I'm sure people must think I'm looney and wonder what on earth I am taking a picture of when I'm standing in the middle of the back alley with my camera pointed dead centre at a wall. I've definitely gotten some weird looks and people glaring out the back window with suspicion in their eyes. I must admit, it makes me feel uneasy at times but I do it anyway because I can't help it. I have a slight obsession with old crumbling walls. I find beauty in the textures, colours and patterns that seem to organically happen as time and decay set in. If these walls could talk...They give a glimpse into their own history as little bits peel away, exposing what wasn't meant to be seen.
My Mother was an accomplice that day. I dragged her into the alley only to discover her adaptability. She jumped right in and was on the look out for bigger and better crumbling walls. We walked out of the alley shoulder to shoulder only to bump into an old cowboy on his smoke break. He asked if we were taking pictures of the empty street and I quickly blurted something about old forgotten walls. He said they needed to be documented as they were disappearing all to fast. Then he turned away and went back into his cowboy boot store.