A 64-metre dish on a fully steerable mount, rising out of the trees near a village whose name is Tolstoukhovo, meaning “thick-eared.” Set among ordinary pasture, treelines and a low river town, the instrument is simply too large for the landscape that holds it, like a piece of deep-space hardware dropped into farmland.
A new boulevard of nearly identical two-storey houses in a repetitive color palette, sat upon rolling hills, at the edge of Richmond, Kentucky. Referred to online as ‘Copy-Paste’ and ‘Barbie’ houses, this neighbourhood looks finished and not yet lived-in at the same time.
A four-sided earthen platform the size of a pyramid base, rising about 100 ft out of the ground, with a concrete staircase appearing to lead up into the sky – like a real life stairway to heaven.
A small, old, Esso gas station in the snow at twilight: old pumps, picnic table, empty forecourt, surrounded by trees – the kind of roadside still that looks like a paused memory.
A 5,000-year-old passage tomb in the Boyne Valley whose long stone corridor leads to a dark inner chamber, aligned so that sunrise at the winter solstice briefly fills it with light.
Reykjavík’s landmark Lutheran church: a tall, pale concrete tower that stands upon the hill of Skólavörðuholt, looms over the capital city and appears to pierce the (usually) grey sky above.
A large 1970s regional mall that has become a classic example of a quietly fading American shopping center, with long empty corridors, vacant store fronts and an intense liminal atmosphere.
A labyrinthine house of open courtyards and narrow sheltered spaces set high in Lisbon’s Alfama district, where medieval walls meet contemporary restraint and one patio is filled with water, creating a liminal sequence of outdoor rooms under the open sky.
A rooftop aquarium high above the streets of Ikebukuro, where soft blue lighting, transparent walkways and fish tanks sit against a backdrop of the city skyline.
Stranded on the California–Nevada border, this large casino resort often runs at strikingly low occupancy. Empty parking lots stretch into the desert, and the scale of the public spaces compared with the number of guests creates an unsettling, yet nostalgic sense of a place caught between its intended glamour and quiet decline; like a “forgotten mini-Vegas”, constantly in limbo.
