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BEHIND THE SHOT

— The stories behind locations and shooting  —

THE HANGING GARDENS OF BABYLON

FRIULI VENEZIA GIULIA

2020

THE HANGING GARDENS OF BABYLON

FRIULI VENEZIA GIULIA
2020

In the north east of Italy, on the edge of a small town, there is a palace that has largely exceeded the normal state of decay that I normally see in my explorations. Much of its structure has yielded and many rooms are just skeletons without more floors and ceilings.

The ancient palace was built by a wealthy family in the late ‘500, but it is in the last century that its fate has worsened with a series of misfortunes.
First the economic crisis of 1929, then the fascist persecution during World War II towards the owners of Jewish origins and finally a fire in 1965 that consumed an entire wing of the building.

After all this series of misfortunes the building was sold to the city in the late 80s and since then it is in a state of total neglect.

The natural space, robbed of its integrity hundreds of years ago at the time of the construction of the palace, is recovering in the last decades what was taken from it.

The wild climbing vegetation has taken over the walls and covers most of the sides and the tops of the open-air rooms. A jungle that swallows up the ancient remains of a lost civilization. In my imagination I imagined ancient Babylon with its hanging gardens.

Access to the building is very easy, no one cares to protect a neglect arrived at these levels despite a sign from historical indication on the road tries timidly to preserve the memory.

I wander among the silent remains, targeted by mosquitoes celebrating an unexpected human banquet.

The signs of the old fire are evident, there are no more floors on the upper floors to access, only some decorations in the stone wrapped by roots of vines survive.

But when I get to the old staircase, wonder takes hold of me.

Here it is, austere and strenuous in its resistance. A staircase that leads to nothing, remained aesthetically an end in itself.

It easily reaches 8 meters in height but the winning element, the icing on the cake that gives that added value, is a tree that has grown on a ledge at half height. That plant, now a tree, must have been there for at least a decade judging the consistency of the trunk.

From the initial amazement I started to activate the photographer in me. From the ground and at such a close distance it is impossible to make an architectural photo that maintains the lines of the vertical walls, a necessary condition to convey a certain canonicity, order and sense of reality.
To photograph from the front, you had to be on a higher level from the ground. Wings were not an option.

In front of the staircase there was on the first floor an opening of a room that was actually a thin space that gave on the void, just as you can see in the other openings on the sides of this photo.

Snooping around I found some objects that could serve as an improvised staircase. Once over I had a slim space of half a meter where to stand including the tripod, with the legs so slightly open to make it stable that it seemed almost closed. In fact I was on the side of the tripod, I couldn’t stand behind the tripod, so with various contortions, hovering at 4 meters high, I adjusted the various camera settings.

The tree stood in the first third of the composition, like a diligent model that had decided to be born in the right place years before.

With the ladder he was the protagonist comprimario, the lord of my very personal hanging garden of Babylon. An element grown undisturbed in an unlikely place. The anomaly it attracts.

The rest of the structure didn’t hide anything interesting anymore, so I left happy for the shots obtained.

With much regret of the mosquito cloud.

Nel nord est italiano, ai bordi di un piccolo paese, esiste un palazzo che ha superato abbondantemente il normale stato di decadimento che normalmente vedo nelle mie esplorazioni. Gran parte della sua struttura ha ceduto e molte stanze sono solo degli scheletri senza più pavimenti e soffitti.
 
L’antico palazzo è stato costruito da una facoltosa famiglia a fine ‘500, ma è nell’ultimo secolo che le sue sorti sono peggiorate con una serie di disgrazie.
Dapprima la crisi economica del 1929, poi la persecuzione fascista del Ventennio verso i proprietari di origini ebree ed infine un incendio nel 1965 che consumò un’ala intera del palazzo.
 
Dopo tutta questa serie di sfortune il palazzo fu venduto al comune alla fine degli anni 80 e da allora versa in condizioni di totale abbandono.
 
Lo spazio naturale, derubato della sua integrità centinaia di anni fa al momento della costruzione del palazzo, si sta riprendendo nelle ultime decadi quel che le era stato tolto.
 
La vegetazione rampicante selvaggia si è impadronita dei muri e ricopre gran parte dei lati e la sommità delle stanze a cielo aperto. Una giungla che inghiotte gli antichi resti di una civiltà perduta. Nella mia fantasia immaginavo l’antica Babilonia con i suoi giardini pensili.
 
L’accesso all’edificio è facilissimo, nessuno si preoccupa di proteggere un abbandono arrivato a questi livelli nonostante un cartello da indicazione storica sulla strada cerchi timidamente di preservarne il ricordo.
 
Mi aggiro tra i resti silenziosi, bersagliato dalle zanzare che fanno festa per un banchetto umano inatteso.
 
I segni del vecchio incendio sono evidenti, non restano più pavimenti dei piani superiori al quale accedere, sopravvivono solo alcune decorazioni nella pietra avvolte da radici di rampicanti.
 
