When I first moved here the house was kind of sketch but it was really lovely and decrepit and I liked it, I walked by it every day and tried to imagine who lived there. One night there was a fire and after that it was seemingly abandoned, with tarps eventually placed over the roof. Graffiti and local character soon overtook the house and I loved it even more, people put paintings of eyes in a mouth in the windows and the house was almost its own entity. The face got stolen or removed but it was replaced a few times before whoever it was eventually gave up. I imagine that is was probably not too safe to explore the upper floor after it had been decaying and burned-out for over a year.
For my first bookmaking project of the semester last fall I decided to make a little house-shaped case accordion book that was like a pop-up dollhouse. My instructor didn't really appreciate my approach the construction of a book this time so I got a disappointing grade. After much outrage from everyone and some reconsideration by my instructor I got an improved grade.
The bizarre part here is that within a hour of my final critique on the project, unbeknown to me, the house was completely demolished and when I got home from class it was just a pile of dirt! I feel like I killed it. I captured the essence of the house in the replica and the house ceased to exist! What have I done? Maybe the book has some magical stuff about it now.
|I was proud of my little hidden door|
|I still don't know much about the house or how it burned down, but I have heard that it was probably arson.|