1452 E Columbia Ave

4 Photographs with Wallpaper, Wood, and Nails
2022

Letter Transcript: 

Dear 1452 E Columbia Ave,
   
I am writing to you in hopes of finding out more about you. Recently, I was on a walk and was taken back by the state you were left in. I first saw the wallpaper on the sidewalk, mangled and destroyed. Exposed from the wallpaper was an outline of what you used to be. Parts of you that we are all familiar with have become abstract shapes that serve to remind you, and us, what you once had. 
    I started documenting and photographing your decline, noting the crumbled bricks that once stood proudly functioning as the exterior of your body. The bricks that once kept in the warmth, the cold, the voices, the bodies, and the home has been thrown about carelessly across your foundation. Alongside the rubble of brick and your debris, I saw a pack of Marlboro Red's. Was that in you when they tore you down? Its red, crumbled, and distressed exterior mirrors the brick in your foundation.
    Blocking me from exploring you more is the fence acting as a faux-wall, barricading the outside world to you. Strapped onto the fence is a mailbox adorned with your name, 1452. I looked up your old appearance on Google Maps, noticing the same mailbox attached to the front of you before you were deemed no longer useful. Who determined that you were no longer useful? How long have you stood? Was there anything wrong with you? You must have been around since the early 1900s. Did the same person who deemed you no longer useful decide to keep the mailbox? Before striking you, did they stop to take the mailbox before knocking you down brick by brick? Could they not have saved any other part of you? What is their reaction when they still see you receiving mail?
    The fence has a visibly penetrative nature that lacks any security and comfort to protect you and your secrets inside. Though it acts like your wall, it doesn't allow any visitors inside, all we are left is to gaze or ignore the destruction of your body. 
    In all, I find the mailbox as a reminder of who you were, and the idea of who you might be in the near future. I am hoping by writing this letter, you will still be able to receive this by the same mailbox present on the fence. Though your body is no longer here, I hope with all my own body that you will correspond. 

Best, 
Riley Gosnell