Still nature at 123
Right next to the garage there’s an empty space protected by a fence with a sign allerting not to overpass it, otherwise we’ll be punished for the law 633 of the CP. It’s not hard to imagine what this law has to say, but searching for it on the internet i couldn’t find the precise text. At this point i’m curious. The land is nice to watch afterall, cause it’s not the usual dead weed, but bright green weeds. Althought it’s not a golf course, yhr bright colour gives a smile to this sad street. The tones are less shimmery because of what comes next: a little abandoned industry at the number 123 of the street. There are no broken windows, some are carefully closed, other ones have the shades down, other are a bit open. From far away i can’t tell for sure, but it does look closed. The air around it is still and time has stopped passing by since a while. Not enough to become old. In a cold winter day there’s no smoke coming out from the chimneys. I advance few steps to get closer to the main entrance to verify my suspects. The main building is covered with blue tiles: even more than yellow paint i hate tiled buildings. Planning choises i don’t share. Time usually takes away one tile after the other, leaving grey holes where there was a uniform design. Terrible. A clear sensation of ruin and poverty, of early aging. Not the message a florid industry would want to show. Infact it’s closed. Destiny was written. The window frames are all rusty, the glass dirty and opaque. Only one window is broken on the first floor, more for spite than to try to get in, being that there are windows more easily reachable. Infact on the ground floor there’s a window with no glass at all: scruplessly all the fragments have been taken away so it could be climbed with no risk. The gate is easy to clmb, the window is easy to reach: i don’t need anyone to tell me that there are people living inside. I’ve seen places in worse conditions used as homes by the clandestines: this is a five star hotel compared to the rest. The ones who occupied the building are quite lucky, cause the rooms are well protected from the bad weather. It might sound cynic, but between 15 places i’ve seen 10 were inhabitated: the other ones were empty because well closed or because in completely state of ruin. If i think of at least 10 people for place (which is not true, by the time i’ve read tht in the Richard Ginory area there were 150 people), there are at least 100 people with no home. Absolutely optimistic valuation. I have to admit that this is the aspect that impressed me the most. I’ve never cared so much for the situation of clandestines, but the more i go on with my research, the more i feel shocked. The entrance of the trucks is desolated, with no trash keeping company. The asphalt is cracked and near the manhole a green musk stain is trying to take over, and probably sooner or later plants will be able to grow over here. It depends from the owners, from the time they’ll pass by before they’ll give life back to an area not completely lost. The regular window holes, on a light blue background, remind me of a scene from De Chirico, probably because of the feeling of stillness and lonelyness. The silence and the broken security cameras give me the feeling that this entrance leads to the abyss. The industry used to produce “carbon paper, inks, colours and stickers”, as the tridimensional letters say on top of the main entrance. The roller shutters are down, and are also blue: i can’t say they weren’t incoherent. The writer’s tags have stopped on the street side, they haven’t entered yet. Althought it’s so easy to get inside, the exposure on the street makes it too easy to be caught.
