Light cuts across the floor in a quiet diagonal, illuminating years of dust and decay in this narrow passageway.
To the right sat the kitchen, where meals were once prepared at pace. On the left, the metal door of the cold store still stands, heavy and dulled, its rubber seal long perished. The walls of the Terminus Hotel in this corner wear their history openly, layered in flaking green paint and deep-set cracks.
There’s a tension here between the functional past and the disuse that followed. A space shaped by routine, now softened by time.
Printed with care using archival pigment inks on fine art cotton rag, this piece preserves the quiet character of everyday spaces that once carried the rhythm of work.