Sometimes, I take pictures of people taking pictures.
I do this in an effort to capture the moment those people are capturing, and see how this moment is added to the ledger of the place this picture is taken as it travels through time and space. You see, I’m convinced that the more pictures are taken of a place, the heavier it becomes. And as it grows heavier and heavier, more and more single instances of the moments that were captured will compete for their own uniqueness. As a lot of them overlap, this means that before they can freely act out, they are pushed back into a sack in the fabric of time and space and wait for their turn. And that can take a very long time.
This explains why long after a place loses its function that caused all those moments being captured and put away in a bend in time in the first place, they still pop out, one by one. If you pay close attention, you can feel it. You may even see them happen.
The people in the empty church; the show in a repurposed theatre; the train arriving in an almost abandoned station. Are those moments happening now, or is this the past paying its debt?
Is the man on the abandoned platform waiting for his train, or did she arrive a long time ago? Are they from the same world? Is she his fantasy? Is he hers? Is he even there? Who is observing him? Does he realise that what is in his imagination might just be someone else’s memory?
Or are they still trapped in time, waiting for their moment to play out, not knowing that their moments may be years apart. Forever.