
This is a tunnel behind Hotel Sheraton, close to the Central station.
From the tunnel you can enter the car park under the hotel.
You can hear the noice from cars and trains passing quite close by but you feel that they are far away. Few people are visible, if any at all.
It feels like the time stopped.
At some point somebody had some sort of ambition with the place, but it didn't work out and since then no one seems to care. This is why the uneasy feeling kicks in, this is where the fear lies.
No one caring if anything happens. No one caring if nothing happens.
A dystopic sadness.
http://www.dn.se/DNet/jsp/polopoly.jsp?a=167201
3 comments:
Får mig att tänka på: golvbrunnar, ett örhänge som tappats, materialet/utrymmet mellan plattorna, vad döljer sig/ samlas/kan uppstå - mellandessa döda fyrkanter?
I returned to the site the other day, a little bit afraid but still determined to make the place more cozy. Just next to the spot where the photo was taken, in the tunnel where the roof gets a little bit lower, there were people setting up a Christmass market. It felt strange, with all the plastic SantaClaus figures and fake snow. When a women, some kind of boss, spotted me taking pictures with my cellphone, she turned very hostile.
Woman: Who are you taking pictures for?
Me: For my self.
W: Where are they going to be published?
M: Maybe in an art project.
W: You can´t do that!
M: Sorry, I thought this was a public space.
W: But you can't photograph my pieces, if you're doing art your self you must understand that!
You have to ask first!
M: I wasn't aware of the nature of the situation. That that was the case.
W: But you can't do that! You must stop! You can't use the pictures! I'll have to answer to ten decorators, and they'll be pissed at me!
M: If I decide that I want to use them, I'll ask first.
W: How have you planned to do that then?
M: Before I leave.
Then I strolled up and down the tunnel for another fifteen minutes. Feeling her fury towards me getting pale.
I wanted to publish the pictures I took but since the memorycardreader is gone it turned impossible.
i like this story sofia. the character of the dialogue, your desire to publish the pictures. these sorts of attacks can be so intense, like a child suffering the wrath of an adult who is so clearly in a different state of mind from the child.
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