I can't get over the feelings I get when I am inside an abandoned place. It is such a rush, yet so calming. The sense of amazement of the place and yet the sadness of such a place being left to the elements and decay. I can't help but wonder what could make someone just walk away and leave it to crumble. It is like stepping into another time and place for me when I am inside. It feels like I am no longer part of the here and now of the world. Like the place is timeless. I always find the place eerily quiet, yet far from silent. It is obvious who is master inside. It is also a feeling of duty for me when I am photographing, like I may me be the voice the place will ever have to tell its tale and show it was there, and I must see all its secrets and preserve its place. This has come to be proven for me a few months ago when I spent nearly a month exploring and photographing this pld furniture factory and wearehouse, and I was just about to leave on what was nearly a weekend ritual at the time when the phone rang and my mother told me that someone had set the place on fire the night before. For safety reasons I would tell here where and when I would be exploring since I usually go alone. It was heartbreaking to stand there and look at the burned out crumbling shell of what used to be a towering giant full of stories and wonder. I literally have thousands of photographs on these forgottem beauties.