"Our roots are clinging, we shouldn't knock down so many old buildings." - Whit Stillman
Looking through the camera lens into another era; trying to breathe life into its structures by imagining its origins; capturing the aged beauty of long ago paint jobs and doors too tired to stay on their hinges; and seeing how the inhabitants are now prolific plants rocking and waving to passerbys on the front porch in the breeze instead of neighbors who are now long gone allowing me to enter in to their forgotten world as a quiet guest who came not to disturb, but simply to remember.
Each old place has a personality and soul of its very own. For instance, the old White House with the old Chevrolet housed two sisters who never married. The blue Chevrolet took them every where they needed to go. It now sits idle surrounded by plant growth. I try to picture the last place the sisters drove somewhere together. Perhaps they took a picnic to share on a bench in the cemetery visiting a friend or to Sunday School in what is now a 150 old church. I ventured to that cemetery to see if their ghosts might be waiting for me with stories to tell. I felt their presence but the gentle wind carried their secrets away.
Hanna Bewley
