I want to be an urban explorer. I have a fascination with things that are falling apart. Mysterious, rotting, vine covered buildings and remnants of buildings that echo with the voices of its past. Things that are being demolished by neglect.
Urban explorers like to visit a site, photograph it in order for the world to get a glimpse of it, too, and then leave everything as they found it. Sometimes they have to wear respirators and other safety gear to protect them from the byproducts of the decay: asbestos, bird droppings and rusty metal. They paddle boats to islands in the middle of big cities, scurrying past Coast Guard patrols, and they slip into the off limits sections of the catacombs of Paris and Rome. They photograph places like the tuberculosis hospital at North Brother Island in New York City and the hurricane damaged amusement park in New Orleans. They chase the past. They marvel at the remnants of places abandoned a long time ago and wonder about the people who left them.
I want to be an urban explorer. And I want to explore beyond my backyard.
