On a walk at the beach I once found the ruins of a house. A beautiful ruin of a wooden house, floor still intact, roof already missing, some windows still there, bushes growing through them into the house. A ruin telling many stories, a ruin with character. The perfect backdrop to do some wonderful land art in and around it. However, it was late and I had to leave. Since that day I wanted to go back to the ruin and sit there in its energy to find its main story and then transform the place to make that story visible.
I came back months later and made my way to the ruin and stopped dead in my track when I came around the bend – the ruin had burned down.
Nothing left but some concrete foundation blocks, glass shards, broken plastic pipes, rusted sheets of iron. One window was still there, held upright by a bush. Thousands of rusty nails on the ground. I walked around inspecting everything, feeling quite sad. I sat on one of those concrete blocks wondering what had happened, wondering that all what’s left from that little house and it’s history are thousands of rusty nails on the sandy ground. What a long and windy road from being a happy place for many people (holidays, love stories, families, fishing adventures etc) on one of the most beautiful beaches I know to just ashes and rust.
The rusty nails, thousands of rusty nails, a long and windy road – and there it was. Kneeling on the ground I gathered rusty nails and created that long and windy road. It wasn’t exactly fun, the sun was hot, it was almost midday, I was sweating but determined, the rust stuck to everything it touched, lots of glass shards with sharp edges, my back hurt and I had forgotten my water bottle. I kept going not knowing why until I had that feeling it’s done now. And there it is. Nothing of beauty, no colours, things that usually are important to me, just those sad rusty nails.