With every new photo of an empty storefront, I avoided my reflection in the shop window. A friend had told me about the furious, dog-tired faces of the people, worn down by the financial crisis.
But here, no one looked out the window. Only to put up signs: “For Sale,” “For Rent,” “Closed.”
I had hoped the crisis would reveal itself to me. In people. Perhaps in their eyes. As something shared. A collapse that makes everyone equal. But the people looked unchanged. They moved from A to B, as they always had.
So I photographed buildings.
A sequence of desolate shops, abandoned gas stations, unfinished concrete shells frozen in a single moment, as though the money had simply stopped coming one day and no one had ever returned.
The stray dogs became my companions. We wandered through the city. Like strays.