Sometimes when you look at an old building from far away, the tattered windows aren't so noticeable. Sort of like how the wrinkles in a elder's face aren't so crisp when seen from across the room. Sometimes things appear more attractive from far away. The farther away you are, the more you can see in proximity to the present. But the closer you stand, the more you can try to understand. This has a lot to do with distance ... and the time between you and the building ... you must be able to see that long ago, it could have been glorious, triumphant, and proud. The closer you get, the more clearly you are able to discern the shattered windows and the ruined stucco, the damaged panes and the defeated construction. The worn out colors become more vibrant.
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Abandonment.
When you're so close to something, you see the abandonment and almost feel it, and in that way you are nearer to the life of the thing, and you are prevailing it's recklessness through appreciation.
When you're so close to something, you see the abandonment and almost feel it, and in that way you are nearer to the life of the thing, and you are prevailing it's recklessness through appreciation.
Besançon, France - à côté du Doubs
