Above the antique shop in town are the remnants of an opera house that was a main source of attraction back in the early 20th century; unfortunately, there was a fire, and the opera house was never restored. I ventured up there, and this was one of the first things I saw in the dimly lit area (all the windows, save three, are boarded up with plywood). The scene quite stopped me in my tracks. The juxtaposition of the dead pigeon and the neatly aligned row of chairs is striking to me. It is too perfect to be mere coincidence; someone had to have set up the chairs after the bird had died. For me, this creates a level of contemplation that is novel and enriching. Who is he? Is he so desperate for some outlet that he did this as a maligned sort of aesthetic? Was the pigeon a pet, and this was his memorial for his only friend? The questions swirl in my head. I also really enjoy the fact that the torn-down wood wall and the chairs and color of the pigeon are complementary colors, divided neatly by the horizontal running across the frame. via http://500px.com/photo/103317543
