Abandoned window
684 creative works found
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An old chair in an old sunroom in the guest house at the De Grazia studio
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This was taken in an old abandoned farm house near us. It is a really sad photo to me. I can just imagine the years of family in this house, the joys, the sorrows, goods, and bads, happinesses and sadnesses. And now it’s purpose for being is over. No longer loved, no longer needed. One can imagine and elderly, forgotten mother or father feeling the same. Closed up and forgotten. In my mind, the last person leaves through this door. The last of the belongings gone. The family gone. The hopes and dreams gone. The door is closed one final time. Maybe in frustration or anger, that causes the window to break and the curtain to fall. It is over. It is done. It is sad.
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The Main staircase in the Old Hall, some one has tried taking the wood panelling from the bottom, i tried to put it back upfor the shot but no way on my own, really heavy stuff!!
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on my recent trip to italy i visited my granparents home…. / it has been abandoned. this is what was once their bedroom window…. / you should of seen the garden….. :(
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As we were in the asylum really early here we were treated to some lovely views of the sun coming through windows, i loved the lines the light made on the floor in this ward room.
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vines taking over a window in an abandoned gun factory.
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I tend to work with angles and lines a lot in my images, so i love it when you walk into a room and find the monotony of the floor broken up by lovely lit up areas cast from the sun coming through the window like in this shot.
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“Ghosts of the Past” contest entry
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The now abandoned Morisset Psychiatric Hospital for the Criminally Insane.
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Couldn’t resist this old, abandoned building in Williamstown, Melbourne. Not a straight line to be seen, peeling paint, graffiti – and such character! /
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Ruins in Catskill Mountains, New York (‘08 series)
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New found from yesterday (3.9.2008), beautiful, abandoned house on countryside.
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Momma loves her baby / And daddy loves you too. / And the sea may look warm to you babe / And the sky may look blue / But ooooh Baby / Ooooh baby blue / Oooooh babe. If you should go skating / On the thin ice of modern life / Dragging behind you the silent reproach / Of a million tear-stained eyes / Don’t be surprised when a crack in the ice / Appears under your feet. / You slip out of your depth and out of your mind / With your fear flowing out behind you / As you claw the thin ice. Roger Waters from The Wall
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When a farming idea failed, this place was abandoned and dreams left behind. As I poked around, I could hear small movements and felt watched….only to discover it was home to masses of whopping great crabs, roaming back and forth from forest to floorboards! For enquires about canvas prints, or photographic prints larger than Redbubble options, please contact me via bubblemail
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Another portrait of my muse
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New Orleans is a city we know well. We both have family roots there, and Jake played rugby for Tulane. We wanted to see the devastation; we were braced for emotional heartbreak. We both already know, though, that the years of poverty and generations “on the dole” there in NOLA had set in place a sort of desperate disaster there for many, many years before the storm that flooded the city did. Many people there believe the storm was the best thing that could’ve happened, in retrospect, to give the city back some pride and to get some new buildings and houses built…and so, they wait. We drove through vast areas of emptiness and decay; mildewed homes never to be entered again. Enough of this. Jake, feeling melancholy and wanting a remembrance of the things of New Orleans that were familiar, took me back round Marengo Street, near where he’d lived in college. In fact, we found the old house. But it was a shell of its former rugby hooligan days, where crazy parties and proud, young, drunk ruggers stood their ground. Where he and I had once climbed up to the roof to be alone…. It was empty and near ruin; water damage all over, roof missing. A neighbor of questionable authority told us, “That’s Daphna’s house now. She don’t like guests.” Intrigued, we entered. Straight away we saw her in the parlor, half mad, half beautiful, mumbling and possibly not yet aware we stood, watching, transfixed. I called to her, “Daphne?” “No,” she replied, “Daphna, not Daphne,” a phrase she would utter somewhat incoherently for many moments throughout our stay. “Daphna, not Daphne. Daphna, not Daphne.” Jake said, “Do you live here now? What happened to Mr. Billeaudeaux?” She said, “He gone. I am waitin for Ben. Waitin for Ben.” Ben soon arrived, delivering a meal. But that was not his name. He said he was Henry. He did not wish to be photographed. He told us Daphna is lost, mentally and physically, and that her son Ben died in the storm, or in a war, or who knows, he said. So she waits. He said, she waits at the window, afraid. He said she is schizophrenic, but has no insurance and had to be released from State Hospital for room for those more badly in need after the storm. And he left, other meals to deliver to other shut-ins and crazees. Hey, his words, not mine. I had but one roll of damaged 120 Tri-X film left for the Hasselblad, as I had accidentally dropped it in murky, oily water in Harahan, the other side of the river. The film was moist, and splattery in spots, but I did get two or three good images. Some of the film’s emulsion was gone in spots, and the silver seemed to gather in the developer in processing. But hey, not bad for a day’s work. In life, we do animal rescue. But as never before in these broken moments, I wished I had had the way and means to do people rescue. For in this troubled person, I know there lies a heart that beats as mine does; a soul that longs, as mine does, to be free. As we left Jake’s bygone, ruined college house, the same man who approached us on entering asked for money. That usually happens in New Orleans. I said, “I never give hand outs to able-bodied men, but if you talk to me, I will pay for your time.” So, we sat, he and I, and talked about Daphna. He said she had lived in the old Billeaudeaux house for months, since the storm, when its last renters had abandoned it and its power had been shut off for safety violations. He said that cats fed off Daphna’s Meals on Wheels scraps. He said she was not a drug addict or a whore, like most of ‘em. He said, “Leave her be. I watch out for her, ” and demanded a twenty. I gave him ten because I had to buy more film. But last, I asked, as I handed him the bill, “Who is Ben?” “No one knows,” he said. “But he dead.” Without saying thanks, he wandered away. As we left, I saw Daphna, at the windows, hands against the glass, as she stood waiting. Waiting for Ben, whomever he was, and wherever he is. I wish he would return for her and save her, for certainly, I can not. I could far more easily save her cats, than she, and that is a sad, sad story about life today in the USA, particularly, in New Orleans; the city that time forgot. A note on the photograph – Medium format and 120 Tri-X film, scanned.
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An abandoned farm house, at one time I am sure this was a beautiful home. Nikon D90 / 18-200mm VR Lens
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'60s
by Midori MoonAn old ‘60s chair found in an abandoned house, NB,Canada . / -cross processed
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This old abandoned chicken coup was so cool looking I thought, the broken windows and the red paint just spoke volumes.. Taken between the towns of Pigeon and Caseville Michigan. Nikon D90 / 18-200 mm VR Lens /
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We found this old abandoned house on our drive the other day..I was dying to go inside..I liked the look of the up stairs window..it was kinda creepy looking. Nikon D90 / 18-200mm VR Lens
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A chair sitting alone by a window in a ward of an abandoned lunatic asylum. Featured in JPG Cast-Offs Nov 12th, 2009 Featured in Abandoned Asylums & Hospitals Nov 15th, 2009
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This shot was taken outside Shaunavon, Saskatchewan, Canada / Shot with my Nikon D90 / Photoshop Cs4 And Nik Silver effects
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