Thursday, March 20, 2008

Disappearing Act






Whenever I see an old building or a structure that looks as if it hovers between total collapse and simple abandonment, I wonder about its past.
This building is still in partial use despite the boarded windows.

The Allen Chair Company was founded in 1906. “At first, they made mission chairs as well as kitchen chairs. When World War I came, they made many wooden cots for the troops.."

But some structures are not easy to trace. Even if you follow the life of the structure its stories often remain lost—buried in the decay, hidden behind a broken window, or shuttered window. I’ve seen abandoned barns, their wood sides splintered and the frame skewed to one side. What happened to the occupants?

I think about people I knew who disappeared from my vision. They exist somewhere, but the string we both held is gone.

What happened to Diane who walked with me to Fort Ticonderoga when we both worked at a summer camp? We hiked six miles each way—bought cokes and Twinkies for lunch—and took pictures at the fort. I think I still have a photo of myself with my head at the end of a canon barrel.

Where is Mona? We spent hours discussing existentialism over small cups of espresso in Greenwich Village. She went to the University of Chicago and studied philosophy—but what then?

And is Karen still a Sufi? She disappeared into an abyss after relinquishing the golden handcuffs of a high paying job.

So where do some people disappear? They exist, but no longer in your sphere.

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