Buildings are created to protect us, to hold us safely between their walls like a mother holds her baby in her arms. They’re expressions of a culture, of the time they were built in, and in the case of houses, of individual taste.
This is why whenever I see such a structure that is crumbling to the ground, the main feeling that takes over me is sadness. Sadness, because I imagine the lives of those who lived there, but have moved on. The remains of what was once a mighty structure stand there, taking away all the dignity it once had, and leaving it defenseless in front of weather’s ill temper.
These pictures are of a former Catholic church, which was probably abandoned around the same time the village of which it was a part of was deserted. I was surprised to see that it somehow maintained a sort of grandeur, even in its last stage of surviving. Walking inside it gave me at first a feeling I was intruding in a place I was not permitted, but it may have been just my imagination running wild, fed by the awe of entering something that will soon no longer be there.
Walking inside, I looked at nature, claiming back its territory with a destructive beauty that amazed and petrified me. The old church seemed ancient and I wondered how many unanswered prayers had its walls heard until the burden became too heavy and made them bow to the ground they once stood on. The church, unable to pick its fallen pieces back up, was slowly crawling out of existence, surrendering its place in the world.