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Ruin: Photographs of a Vanishing America
Brian Vanden Brink is one of America's most sought-after architectural photographers. He is also drawn to the mystery and unexpected beauty found in abandoned architecture. Here Vanden Brink captures and illuminates in stunning black and white images abandoned structures such as mills, bridges, grain elevators, churches, and storefronts-structures that once were important and useful. With text by historic preservation expert Howard Mansfield, this collection of photos grants permanence to places that may soon vanish forever.
144 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 2009
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Displaying 1 - 19 of 19 reviews
August 7, 2021
This is a wonderful book of black & white and color photographs of buildings by an excellent architectural photographer; instead of photographing buildings or interiors, such as for real estate ads or articles, here he turns his lens on ruins. It´s a wonderful concept - beautifully photographing tumble-down buildings throughout the country - and the contrast of the expert photographic technique vs the ruin buildings often within wonderful landscapes, makes this coffee-table size book a pleasure to peruse. Each building represents decades of history to wonder about, the families that lived there, the struggles they faced, when they decided to give up in one rural community or another, as well as the sheer physical stages of ruin, how walls disintegrate, roofs vanish, some glass panes remain while others shatter - all beautifully photographed. The photographer notes that he would usually photograph the ruins en route to a photographic assignment, that is, he would randomly come across a ruin en route to photographing a building or an interior, a job in which he was of course being paid to make the subject look good, while stopping off to photograph ruined buildings - buildings at the end of their useful existence, almost a reminder of the fate of everything on Earth.
Here are a couple of quotes from the photographer´s statement:
¨The Bible says that in this world we have no enduring city, but we look forward to a city whose architect and builder is God. Jesus told us not to lay up treasures on earth, where moth and rust corrupt and thieves break in and steal, but to lay up treasures in heaven. Are these buildings reminders or allegories of something we are reluctant to acknowledge?¨
¨Deep down inside I wonder if I´ll still be appreciated and valued when I´m no longer productive, have outlived my usefulness, and cost a lot just to maintain, like these buildings.¨
From the Introduction by Howard Mansfield:
¨Jamestown, Virginia, it can be argued, set the pace: established in 1607 as the first permanent English settlement, it served as state capital until 1698, but by 1722 there were only three or four inhabited houses amid an ¨abundance of brick rubbish.¨ Geographers call this the ¨pattern of settlement and abandonment.¨"
The book includes a wonderful black and white photograph of a decommissioned coastal fortification on page 36 - stark lines of a recessed doorway, grass encroaching on the pavement, nature taking over the site once again. This is just a beautifully photographed and composed photo, riveting really. On page 50, there´s a photograph of a ruined white-columned mansion in New Orleans, set against a towering tree to the left. A remnant of a prior era, the structure actually looks like it was built in the 19th Century. The double-deck of deep porches with practically floor-to-ceiling windows - who could have sat out on those porches long ago, and what were their thoughts, as time passed by? On page 65, again a ruin contrasted with a old towering tree to the left - perhaps the contrast of the tree outlasting the house is the dialogue that´s being set up? The nearly monochromatic weather-beaten grey house with grey shingles is once again, as in most other photos, being reclaimed by nature -- in a pathetic touch, a patch of tulips has bloomed by the front door, oblivious to the desolation and the fact that no-one lives in the house anymore, there is no-one around anymore to enjoy those blossoms. On page 95, a boarded up house still has a fairly intact roof, despite the paint on the siding wearing. The architecture is unusual - two large front-facing gables with the entryway and its portico centered between them. On page 98, there is an image of a sod house, no doubt over a hundred years old, in Nebraska - even with an old wagon-wheel beside it - really a relic from another, pioneering era. On the next page, another early house - this one built into a hillside in Nebraska, but with timber walls, that are weather beaten, and various antlers thrown up on the grass-covered, roof, which is however as dried and sere as the surrounding prairie. On page 105, there´s a photograph of a cabin in a snow-covered rural area in Maine - which looks like it may not be abandoned at first, given its picturesque quality, bu then on closer inspection, it´s obvious the structure has been left to decay since there are so many holes in the wood junctures, the layers of lumber composing the walls aren´t filled in at all, and the house seems to be splitting apart at the seams, figuratively speaking. Still, there are curtains in the windows, and even an intact, albeit antiquated, screen door at the entry. The house seems to be at the edge of a lake, on a hill, so once must have been a scenic summer cabin, but the owners obviously did not keep it up, so it is disintegrating. On page 114-115 there is an almost absurdly magnetic photo of a set of huge white Corinthian columns, set on preposterously tall pedestals, some with vegetation growing out of their capitals - all that is left of a long-gone structure. This is truly of course redolent of the columned ruins of classical antiquity back in Greece or Italy - except the ruins are in Mississippi and the structure that originally contained the columns no doubt dates from the 19th C. One page 130, a tiny, grey house is weathering away, although its reddish roof seems intact; it´s again photographed with a sturdy tree to the left. Windows all boarded up - it´s obviously abandoned long ago - it sits mutely there testifying to its advanced age. On page 136 there´s a wonderful photograph of a house that is adjoined via two intermediary buddings to what appears to be a barn - the house not as tumbledown as the barn, perhaps even still in use, unlike the nearly collapsed barn. Most of the frame is taken up by the foreground of wildflowers in the grass.. quite a contrast with the desiccated looking structure. On page 142-143 is an amazing photograph of an ancient, grey, weathered small structure that is leaning heavily to one side, almost at a 45 degree angle - held up by several logs perpendicular to the slanting house. Although its roof is intact, it is clearly, literally, on its last legs... Why an effort was made to keep it standing is anyone´s guess..
