Pretty deep in the Swedish woods, there is a narrow gravel road. At the end of this gravel road, is a deserted smallholding. All around this delapidated farm, there are cars. Hundreds and hundreds; in various states of decay. Cars from the 40ties, 50ties, 60ties, 70ties and probably 80ties. The car cemetery.
It is here, in the woods, on the Norwegian border, as the prices of car parts in Sweden was apparently much less than in Norway; back then. When prices came down in Norway, the place lost all revenue.
So the carcasses are left; as sculptures, and you might ask if they are emerging or submerging.
They are beautiful, fascinating, and dangerously stacked high.
What interests me are not the cars per se, in the sense that some people get all sentimental over the decay of something they knew as children. What interests me is that the industriousness of humans knows no bounds – we create complex and beautifully shaped things: and the moment we turn away, when momentarily distracted from the neverending task of maintaining our civilisations. That blink of an eye, nature moves in, and slowly, gently starts gnawing at our complex contstructions. The deeply considered sculpted shapes of cars accentuates this. The shapes are very much deliberate, designed; the decay is indescriminate. And creates beautiful patterns, flows, and growth.
