I’ll be honest. The doors in London have never really bowled me over. Paris, is amazing. Stone Town, in Zanzibar is spectacular. But, London is just hmmmmm.
Recently, I’ve had a change of heart. London’s doors are as varied as its citizens. They are often grubby and old, a patchwork of paint repair jobs, and I rather a-door that!
Isn’t it interesting how doors can be just as welcoming as they are unwelcoming? In the same way as they can symbolise safety, they can also be symbolic of imprisonment. They can pique curiosity and evoke a sense of dread in equal measure.
It’s even more interesting to me that these sentiments are echoed the world over. I suppose the entrance to our homes in particular is very important and this is a human concept more than a cultural one?
Doors protect us from the outside world. When we come home and close the doors, we step into the little worlds that we have created for ourselves away from the eyes and minds of others. What happens behind closed doors is not for everyone to see or know about.
Doors also have a mysterious vibe that reaches back into history. Perhaps it is down to centuries of symbolism that doors, mundane as they may be, still have such a fascination even on a subconscious level.
Personally, I tell myself that I photograph a door because I just like how it looks. Yet, each time I do take a photo, I wonder if someone will pop up to shoo me away. I then wonder what the person would be like. Then I wonder if I would be able to see over their shoulder and see some secret….OH STOP I MUST STOP!
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