A Place That Time Forgot

Within us all, we carry a sense of home, a symbol of our culture, a foundation of our identity. We photograph the moments that we dream to remember, the places that we leave but that we want to migrate with us. But what of the home itself, what is held within its rooms and walls, what stays beneath the roof under which we grew, what of the place we leave behind?

Nestled in a quiet, southern Italian village, she lives abandoned. A small house. Dilapidated and seemingly empty, her walls have born witness to industrialisation, the creation of nation states, conflict, mass migration, both man and nature’s own will and destruction.

Once the center of community, of family, she now sits forgotten, a frozen relic of a time, lost in its past. And although the memories of people may have faded their imprints, their sounds never left. Absorbed by the ground and embedded into the walls that once provided shelter, where the air smells like childhood, where life began and where it was uprooted. Betrayal, confusion, longing, loss. Time doesn’t heal, it decays. Once the perfect host, she now grows tired, entrapped in the stillness, in the loneliness, in her yearning for their return.