Wednesday, January 11, 2012

Abandoned Houses, Antiques And the Dust That Ghosts Are Made Of

Der Antiquitaetenlad By John Watkins Chapman

I confess!  I have a passionate obsession for the past.  Please don't misunderstand and think that I harbor regrets or desire to relive my childhood.  It's just that I love holding history in my hands and soaking in the ambiance of the mysteries of time itself.  Antique shops possess me, museums amaze me and abandoned old houses thrill me - I love being haunted!

 The Novikov Mansion by Zhen Yang

The art of urban exploration has been a family past time for as long as I can remember.  I grew up in an old mansion.  Currently, I live in my  Great Grandparent's three story house built in 1900.  My Mother loved exploring old houses, cemeteries and estate sales.  She would spend countless hours treasure hunting in barns, antique shops and old attics.  Her love of old things transferred onto me like a tattoo.

Fallen Beauty by Fibreciment on deviantart

Perhaps its because my ancestors were nobles who had to flee their beloved homes that made my family such gatherers.  Collecting, saving and adoring treasure is something I've always known.  Musty old books, full of stories none of my peers knew were my favorites to read.  Dining on Great Great Grandma's china was expected on holidays and special occasions.  Wearing costume baubles from my Great Grandma's jewelry box was my fashion trademark since college.  I played with toys from 50 years ago, slept in beds from 100 years ago and gazed up at paintings and photographs from 200 years ago for as long as I can remember.  Eccentric to others is normal to me.   

Photo from

Something special lingers on things from the past, a residue of love and warmth that can't be felt with new things.  More artistry lies in the handcrafted goods of yesterday, almost as if things have a soul.  Energy trapped over time whispers stories and calls to those who will hear.  My clairaudience won't let me just pass by, I always have to stop and investigate those whispers.  It makes daily life more exciting and adventurous.  When ever I wear an old ring, use an old tea cup or cuddle an old toy, I am aware of the fact that I am holding someone's history, their precious treasure and that I, somehow, have become part of them.  That way, I'm never truly alone.  

In the dust, on the old mantle, are the ghosts of loved ones passed on.  On the mantle, in the candle's glow, they stay, never really gone.
The house I grew up in.


Art by Cocodrillo on deviantart

Could the memory of  something past still manifest itself in the present mind?  Only the angels know for sure.
As I gaze out over a dismal, bleak, grey morning, the memory of a love I've never known comes to me in the wind.  At first, its only a notion, a little toy for my brain - but then the vision comes clearer and the illusion of an emotion long lost floods my soul like the tide rushing upon a sandy shore - taking with it the precious grains of my sanity and drifting them into the ebbing blue of  long ago but not.

Art by Spiralkitty on deviantart

A pretty thought of arms I longed to cling to, a warm enticement of a kiss lingered much too long and then ...
Almost as quickly and mysteriously as its arrival, it is gone - vanished with the blink of the sun's beaming ray upon my weary brow.  Gone ... but perhaps still a residue remains, sticky sweet like a drop of honey on this yearning mind of mine.  I loved you - but - if only in a daydream.

 Art by Colorkiller on deviantart