the second death.

a rather sad

journey to london's last living rooms 

Each year, between 40,000 and 50,000 people die in London. Many are old, some are not. Some had a happy life, others not. 

We live, we die. We will be mourned, some more, some less. Our body goes into the earth, and, if we we are lucky enough to have some kind friends or relatives, our grave will be decorated, nicely and perhaps with a personal touch.

And then comes nature, comes time, and as our bodies decay, the memory of us also fades. Less and less friends will remember the sound of our laughter, the exact colour of our hair, the joy and sorrow we had in life. We die a second time, painless, but this time for good. 

And with us all the flowers, statues, figurines on our graves are falling apart, the saints who are supposed to pray for us, the stone Jesuses and Marys who symbolizes hope, the last letter ever written to us, the picture that was fixed on our headstone to keep memory alive - all that crumbles into dust.

Whether any part of us remains at all - apart from some fragile bones - is a matter of faith. 

This images are dedicated to all the dead whose graves are part of this gallery. And to all the other dead as well. There are many.