The house is empty.
It has been a boxroom for ages. Where things which nobody wanted, fell down, literally, and stayed, there, almost prepared to be found by someone. When I was little, it seemed to me like a secret castle full of treasures. I never understood why it fascinated me that much. Now I realize of this admiration. Small important memories of my family's lives were hidden among dust and years. Mixed, as on purpose, creating that magic.
Hardly someone wants all those junks. But one day, in their moment, they were authentic treasures.
Architecture is life. And furniture: where we sit, where we sleep, where we dream.
That's why I called this: "forgotten memories".
It has been a boxroom for ages. Where things which nobody wanted, fell down, literally, and stayed, there, almost prepared to be found by someone. When I was little, it seemed to me like a secret castle full of treasures. I never understood why it fascinated me that much. Now I realize of this admiration. Small important memories of my family's lives were hidden among dust and years. Mixed, as on purpose, creating that magic.
Hardly someone wants all those junks. But one day, in their moment, they were authentic treasures.
Architecture is life. And furniture: where we sit, where we sleep, where we dream.
That's why I called this: "forgotten memories".
some of my photographies:
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