in the process of renovating the structure. It will become a specialist centre, and the now owner, Naomi, knows that there's a lot of work to do. There's a Go Fund Me for the building.
In future, I will gladly pay to use the building as a make shift studio. The interior is a beautiful snapshot in time, and has so much potential. In any case, today's post is about images. Images made in the presence of this structure.
I'll start with what I think is the best one. The below image is a photograph of a man that I know. His name is Daniel. He too is a photographer and artist, much like me.
A combination of window light, and flash bounced off the other wall of this transitional area of the structure was all that was required to make this portrait. Daniel and I both wanted self portraits in this spot, so we swapped.
I think you can guess who is the more photogenic adult man. (Hint: it isn't me)
Same lighting conditions, same camera, same flash, different hands.
The scene, without man, is just as "nice", perhaps, even better.
Yes, it is dark, yes, it is underexposed. It meant to be. It is an artistic choice. Find what will you in the shadows you gaze, not what I force upon you. My favourite part about this spot was not the shutters or the filtering light, but the empty bowl that sat upon the ground. How long had it rested there?
Then there was my friend, painting the bathroom upstairs.
I left her to work. I explored some more. I found some nice angles. I had some conversations with strangers, who were there to paint or to draw the building. Many were using it as an opportunity to find form, away from the human form, which was also my intent.
As I explored the texture of the place, I pondered the human hands that had ravaged the walls in the dark, in search of relief from their aching bladders in the middle of countless nights for which the building had stood.
The day was cold, the light was minimal. My speedlights wouldn't sync with my trigger for some reason. Rumors of the place being haunted by the spirits of nuns and some spirits I do not recall the name of were rampant in conversation between the owner and the other artists swarming over the site.
(We weren't really swarming, we were a behaved group of less than ten, all there to create, and to meet those we wouldn't ordinarily encounter, or even stop to chat with on any other occasion.)
I looked for meaning in the light, in the shapes of the place.
I looked for contrast, texture, and inspiration. I didn't think that I found much, instead imagining the human form against the textures of the place, pale, fleshy, soft, against the hard, exposed timber and harder still brick, stone and nails that made up the place, covered in peeling paint and eager mold.
Broken door ways, painted windows, padlocks, and light. Paint, timber, echoed footsteps. The thick covering of dust, and bird shit by the windows. Renovation supplies and parts of the building itself, stacked in various rooms.
I found delight in the corners of things, at the intersections of things.
In shadow, and light:
And then, I went back to visit Erin and her painting of the bathroom, in the rapidly vanishing light.
A little time left, still, for more exploration, and another angle of an empty chair, for a place that will one day, help countless individuals with their mental health. Once the renovations are done.
- @holoz0r, from somewhere in Gawler, South Australia.