See that old dilapidated building in the photo? To me, it is a thing of beauty, a fortuitous kinetic sculpture which moves over time as it seeks its lowest energy state. If its progressive demise could have been captured with time-lapse snapshots, it would have shown all the restless stages in its staggered collapse.
I identify with such wretched ruins because I do have snapshots of my own protracted life cycle. My waxing and waning are, in retrospect, satisfying because I have persisted this long. Sometimes I feel exactly how that poor old building looks. Aches and pains be damned; full speed ahead, into the looming abyss of inevitable doom.
Of course, not everyone agrees with my aesthetic values. Most folks believe that such debris should be hauled away to the dump. So too, does a youth-oriented society believe that we old geezers should be hauled away to a nursing home on our way to the graveyard. However, as a militant geriatric, I push back because I like old stuff.
Fortunately, other folks believe that old buildings should be preserved. But, what means “preserve?” Strawberries are preserved when smushed and cooked into a tasty, sticky goop. Cucumbers are preserved in pickling brine. Frogs are preserved in formaldehyde. How do you preserve a building? First, by taking good care of it, but even then it requires repair. It may even need some rebuilding. The trouble is that this kind of preservation requires money. Moreover, when you rebuild a historical building, you no longer have a historical building. You have what looks like a historical building.
The words “historical” and “historic” need clarification. Anything old is historical. I am historical. A historic thing is not merely old but is also famous. Putting money into preserving a historic building may indeed be a wise investment. Putting money into a historical building may be foolishly pouring money down a one-way rat hole. Making the distinction is critical. Then too, it all depends on how famous the building is. Our county courthouse is indisputably historic and fixing it up was truly a wise choice. That thing of beauty in the photo was probably not famous and letting it go may have been a practical response.
The preservation issue can be side-stepped by choosing conservation. To conserve something, you protect it from the hostile agents of destruction, such as vandals, neatniks, and developers. Then you let nature take its course. The roof leaks and then the wood rots and eventually all that remains is the foundation, which in turn tumbles in and ultimately only a dimpled aggregation of stones remains. In a while leaves will cover it and plants will grow over it, burying it for posterity. This process can take a couple centuries, but so what? We can enjoy it while it lasts.
To be sure, not everyone agrees with my definitions of historical, historic, preserve, and conserve. But my adversaries are free to champion their own peculiar definitions.
The question comes down to this. Do you want a historical theme park? Or a real world pocked-marked with idyllic decay? Or do you want to scrape away any remains and replace them with something new? The choice deserves consideration from both the property owners and the community.
Some folks call old ruins “eyesores.” But what the heck, I am an eyesore. It takes one to know one – and to appreciate one.