• outskirts

    This story is part of my investigation about city as a habitat of man. I try to figure out if city is a suitable place for life, really existing, with some laws and ways of survival, or just a delusion, which can disappear in any moment due to natural disaster or just electricity shutdown.
    Outskirts are the unstable border between city's reality and outward things, which doesn't need man's presence.
    And if in the centre of the city grass, sprouted from concrete, look like frightened stranger, then on the outskirts - especially the outskirts of little towns, where residential districts are not so spread and haughty - buildings look like something strange and accidental.
    It's a very surrealistic place, intricate combinations of modern and timeless, human and natural, urban and rural.
    Children and elders make this world habitable. Adults, who only sleep there, don't count. They don't see, don't feel this place, sometimes they fear it. They often try to escape it. Elders, who don't believe in city's delusions, tame the space with frontages, cats, goats... Children explore and overcome the space, without distinction of branchy trees and ruinous barns.
    It's a border - latent, but clearly feel, scary and attractive.