The automotive farm sits quietly on the border of a busy main road, hidden behind dense vegetation. Time seems to stand still here, frozen between the crumbling walls of an old farmhouse and the slow reclamation of nature. Ivy climbs the facades and intrudes into the window frames. Light filters through the cracked roofs.
Scattered black tires on the ground are evidence of past activity, although no vehicles are visible. Graffiti artists have taken over the walls: artistic frescoes, erased slogans, and clumsy sketches tell of the place’s abandonment in their own way.
To the photographer, the farmhouse is a reservoir of moods and contrasts. Old stone, rusted metal, and damp, rotted wood create a rich, textured palette. Light sculpts the volumes while natural tones converse with the bright colors of the tags.
The automotive farm is a modest place with a unique atmosphere, somewhere between rural poetry and urban abandonment.
