I have no idea why...
...old things make my heart sing.
It might be due to all the living...
...that's been and gone and will be again.
Or it might be that one day, one day...
...I will live in a place like this.
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Under the counter or a flutter in the dovecote 
9 comments
Comments feed for this article
October 24, 2010 at 9:16+00:00Oct
itallstarted
Totally get it. I’ve got this ridiculous need to photograph every single abandoned shed/building/church that I pass while driving all the back roads I can find here in VIC.
Understand wholly, utterly, completely.
October 27, 2010 at 9:16+00:00Oct
Nigel Featherstone
Thanks Agnes. The world needs more crumbling romantics like us! Well, we need not be crumbling, but the architecture nearby should be, preferably.
October 24, 2010 at 9:16+00:00Oct
Ms. Moon
You and I are very much alike in this.
October 27, 2010 at 9:16+00:00Oct
Nigel Featherstone
Alikeness across the world. Who said blogs have no point??
October 25, 2010 at 9:16+00:00Oct
broadsideblog
Patina. Things that have some age and weathering to them are, to my eye as well, so much more beautiful than anything shiny, plastic and new.
October 27, 2010 at 9:16+00:00Oct
Nigel Featherstone
Hi Broadside, thanks for your wonderful comment. But I’m still wondering why old things seem so…well…full of life? Is it really just patina? Or is it because old things have been used, which means lived, which means loved?
October 29, 2010 at 9:16+00:00Oct
Gabrielle Bryden
I love that house – my grandma (and grandpa) had a workers cottage, very similar (only one bedroom, two enclosed tiny verandahs – five people living there!).
October 31, 2010 at 9:16+00:00Oct
Nigel Featherstone
Hi Gabrielle, yes it’s easy to get all romantic when looking at the old places, but living in them mustn’t have been easy at times. Then again, it’s not easy living in some modern buildings either, due to them being so terribly ugly!
October 31, 2010 at 9:16+00:00Oct
Nana Jo
I have a great love for old things, too. I think it is because they are saturated with truth. They are the bearers of our fragile being, our mortality. For me, there is a meaning in the form of old things which somehow enlarges my sense of belonging.