Ma quando arrivo alla vecchia scalinata lo stupore si impadronisce di me.
 
Eccola lì, austera e strenua nella sua resistenza. Una scala che non porta a nulla, rimasta esteticamente fine a se stessa.
 
Raggiunge tranquillamente gli 8 metri nella sua altezza ma l’elemento vincente, la ciliegina sulla torta che dà quel valore aggiunto, è un albero che è cresciuto su una sporgenza a metà altezza. Quella pianta, ormai albero, doveva trovarsi lì da almeno un decennio giudicando la consistenza del tronco.
 
Ripresomi dall’iniziale stupore inizio ad attivare il fotografo che è in me. Da terra ed a distanza così ravvicinata è impossibile realizzare una foto d’architettura che mantenga le linee delle pareti verticali, condizione necessaria a trasmettere una certa canonicità, ordine e senso di realtà.
Per fotografare frontalmente bisognava trovarsi ad un livello superiore dal terreno. Le ali non erano un opzione.
 
Frontalmente alla scala esisteva al primo piano un’apertura di una stanza che in realtà era un sottile spazio che dava sul vuoto, esattamente come si può notare nelle altre aperture ai lati di questa foto.
 
Curiosando in giro ho reperito degli oggetti che potessero fungere da scala improvvisata. Una volta sopra avevo un sottile spazio di mezzo metro dove stare compreso il treppiede, con le gambe così poco aperte per renderlo stabile che sembrava quasi chiuso. Infatti io stavo a lato del treppiede, non potevo stare dietro il treppiede, così con vari contorsionismi, in bilico a 4 metri d’altezza, regolavo le varie impostazioni della fotocamera.
 
L’albero stava nel primo terzo della composizione, come un diligente modello che aveva deciso di nascere nel posto giusto anni prima.
 
Con la scala era lui il protagonista comprimario, il signore del mio personalissimo giardino pensile di Babilonia. Un elemento cresciuto indisturbato in un luogo improbabile. L’anomalia che attrae.
 
Il resto della struttura non nascondeva più nulla di interessante, così me ne andai felice per gli scatti ottenuti.
 
Con gran rammarico del nugolo di zanzare.

In the north east of Italy, on the edge of a small town, there is a palace that has largely exceeded the normal state of decay that I normally see in my explorations. Much of its structure has yielded and many rooms are just skeletons without more floors and ceilings.

The ancient palace was built by a wealthy family in the late ‘500, but it is in the last century that its fate has worsened with a series of misfortunes.
First the economic crisis of 1929, then the fascist persecution during World War II towards the owners of Jewish origins and finally a fire in 1965 that consumed an entire wing of the building.

After all this series of misfortunes the building was sold to the city in the late 80s and since then it is in a state of total neglect.

The natural space, robbed of its integrity hundreds of years ago at the time of the construction of the palace, is recovering in the last decades what was taken from it.

The wild climbing vegetation has taken over the walls and covers most of the sides and the tops of the open-air rooms. A jungle that swallows up the ancient remains of a lost civilization. In my imagination I imagined ancient Babylon with its hanging gardens.

Access to the building is very easy, no one cares to protect a neglect arrived at these levels despite a sign from historical indication on the road tries timidly to preserve the memory.

I wander among the silent remains, targeted by mosquitoes celebrating an unexpected human banquet.

The signs of the old fire are evident, there are no more floors on the upper floors to access, only some decorations in the stone wrapped by roots of vines survive.

But when I get to the old staircase, wonder takes hold of me.

Here it is, austere and strenuous in its resistance. A staircase that leads to nothing, remained aesthetically an end in itself.

It easily reaches 8 meters in height but the winning element, the icing on the cake that gives that added value, is a tree that has grown on a ledge at half height. That plant, now a tree, must have been there for at least a decade judging the consistency of the trunk.

From the initial amazement I started to activate the photographer in me. From the ground and at such a close distance it is impossible to make an architectural photo that maintains the lines of the vertical walls, a necessary condition to convey a certain canonicity, order and sense of reality.
To photograph from the front, you had to be on a higher level from the ground. Wings were not an option.

In front of the staircase there was on the first floor an opening of a room that was actually a thin space that gave on the void, just as you can see in the other openings on the sides of this photo.

Snooping around I found some objects that could serve as an improvised staircase. Once over I had a slim space of half a meter where to stand including the tripod, with the legs so slightly open to make it stable that it seemed almost closed. In fact I was on the side of the tripod, I couldn’t stand behind the tripod, so with various contortions, hovering at 4 meters high, I adjusted the various camera settings.

The tree stood in the first third of the composition, like a diligent model that had decided to be born in the right place years before.

With the ladder he was the protagonist comprimario, the lord of my very personal hanging garden of Babylon. An element grown undisturbed in an unlikely place. The anomaly it attracts.

The rest of the structure didn’t hide anything interesting anymore, so I left happy for the shots obtained.

With much regret of the mosquito cloud.

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