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Genius Loci

As I began formulating thoughts for my first post, my initial plan was to write about the pivotal moment that led me from photography to the realm of photo art. However, I've decided to save that story for another time. Currently, what consumes my creative energies is a profound attraction to and fascination with buildings.

Red Brick Building in ice.
Gothic Freeze

Buildings.

The term "Genius Loci" traces its origins back to classical Roman culture, where it referred to "protective spirits" – the entities that guarded sacred places. In modern times, it is regularly used within architectural and urban planning contexts, representing the notion of "the spirit of a place."

With this concept in mind, I find myself standing before buildings, viewing them through both the lens of my camera and my inner vision. My eyes seek angles and lighting, while my mind envisions a slightly blurred time-lapse movie, filled with the imagined lives of those who have inhabited these structures over generations.

Faint ghostly images move through their respective eras: a young adult in her first apartment, a single mother raising her children, a family of immigrants newly arrived in a foreign land, an elderly person living out the twilight of their life. Writers scribbling late into the night, musicians passionately practicing their instruments, lovers immersed in love, a lonely soul shedding tears of solitude, and families coming together to share meals. I witness a kaleidoscope of experiences, from dreams and laughter, love and sorrow, to heartbreak and triumph. All the facets of the human experience flash before me in slow motion, and as my camera plays with light and angles, I feel as though I am time traveling.

I do not perceive buildings as static structures; rather, they stand as embodied fortresses and guardians of our collective pasts, bearing the echoes of countless lives lived.

In the bones and bricks, I sense the imprints of human essence, a testament to the fullness of lives that have come and gone, a reminder of the impermanence of life and the ceaseless passage of time.

To those who have departed, I feel an urge to say, "Don't worry, the walls still echo your story. You existed. You are not forgotten."









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