SubscribeI was there early. So early that the car park was still closed and I had to wait for the ranger to come and open.
“Do you want in there?” he asked, knodding to the car park.
“Yes mate.”
He opened the gate and I parked up. There had been a low mist across the fields on the way. The morning was crisp but terribly cold. I sat in the car in my jacket until I was warm and then set out with my tripod and two cameras. Absence -Presnece had to be shot on film and there were scenes that I had already taken in digital but had to try and take them again on film. I have the Minolta X-700 loaded in my bag with a roll of HP5 and the nifty 50mm prime lens on. The MKII was charged and ready.
I locked the car and bundled through the hedge to the hole in the fence. Up the path to the same door as my last visit. I was in. Things had moved. Small things and big things. Things that I dont think you could move quietly.
I started on one side of the hospital and worked my way through the debris, taking my pictures and steadily sweeping through parts of the hospital I knew and places that I had never seen. The place had seemed to open up and slowly unfold, revealing more secrets to its visitors.
You can only explore for so long before the fatigue sets in. I had shot my pictures on film and taken more digital images than I cared to think about. I had seen the dentists, complete with ancient and mouldy mouth casts for probably long dead people and long tiled coridoors that I had not walked before. Seeing the hospital so open and so quiet it felt like I had slipped into a dream (or a nightmare) where one might wonder the corridoors for an eternity. Only a window between you and the outside world but no way out.
Packing my things I made back for the car. I had a feeling that this would be my last big trip to this place. I felt that the would never be another day with such light and peace.
