These essays are an extension of my photographs — thoughts that have followed me through power stations, cathedrals, villas, and factory floors. They explore the ideas behind what I document: beauty, decline, permanence, and cultural memory.
Much of what’s written here began as notes scribbled in silence — in cafés, in trains, beside rusting turbines or collapsing frescoes — as I tried to understand why certain places still move us long after they’ve been abandoned.
These aren’t manifestos or histories. They are reflections — on what we build, what we destroy, and what those choices say about who we are.
Much of what’s written here began as notes scribbled in silence — in cafés, in trains, beside rusting turbines or collapsing frescoes — as I tried to understand why certain places still move us long after they’ve been abandoned.
These aren’t manifestos or histories. They are reflections — on what we build, what we destroy, and what those choices say about who we are.
An argument against the age of efficiency and a defence of beauty as cultural memory, the last refuge of belief in what endures.
Factories, mills and power stations once stood as temples to human progression. Grand monuments to the dignity of work. In their silence, we hear the echo of a vanished faith.
In an age that builds for speed and profit, beauty endures as a quiet defiance, a reminder that care itself is a for of resistance.
For centuries we built toward heaven; now even our churches have forgotten what belief looked like. These sanctuaries stand as witnesses to the loss of faith, not just in religion but in meaning itself.
A meditation on natures quiet reflection, where the machines of progress fall silent, and the living world resumes its work with patience and grace.
A reflection on how the erosion of beauty in our world mirrors the erosion of our cultural memory and what it reveals about a civilisation that no longer builds for permanence.