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To Be Abandoned: Living Walls and Breathing Stories
 By Courtney Slobogian, Response to Walking Tour and Bochure, collaborative Project with Kristin Nelson

Shhh. If you stop for just a minute you might be able to hear them. There are walls and doorways holding stories of a fight you had with your mother or the time you found your cat, dead on the front porch. There are bricks, each one stacked and stuck together with mortar, holding tight to one another, holding tight to the memories of where you used to read every Saturday morning, or the smell of burning toast from the time you had no money for food so you tried to make dinner from the stale bread you found in the dumpster a few blocks away. And maybe they aren’t your stories, maybe they are stories from a life lived 40 years ago, but they are there for you, in this very moment, nonetheless. You have to be listening. You catch them out of the corner of your eye, every time you walk by that old house you barely notice any more. You barely notice them, the stories or the house, but they are there. They linger in the air like smoke; they drift in through an open window like voices from the apartment across the back lane. Walls made of plaster and cement hold stories of lives, stories of living and dying within those walls. And if they hold our lives, they also hold all of the lives of those that have come before, holding tight, in spaces that now stand empty. Abandoned…