Sometimes it is the fragments of life that make you focus on life itself. In the dark and desolate atmospheres of a ruin, especially if it is a place where work has marked time, there is something viral, violent, as if every surviving piece of metal wanted to scream fiercely about its past.
And it is moving nature’s attempt to insist on covering these relics of work, as if to calm the ghosts, to stifle the memories. Everywhere traces of green that hide, weeds that mystify, creepers that pretend something else.
It is evident that the water has tried to destroy the stones, that the fire has tried to swallow the wood, that the rust is trying to transform the iron and that the dust wants to silence everything once and for all.
Man also played his part, using these old wounded walls to send messages, made of colors and hope. Messages that can only be collected by those who have found a reason to cross the barriers, for those who have thrown their hearts over the barbed wire.