Collapse in Colour
There’s something about the way walls crumble in Cuba. They don’t fall all at once—they peel. Flake. Expose layers of paint and plaster like the building is shedding its history, one coat at a time.
This wall, half-collapsed and half-standing, wasn’t just ruined—it was expressive. The turquoise paint had weathered to an almost translucent wash. The window frame leaned, stubbornly holding on. The absence of glass didn’t weaken the composition—it sharpened it. What’s broken here feels intentional, as if entropy knew what it was doing.
As a fine art print, this piece doesn’t scream. It holds. The textures are complex, but the structure is simple: frame within frame, line within ruin. The negative space pulls your eye in, and the decay keeps you there.
Read more about why I chose this broken frame as a finished image →
