Eight Minutes Old

Let’s go on with the series of abandoned houses in Brittany, France, after the tourists left at the end of the season. This black and white photo shows a closed restaurant, which is for sale (the signs in the windows say ‘a vendre’). It looks like a typical tourist-eatery: Grill, Pizzeria, Moulerie; with a fake timber-framed construction in a town that is deserted once the summer is over and the sky becomes grey. I wonder what is the story behind this house. What where the happy and the bad days, what dreams where dreamed and abandoned? My feeling tells me that barred houses live in the past. They are a sign for bygone days and, until they are open again, have no future.

Speaking of the past: Two days ago I met my old kindergarten teacher, by chance as I had to organize some things at my hometown. I would not have recognized her (neither would she remember me), but my father introduced us. It is strange to go back with your thoughts over so many years, but somehow it is kind of appropriate now that I finished my degree. It shows me from where I came to arrive where I now am. Interesting how many thought this short conversation kicked off in me. It was difficult to explain what I am going to do now as my PhD. I have to come up with some simple description. You learn how to explain your work in precise scientific words, but when you talk to people who are not in your field you feel like a idiot and can’t get to the point.

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