Here are a couple of quotes from the photographer´s statement:
¨The Bible says that in this world we have no enduring city, but we look forward to a city whose architect and builder is God. Jesus told us not to lay up treasures on earth, where moth and rust corrupt and thieves break in and steal, but to lay up treasures in heaven. Are these buildings reminders or allegories of something we are reluctant to acknowledge?¨
¨Deep down inside I wonder if I´ll still be appreciated and valued when I´m no longer productive, have outlived my usefulness, and cost a lot just to maintain, like these buildings.¨
From the Introduction by Howard Mansfield:
¨Jamestown, Virginia, it can be argued, set the pace: established in 1607 as the first permanent English settlement, it served as state capital until 1698, but by 1722 there were only three or four inhabited houses amid an ¨abundance of brick rubbish.¨ Geographers call this the ¨pattern of settlement and abandonment.¨"
The book includes a wonderful black and white photograph of a decommissioned coastal fortification on page 36 - stark lines of a recessed doorway, grass encroaching on the pavement, nature taking over the site once again. This is just a beautifully photographed and composed photo, riveting really. On page 50, there´s a photograph of a ruined white-columned mansion in New Orleans, set against a towering tree to the left. A remnant of a prior era, the structure actually looks like it was built in the 19th Century. The double-deck of deep porches with practically floor-to-ceiling windows - who could have sat out on those porches long ago, and what were their thoughts, as time passed by? On page 65, again a ruin contrasted with a old towering tree to the left - perhaps the contrast of the tree outlasting the house is the dialogue that´s being set up? The nearly monochromatic weather-beaten grey house with grey shingles is once again, as in most other photos, being reclaimed by nature -- in a pathetic touch, a patch of tulips has bloomed by the front door, oblivious to the desolation and the fact that no-one lives in the house anymore, there is no-one around anymore to enjoy those blossoms. On page 95, a boarded up house still has a fairly intact roof, despite the paint on the siding wearing. The architecture is unusual - two large front-facing gables with the entryway and its portico centered between them. On page 98, there is an image of a sod house, no doubt over a hundred years old, in Nebraska - even with an old wagon-wheel beside it - really a relic from another, pioneering era. On the next page, another early house - this one built into a hillside in Nebraska, but with timber walls, that are weather beaten, and various antlers thrown up on the grass-covered, roof, which is however as dried and sere as the surrounding prairie. On page 105, there´s a photograph of a cabin in a snow-covered rural area in Maine - which looks like it may not be abandoned at first, given its picturesque quality, bu then on closer inspection, it´s obvious the structure has been left to decay since there are so many holes in the wood junctures, the layers of lumber composing the walls aren´t filled in at all, and the house seems to be splitting apart at the seams, figuratively speaking. Still, there are curtains in the windows, and even an intact, albeit antiquated, screen door at the entry. The house seems to be at the edge of a lake, on a hill, so once must have been a scenic summer cabin, but the owners obviously did not keep it up, so it is disintegrating. On page 114-115 there is an almost absurdly magnetic photo of a set of huge white Corinthian columns, set on preposterously tall pedestals, some with vegetation growing out of their capitals - all that is left of a long-gone structure. This is truly of course redolent of the columned ruins of classical antiquity back in Greece or Italy - except the ruins are in Mississippi and the structure that originally contained the columns no doubt dates from the 19th C. One page 130, a tiny, grey house is weathering away, although its reddish roof seems intact; it´s again photographed with a sturdy tree to the left. Windows all boarded up - it´s obviously abandoned long ago - it sits mutely there testifying to its advanced age. On page 136 there´s a wonderful photograph of a house that is adjoined via two intermediary buddings to what appears to be a barn - the house not as tumbledown as the barn, perhaps even still in use, unlike the nearly collapsed barn. Most of the frame is taken up by the foreground of wildflowers in the grass.. quite a contrast with the desiccated looking structure. On page 142-143 is an amazing photograph of an ancient, grey, weathered small structure that is leaning heavily to one side, almost at a 45 degree angle - held up by several logs perpendicular to the slanting house. Although its roof is intact, it is clearly, literally, on its last legs... Why an effort was made to keep it standing is anyone´s guess..
