I love black and white, but for this series, I needed colors.  It is like I have an automated LUT processing in my head. There is reality, there is my perception of reality, and there is my interpretation of my own perception of reality. 
Then there is what I want to share in a photo. 
I shot this series with the Samsung WB210. Turns out I like this little camera. Especially for this kind of work. I have all the time I need, and no one to be a nuisance or a distraction. That is what is great with ghost towns.
This ghost town is so deserted and abandoned that there aren't even any ghosts. They left too. Like me, they don't want to be here.
Some would argue this is not reality but only my own biased representation of reality. They would be right. Isn't that what art is about? Who would like me to share what they think is or call reality?
Maybe this is not a real ghost town. Maybe ghosts don't exist. It doesn't matter. I'm sharing my own vision. Like it or not, see something or not, get anything from it or not. It's the same in the end. That won't change my reality.
After all, maybe there are thousands of happy people behind these closed blinds and doors. Maybe they are alive. 
Who cares? I don't. 
What is hiding behind those broken windows, those dirty walls falling in ruins, and those metal bars, and those ugly blinds is irrelevant. I don't see that. I don't feel that way. All that is available to my senses are some billions of photons reflected by impassable surfaces. Then my camera captures some other billions of photons. It's already not the same. It is simply not real at all. If it is not real, is it nothing? 
My feelings, emotions, sensations, whatever I can name them, seem real to me. 
Emphasize SEEM.
It is for sale, for rent, abandoned, deserted, falling apart. Kind of a reflection of myself. I'm just shooting a mirror. I'm just trying to correct the geometry and perspective in that mirror. And that too is not real. The more I correct it the more it becomes distorted. Parallels want to meet somewhere out of the frame. But they won't.
It is all an illusion. Straight lines are curves, curves are straight lines. It is finally the perfect place for ghosts. But ghosts left. Or they don't exist. And I'm the only ghost walking the streets of this ghost town. Like a vague remnant of myself, like the dead who doesn't want to cross the threshold and stays forever in a doomed eternity, doing the same shit again and again.
Is it going somewhere? I don't feel it. It looks like a trap, you find an exit that is just another point of entry to the same hell. What is left to do? Simply taking photos. Again and again. like a priest exorcising again and again the same demon that doesn't want to leave.
It won't change reality, won't change the perception of that reality. Won't change anything really.
It's rust, and rot, and houses painted in blood.

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Lost in a white old forest
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