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Nov2015 back issue
by Brian Vanden Brink
Deer Isle, Maine, 1994.
Marioni Hall. Baileyville, Kansas.
Southwest Reef Lighthouse, Berwick, Louisiana, 2001.
Rockland, Maine, 1999.
Most of my photography is for architects or for publications about
architecture and design. My professional environment consists of beautiful
spaces carefully designed and meticulously prepared for the camera. I am,
however, also drawn to photograph an entirely different kind of architecture.
These buildings are not new, well maintained, or filled with life. They’re
empty, abandoned, and worn out. Life has passed them by, and for
unknown reasons, they are no longer useful or needed. To me they are
mysterious and melancholy, hauntingly beautiful and in some strange way,
more fascinating than the new buildings I shoot professionally.
In preparing this book, I found myself thinking about what draws me to
these decaying structures. Why the attraction to these ruins? Have I been
trying to tell myself something? Growing up in Nebraska, I’ve always
appreciated wide-open spaces and a sense of isolation, but I don’t think my
interest comes from that. I love history and am attracted to significant sites,
but this work is not an expression of that, particularly. I’ve been influenced
by artists who create works of emptiness and melancholy, but I am not
attempting to emulate those images, either.
Maybe these buildings fascinate me because they represent all of us; maybe they are symbols of our own impermanent
status here on earth—metaphors for our transient lives and inability to stop the passing of time. The Bible says that in
this world we have no enduring city, but we look forward to a city whose architect and builder is God. Jesus told us not
to lay up treasures on earth, where moth and rust corrupt and thieves break in and steal, but to lay up treasures in
heaven. Are these buildings reminders or allegories of something we are reluctant to acknowledge? A couple of weeks
before my dad died last year, my brothers and I were helping him out of his bed to go to the bathroom. As he struggled
down the hall, he said quietly, “Take a good look, boys, this is going to be you sooner than you think.” He was right. Our
lives go by so quickly and we leave behind the relics of our time here and of what we thought was important. Deep down
I know this earth is not my home, that “I’m just a-passing through,” as the old gospel song says.
When I’m around these buildings, I can’t help thinking about the life that went on within their walls and wondering what
happened to the folks who lived or worked there. Will someone stand in my house some day and wonder the same
things? That makes me a bit uneasy, but it also helps me understand why I find old, worn-out paint, broken windows,
and sagging floors in some ways more beautiful than brand new houses, where everything is perfect. I know that
someday soon that broken down house is going to resemble me, or my loved ones. Deep down inside I wonder if I’ll
still be appreciated and valued when I’m no longer productive, have outlived my usefulness, and cost a lot just to
maintain, like these buildings. They are relics of another time, of other lives, but they are of my time, too. They are
statues, memorializing the transitory nature of life. Ironically, we are frequently moving too fast, erecting the next
building and developing the next big thing, to notice these icons or consider what they can teach us about our values.
These buildings help me realize the importance of contentment, of being satisfied with what I have.
The photographs in this book were done over a period of thirty years. For the most part, I came across them on the
road to or from an assignment somewhere, and I shot them simply because I found them interesting. As a photographer,
traveling is almost always an adventure. I never know when something will capture my attention. Coming across an
abandoned building always makes me stop, back up, and go out of my way to explore it. These places energize me and
are a joy to photograph. They are an important part of my personal work and building this body of images has been a
labor of love.
North Jay, Maine, 1995.
Galena, Maryland, 2004.
Route 66, Chambless, California, 2003.
Savannah, Georgia, 2007.
Long Island, Kansas 1984.
