The University of York estimates that people in developed countries spend approximately 90% of their time indoors[i]. We have become an indoor species, trading trees, weather and dirt for gypsum wallboard and HVAC controlled climates.
But despite our propensity for manmade spaces, we are a fickle lot. Buildings require human life to maintain their purpose – to live – yet we constantly leave our hosts to decay.
Dead Space is the result of being removed from society’s collective consciousness. It is the derelict building you walk by everyday thus becoming so desensitized to it you render it invisible. It is the decaying structure left to fend for itself in the middle of the woods forgotten by all that it even exists.
But Dead Space is not lifeless.
Once removed from the world of rational society, dead space is allowed to shift into the nebulous, chaotic world of nature. It adapts – morphing according to nature’s whim – and exists as ‘other’ in our midst.
Surrounded by humanity, however, it would be impossible for Dead Space to ever truly remain permanently deceased. The moment a stranger happens to look up or an urban explorer stumbles across its threshold, Dead Space crosses the boundary between worlds and for those brief moments of occupation it becomes a portal. Leaving the confines of our prescribed ideas, Dead Space allows us a glimpse of the ‘other’ within the confines of the familiar.
I am researching through exploration different types of physical dead space within Scotland and documenting my findings through essay and photography.
St. Peter's Monastery
Botanic Garden Subway