Algorithms Riven
Watched This Space
Duquesne, Pennsylvania.
After taking pictures of the nearby abandoned Holy Trinity Roman Catholic Church, I drove a short distance to this neighborhood. I wasn't sure what I expected to find: there were several vacant blocks (like those in the foreground) where abandoned buildings had been torn down long ago, and I was able to tell from Street View that the remaining buildings were in good condition. I must have looked confused: a man walking his dog asked if I was lost. I told him I was fine. Since the view of the sky was clear, I took pictures of the sunset.
It's always a little strange to see grassy fields like this one and realize that houses and apartments had occupied the land for decades. Kids had grown up and adults had grown older in buildings that stood on these plots of land. How many living people could trace their families or their own lives through these empty blocks? How would they feel knowing that no traces remain of the homes that were here?
To be clear, I'm not stating a position on historic preservation or urban renewal by posing these questions. It's just interesting to stand in the middle of a grassy field like this and wonder about all the things that happened here, with no evidence remaining.
Watched This Space
Duquesne, Pennsylvania.
After taking pictures of the nearby abandoned Holy Trinity Roman Catholic Church, I drove a short distance to this neighborhood. I wasn't sure what I expected to find: there were several vacant blocks (like those in the foreground) where abandoned buildings had been torn down long ago, and I was able to tell from Street View that the remaining buildings were in good condition. I must have looked confused: a man walking his dog asked if I was lost. I told him I was fine. Since the view of the sky was clear, I took pictures of the sunset.
It's always a little strange to see grassy fields like this one and realize that houses and apartments had occupied the land for decades. Kids had grown up and adults had grown older in buildings that stood on these plots of land. How many living people could trace their families or their own lives through these empty blocks? How would they feel knowing that no traces remain of the homes that were here?
To be clear, I'm not stating a position on historic preservation or urban renewal by posing these questions. It's just interesting to stand in the middle of a grassy field like this and wonder about all the things that happened here, with no evidence remaining.