Harry_Warren
Black and White (1)
There’s a haunting romance in photographing an old Irish greenhouse , glass panes cracked and misted, ivy creeping through the frames, and the ghostly light filtering through the decay. In black and white, its beauty deepens: shadows cling to the rusting ironwork, reflections shimmer faintly on broken glass, and the air feels thick with forgotten stories. Once a place of growth and warmth, it now stands as a poetic ruin , a fragile monument to time, memory, and nature reclaiming what was once her own.
Black and White (1)
There’s a haunting romance in photographing an old Irish greenhouse , glass panes cracked and misted, ivy creeping through the frames, and the ghostly light filtering through the decay. In black and white, its beauty deepens: shadows cling to the rusting ironwork, reflections shimmer faintly on broken glass, and the air feels thick with forgotten stories. Once a place of growth and warmth, it now stands as a poetic ruin , a fragile monument to time, memory, and nature reclaiming what was once her own.