As much as Rosewood and similar abandonments are depressing there’s always something to laugh about during and after exploring. I have to admit, albeit begrudgingly, it is more fun when you have someone with you. Most of the places featured on the website I visited alone but I have inadvertently acquired an exploring partner who could possibly be almost as crazy as me. And I do have to confess to liking the company. I take much better photos when I’m not terrified out of my brain by what may happen to me alone in these desolate places.

I’ve always been fascinated by how our minds work. How and why we perceive things the way we do. And I’m a people watcher from way back.  So having just spent Thanksgiving doing just that it seems appropriate to add a funny story to the Rosewood adventure.

I consider myself a fairly intelligent person (I’m lacking in the sensible department) and my exploring partner has it way over me with a Ph.D. So I’m setting the scene here. During the week we do what everyone else does when we see a door we open it to enter or close it to exit. So why on weekends do we not do the same thing when confronted with a door? I think it’s the sheep mentality thing. Let me explain.

I’m sure you’ve been stuck in really bad traffic and then hit a detour. You have no idea where you are, so almost unconsciously you start following the car in front of you, because, of course, they were going to the same destination as you--like a sheep you follow. As an Aussie living in America I can’t tell you how many times I did this in the first year I lived here. I felt so helpless, wrong side of the road and all, so if I was detoured I just followed blindly. Of course I ended up even more lost. But so far I’ve always made it home, many, many hours later than what I intended, but as they say you live and learn.

Anyway, back to the sheep mentality theory. It’s the only way I can explain what we did on Sunday and which caused us both to laugh and laugh and I’m still laughing at what we did. We circled the building and couldn’t find an easy-entry low window. We found a door with a lower panel kicked out. It was a small sort of hole. I squeezed through; my fellow explorer swore she wouldn’t fit (she’s always saying “I won’t fit” but she does, there’s very little difference, if any, in body size although she has a few height inches on me, but the whole world has that on me) so we’re in and pleased with ourselves.

However, on the way out we learnt a very important lesson—just because the door has a hole in it doesn’t mean it doesn’t open. I placed my gear against it so as to begin squeezing through and lo and behold the door opened – just like it does during the week when we’re being our everyday selves. This moment will continue to bring a smile to my face for many years to come as will many other “exploring moments”—but this one is right up there.

So I’m thinking -- it’s all about perception, along with what’s gone before. We saw a hole in the door, we perceived it as the only way in, we behaved like sheep -- we followed. We decided in an instant this is how we enter –because this is how others entered before us. Neither one of us considered simply trying the door to see if it opened. I bet you next time we do. But that’s for the next adventure.

I, inevitably, have an immediate reaction to an abandonment when I first approach the exterior. At Rosewood it was, wow, what a great setting for a horror/vampire movie. To say it appears haunting is a far too generic description. Mother nature exerts her force through every broken window and leaning doorway. Vines twist and strangle their way towards nowhere — piercing every available space.

The campus is divided into two distinct areas. The area we spent the best part of a day in was the older section. Built in the late 1800’s the majestic facades are now completely overgrown and beckon the curious with contorted shadows cast by unruly trees and weeds.

I’ve come to realize I operate on two levels when photographing these places. One part of me gets pushed aside, or shut down, so another can take over, at least until I get home and look at what I’ve shot. This isn’t always the case but it is the case with the hospitals and prisons I’ve visited. The human suffering is so palpable —regardless of how many years ago it ceased— if I thought about it while I was there I wouldn’t be able to photograph it.

So I chase light, I look for ways to capture the essence of the place and I play at being an artist. I store away what I see and I push to the back of my mind what is far too distressing to acknowledge.

There were many things I took away from Rosewood. Some I can’t get out of my head. A wheelchair is one of them, actually a couple of wheelchairs, and the rooms where people were held, detained, whatever— the rooms are inhumane.

I will do my best to explain what I will call my wheelchair distress. The first building we entered contained a large room filled with wheelchairs, fire extinguishers, broken toilet bowls — debris everywhere. Why my mind decided to torment me and focus on this one wheelchair I don’t know, perhaps because it was so different and it stood out. The room was full of upright and overturned regular blue and red wheelchairs, they were all very nondescript, some were personalized with stickers (which I’ll get to in a minute) but they were all just your run of the mill wheelchairs. Except for one.

The person who I imagine spent his/her life in this chair was loved. I lean toward it being a girl/woman because of the reason it struck me. Here amongst all this blue and red tacky vinyl was a body-sized chair covered with a comfortable cushion and upholstered with expensive floral fabric. Someone, or a family, cared about the person who was restrained in this chair. She wasn’t one of the forgotten ones. This chair screamed care. It said we care. We don’t know what to do with you, but we care. We’re going to try and show you we love you, we want to make you comfortable. We’re going to leave you in this godforsaken place where terrible things happen to people, but we’re sorry. The chair said we’re sorry. We’re sorry and we love you.

Another chair said I want you to be able to do what I do. I’m your father or your brother or another male relative. I want you to be a like me, be a man, be a lover, be able to do what I do. I think a male family member gave this Rosewood resident a sticker for his body-size chair. The sticker read: Italian Lovers are Sensuous. Now I am not in any way suggesting that disabled people do not have the same drives and needs that we all do —we’re all human. But if you’re confined to one of these all- enveloping chairs with restraints there’s not much you can do with your body. I imagine they thought it was funny, or encouraging. The male bonding slap on the back, the laughter, the, you come from good stock, we’re great lovers etc. I wonder if the person confined to this chair was ever anyone’s lover. And that in itself is sad and so very personal. The sticker, the well-upholstered “we care” chair, gave this room of nondescript discarded pieces of people’s lives so much feeling, too much for a photograph to ever explain.

Spirits of the Abandoned began with a forum. I was a very, very bad forum keeper so when it was hacked a few weeks ago, by robotic porn pirates that roam the web in search of susceptible code, it seemed to me like it was time for it to go. There were many early entries from friends and family, for which I will be forever grateful. But it died a slow and unattended death, much like the places I explore and photograph.

This blog may very well go the same way although I have every good intention of keeping it up to date and writing about the places I discover. We can only wait and see. One thing this blog won't contain is a lot of historical detail. That's in the book, and will be in the books to come. I find the research very tedious and time consuming because it has to be correct, no fun ghost stories, but I have to admit it is very satisfying when completed. I love writing but only to tell a story (and there are plenty of those), yet I am always inclined to let a photo tell the story for me. And these wonderful places are nothing if not alive with stories.

In hindsight it would have been great to start this at the beginning of my adventures, but we're always wise in hindsight, and I have been heard to say on many occasions "what is it with this blog thing, it's stupid" I guess I'm just a little slow to follow trends. I'll probably return to some of the places I visited before beginning this blog and tell their stories here. But for now, unitl a miracle occurs and I have more time, I'll probably just stick to what I'm up to from week to week.

I would love to hear from anyone who has ever been associated with any of the places featured in the galleries -- so please leave a comment. I am always gathering information for the book side of the project and all input is much appreciated.