July 22, 2019
Absolutely stunning photos (of exteriors only). You can feel their history and it may just make your heart ache. Mine did.
June 3, 2010
A moving collection of photographs by architectural photographer Brian Vanden Brink. He stopped at ruins over the last 30 years to take photos of homes, churches, storefronts, bridges, etc...on his way to his professional work for publications such as Architectural Digest, Metropolitan Home and New York Time Magazine. The photos capture the beauty, energy and life of these now abandoned or deteriorating structures and evokes a sense of loss and mourning for a time that will never be recaptured. You can not help but create an image in your mind for the future of structures being constructed today.
September 1, 2025
This huge book is full of beautiful photos of churches, barns, houses... all old, abandoned, dilapidated.
My favorite was a nearly intact staircase, yet with no house around it! A stairway to nowhere. Some of them were worse than others... some hardly looked bad at all, as though a simple coat of paint would fix it. If I had the money and any skills, I'd love to fix up these beautiful relics. Especially since almost all of them were sitting on wide expanses of land, with nary a neighbor in sight!
I too enjoy exploring "ruins." Those buildings left behind, their original purpose and inhabitants long gone and forgotten. Who lived there? What did it feel like for them living there? Will my house, which I'm comfortably living in now, end up like that someday? What happened to them, and why did they abandon their home?
A couple of examples of such places: first, the eerie Mansfield Reformatory, now a museum of sorts, but still a huge run-down mess. Second, the old barn our neighbors left behind when my family bought their property. Two stories connected by a ladder, full of crap, all their old stuff, including a toy tractor and glass jars... as a kid, I'd explore it bit by bit, getting further in as I got older and braver... even daring to climb that ladder once... fortunately, I wasn't stupid enough to try to stand on the second story floor. But why did they leave it all behind?
My favorite was a nearly intact staircase, yet with no house around it! A stairway to nowhere. Some of them were worse than others... some hardly looked bad at all, as though a simple coat of paint would fix it. If I had the money and any skills, I'd love to fix up these beautiful relics. Especially since almost all of them were sitting on wide expanses of land, with nary a neighbor in sight!
I too enjoy exploring "ruins." Those buildings left behind, their original purpose and inhabitants long gone and forgotten. Who lived there? What did it feel like for them living there? Will my house, which I'm comfortably living in now, end up like that someday? What happened to them, and why did they abandon their home?
A couple of examples of such places: first, the eerie Mansfield Reformatory, now a museum of sorts, but still a huge run-down mess. Second, the old barn our neighbors left behind when my family bought their property. Two stories connected by a ladder, full of crap, all their old stuff, including a toy tractor and glass jars... as a kid, I'd explore it bit by bit, getting further in as I got older and braver... even daring to climb that ladder once... fortunately, I wasn't stupid enough to try to stand on the second story floor. But why did they leave it all behind?
February 8, 2024
If you grew up in a terribly old New England mill city as I have, you have spent many hours driving around staring at old houses on the side of the road. Some of that time—like, say, on a cold autumn evening—you may have been a little stoned and wondered exactly how haunted those homes were. This coffee table book does a nice job of replicating the experience, ghosts and all.
June 16, 2011
There can be great beauty in the worn and faded. Anyone looking for proof of that might well find it in the pages of this gorgeous book, by famed architecture photographer Brian Vanden Brink. It's a collection of photos of abandoned buildings, many of them in Maine where Vanden Brink lives, and all so beautifully shot and lit that you can almost see the years of history and the lives that played out inside them contained in their walls.
From the introduction by Howard Mansfield:
"What Brian Vanden Brink finds in ruins is a kind of melancholy. Free of clutter, free of us, a house gains stillness. It is a kind of stillness that we find on old country roads. It's the skull under the skin, the skeleton, the death inside us. It's the clock ticking our days away. We lack a good word for this kind of going away, this decay in which something else is present. Ghost or ruin doesn't convey it. The Japanese call this feeling mono no aware, defined as the bittersweet sadness of things as they are, or a sensitivity to the fleeting beauty of the world.
