the prettiness of a good ruin

As I walk through the city, let alone my own home, I look up and around and am constantly in awe at the level of decoration we have blessed our buildings with over the centuries.  It doesn’t matter which civilisation you study, the human love of adornment is everywhere and ever present.

Our drive through the east coast countryside of Australia provided us with many beautiful churches, post offices, pubs, and farmhouses to admire.

And admire and photograph we did.  I particularly love how such attention was lavished upon utilitarian buildings.  Both Julian and I especially love the skill and artistry that was put into brickwork.  I often think of it as the “boy” version of knitting :-) All that marvellous texture and pattern.

Even more enchanting are the ruins!  Boy do I love a bit of tumble-down, paint that is barely holding on to weathered boards, fences that have crumbled to their knees, roofs that have accepted the wild dominance of the vine, whole houses that shelter shoulder high grass rather than families.

This has a wonderful, still beauty and our drive was punctuated with many shrieks of “Pull over!”  followed by both of us backtracking to “the spot”.

And then the competition was on.  To see who would get the better shot - the Nikon D80 (lily) or the Ricoh GRD (julian), and who was prepared to go that bit further, i.e. braver or nosier!

We would hop back in the car and share pictures - and I have to say, there was a lot of graciousness and learning opportunities to be had from each side. Here’s two of Julian’s beauties …

Then there was the oddly delightful … clearly a very unfortunate fellow :-)

Not to mention the plain annoying … come on Taree Shire Council, pull up your socks.  This was the only colonial lighthouse we saw on our drive that was poorly maintained, shabby, lacking any kind of historical information boards … and they’ve even pulled down the lighthouse keeper’s cottage rather than turn it into a guest house or museum.

I visited this lighthouse frequently as a wee girl (my paternal grandparents lived in the nearby fishing village of Harrington, which I must say, also looks greatly unloved) and I am sure it was bigger and grander and whiter and more noble then!  Time and carelessness, plus 30 years of growing up, sure do change things :-)