What I loved about the interior of this space was how it contrasted the serene woods of the outside. It was a near perfect metaphor for the region.
The following few sets from the former Hotel Igman aren’t supposed to be sad, depressing, nor a socio-political commentary. I find ruins, wherever I am, fascinatingly beautiful and tend to spend hours photographing them. There’s something about the quiet and the abandoned textures of these shells of buildings that is uniquely charming. You can feel the stories that have passed through these walls, the history pulsating from the decay. The collision of both the building’s permanence and impermanence becomes a poetic reflection of our very own lives.
It’s not that every morning one would wake up and think, “Yea, today seems like a good day to climb up a Olympic ski-jumping hill.” I was always curious as to what it felt like to look down from here, and now I know: sweaty and amazing. I can only imagine what it was like back in '84.