In the Land of the Next Big Thing, ruins are like preserves of mono no aware. A ruin invites us to enter; it is ours alone to inhabit. We can be the ghost of the future come to visit, to render a judgment if we care. Prowling an abandoned house we can spy on ourselves and imagine what our house will be like when we are gone. It's like placing a call to an empty apartment. Though we know better, we can't help imagining that we are hearing the phone itself ring in that empty room."
From the introduction by Howard Mansfield:
"What Brian Vanden Brink finds in ruins is a kind of melancholy. Free of clutter, free of us, a house gains stillness. It is a kind of stillness that we find on old country roads. It's the skull under the skin, the skeleton, the death inside us. It's the clock ticking our days away. We lack a good word for this kind of going away, this decay in which something else is present. Ghost or ruin doesn't convey it. The Japanese call this feeling mono no aware, defined as the bittersweet sadness of things as they are, or a sensitivity to the fleeting beauty of the world.
In the Land of the Next Big Thing, ruins are like preserves of mono no aware. A ruin invites us to enter; it is ours alone to inhabit. We can be the ghost of the future come to visit, to render a judgment if we care. Prowling an abandoned house we can spy on ourselves and imagine what our house will be like when we are gone. It's like placing a call to an empty apartment. Though we know better, we can't help imagining that we are hearing the phone itself ring in that empty room."
June 20, 2013
I have always been fascinated by buildings, in particular old historic homes and churches, that have been left to decay. They make me so sad; I can't help but wonder about the people who used to inhabit them; the families that were born, grew up, then died in them. It always makes me wonder why the house was finally abandoned. Did the family just pack up and leave? Why? And although it makes absolutely no sense, I always feel sad for the house. It was built so lovingly, with a purpose, and was filled with the sounds of adults and children for years and years, and now... they're left to rot. Some of the houses in this book were so obviously built to last generations, and must have been grand houses in their times. And now they're ruins. I guess, too, it reinforces the fact that we're all here temporarily, and one day our own homes will be empty and fall apart.
I get all melancholy looking at these photos, but that's how I know they're good.
I get all melancholy looking at these photos, but that's how I know they're good.
June 20, 2023
Ruin: Photographs of a Vanishing America by architectural photographer Brian Vanden Brink, for instance, highlights the transient nature of buildings, collecting images from across the US since the 1980s, stark and lonely monuments of a culture always on the move. As historic preservation expert Howard Mansfield notes in his forward, “The business of America is leaving” and that the “history of ruins is a history of roads. Our houses are often on the move. Ruins are just one stop- one frame- in this time-lapse of coming and going. We are the ghosts of this landscape.” This collection is an intriguing artifact of these themes.
I continue these thoughts at Harris' Tome Corner discussing Dead Malls: Nostalgia in the Ruins.
I continue these thoughts at Harris' Tome Corner discussing Dead Malls: Nostalgia in the Ruins.
July 25, 2022
A stunningly beautiful photography book of architectural decay, focused mostly on exteriors, but the few interior studies are remarkable as well, especially the Bowdoin mills.
November 25, 2024
This was so cool. That is all.
July 11, 2015
Non-historic ruin is a sight of discomfort for me in general. Historic ruin is a matter of neutral curiosity; distanced by time,such ruin is a reminder of history long gone, with its residue polished and rounded to achieve a sense of hygienic beauty.
But ruins of recent past reminds us of loss and death too recent to discount by time. Averting my eyes, and hoping that sights with such evident loss and melancholy would pass from my vision, I push my sight and thus my thoughts back to things alive and pleasant. Perhaps it is the general sense of fear for decay and death that prompt such innate and uninformed response, which I don't think it is quite unique. The modern days are filled with things new and newer, we are in a hurry to discard and move on. In the compressed and iPhone-ed days, we don't want to stop and confront our moment of discomfort and even fear; the fear of being left behind, becoming obsolescent. We are told that, to think about the decaying and dying is an affliction, a morbidity of the spirit.
But how wrong and amiss we can be, by so brazenly move so fast, in blurring speed to obliterate our existential discomfort about new and old, good and broken, life and death. In a small way, this book has taught me to pause, and to think about the common-day decay -- nothing heroic, nothing brave, just the evidence of things being left behind when human moved on.
