Beauty breakdown

The crunch of old broken glass under my feet, the rustle of pigeons startled from their sleep on rotting rafters, the musty smell of crumbling walls and the view through a windowless frame that looks over a forgotten wheat field. This is what fuels my imagination.

I’ve always had a fascination with ruins. I think it’s the mystery of them that attracts me. Who lived there? Why did they leave? Was it some family tragedy, like the death of a child or a wife in childbirth, or a farm that became unproductive and had to be abandoned? There is also the immense silence that I find therapeutic in this noisy age of burglar alarms, hooting cars and bustling city life.

Since I was a teenager,