Can we imagine what our house would be like when we are gone? What would become the sudden stillness, the sudden emptiness when our household items, our clothes, our books, suddenly left without any acclaim of ownership? These photos ask us to look for such stillness, the "death inside us". In the wonderful introduction by Howard Mansfield, we learnt:
"We lack of good word for this kind of going away, this decay in which something else is present ... the Japanese call this feeling mono no aware, defined as the bittersweet sadness of things as they are, or a sensitivity to the fleeting beauty of the world. 'You accept it, you even in a small way celebrate it, this evanescence', says Donald Richie, a lifelong student of Japanese culture. 'You are to observe that is happening, and be content that things are proceeding as they must, and therefore should'."
So what have we seen in these photos collected by the photographer Brink over a course of thirty years? (1) page 13, a large family house with verandah shaded by a large tree covered with spanish moss; the door has two hanging piece of notice, one red, one orange (2) page 14, a main farm with a glimpse of setting sun light from the closed doors, (3) page 45, the interior of a house in Maryland, showing the sweeping stairs with still nearly perfect woodwork in swirls, and multiple layers of paint -- base yellowed white chalk, then dusty green, then sky blue (4) page 61 the wooden exterior of a stately house "Marion Hall" bleached white by the element, contrasting with the red paint of nearby humbler huts and sheds. And many more.
In a narrow angle -- common ruin, the detritus of human left behind -- this photography book gives us an unexpected aperture to look at moments of "mono no aware".
But ruins of recent past reminds us of loss and death too recent to discount by time. Averting my eyes, and hoping that sights with such evident loss and melancholy would pass from my vision, I push my sight and thus my thoughts back to things alive and pleasant. Perhaps it is the general sense of fear for decay and death that prompt such innate and uninformed response, which I don't think it is quite unique. The modern days are filled with things new and newer, we are in a hurry to discard and move on. In the compressed and iPhone-ed days, we don't want to stop and confront our moment of discomfort and even fear; the fear of being left behind, becoming obsolescent. We are told that, to think about the decaying and dying is an affliction, a morbidity of the spirit.
But how wrong and amiss we can be, by so brazenly move so fast, in blurring speed to obliterate our existential discomfort about new and old, good and broken, life and death. In a small way, this book has taught me to pause, and to think about the common-day decay -- nothing heroic, nothing brave, just the evidence of things being left behind when human moved on.
Can we imagine what our house would be like when we are gone? What would become the sudden stillness, the sudden emptiness when our household items, our clothes, our books, suddenly left without any acclaim of ownership? These photos ask us to look for such stillness, the "death inside us". In the wonderful introduction by Howard Mansfield, we learnt:
"We lack of good word for this kind of going away, this decay in which something else is present ... the Japanese call this feeling mono no aware, defined as the bittersweet sadness of things as they are, or a sensitivity to the fleeting beauty of the world. 'You accept it, you even in a small way celebrate it, this evanescence', says Donald Richie, a lifelong student of Japanese culture. 'You are to observe that is happening, and be content that things are proceeding as they must, and therefore should'."
So what have we seen in these photos collected by the photographer Brink over a course of thirty years? (1) page 13, a large family house with verandah shaded by a large tree covered with spanish moss; the door has two hanging piece of notice, one red, one orange (2) page 14, a main farm with a glimpse of setting sun light from the closed doors, (3) page 45, the interior of a house in Maryland, showing the sweeping stairs with still nearly perfect woodwork in swirls, and multiple layers of paint -- base yellowed white chalk, then dusty green, then sky blue (4) page 61 the wooden exterior of a stately house "Marion Hall" bleached white by the element, contrasting with the red paint of nearby humbler huts and sheds. And many more.
In a narrow angle -- common ruin, the detritus of human left behind -- this photography book gives us an unexpected aperture to look at moments of "mono no aware".
February 19, 2011
While I really enjoyed the photographs in this book, I wish there had been some description of the buildings, the families that owned the homes, and why they fell into ruin. The photos were moving on their own but they left me wanting to know more. Another similar book I really enjoyed was Ghostly Ruins. Ghostly Ruins focuses on fewer buildings but gives the story behind each one.
June 19, 2011
Vanden Brink is a professional architectural photographer whose career has focused on contemporary architectural design.
December 1, 2016
Poignant and beautiful.
January 23, 2013
Fascinating.
July 14, 2013
Neat and eerie photographs of abandoned homes, factories, and churches.
August 6, 2015
Very interesting photos of abandoned houses and older businesses. Such beauty in the ruins of what must have been happier times
November 3, 2009
I want to own this book. It's gorgeous.
November 20, 2015
Mono no aware - the photographer's statement and Mansfield's introduction are so beautifully sad.
Displaying 1 - 19 of 19 reviews