Urbex

Urbex

My experience of urbex is limited: it’s a genre that I am, essentially, not well suited to. I am large, don’t bend well, and tend to carry quite a lot of equipment. Urbex sometimes requires that you are very flexible, and fit through small gaps terribly well. And as it’s also, more or less by definition, not entirely legal, it’s ill-suited to the naturally law-abiding.

What is urbex, you may ask. It’s a contraction of the words urban exploration, and it means, essentially, that you are exploring old and deserted buildings. 25-year build-ups of grime, broken fluorescent tubes and floors with rotten boards are a natual part of the territory. As you’re probably trespassing when you do it, you really need to keep your wits about you – you really don’t want to have to call an ambulance…

It began as simple exploration, I think, but it rapidly came to include recording the decaying beauty of some locations – and it was only a matter of time until somebody decided that visiting an old mental hospital would be much more fun if she also took some pictures of her boyfriend strapped down to an old hospital bed. And then some models – many of whom are adventurous and enterprising – started to collect locations.



The nature of urbex means that there may be others looking to spend time in the same places, and it’s worth watching out for needles and broken fortified wine bottles: and it’s also a genre where you will want to make use of locations as you find out about htem – the owner will be wanting to improve security, and turn that nine-inch gap that you had to go through into a steel fence with razor wire at the top.

For the less-enterprising, a few people have realised that property they own can be turned to account by offering it as a ‘studio’ – while you will have to pay, this has the advantage of some basic health and safety provision, legality, and insurance. I’ve never heard of either a model or photographer being seriously hurt, but one attractive venue in Derby ceased to be accessible after a young man fell through the roof. As it was a former factory, the glass roof was thirty or forty feet above the concrete floor, and he died.



At another place, an abandoned farm, I heard a diesel engine approaching along the access road – the access road with a locked barrier at the far end: my models disappeared behind a building, while I strolled over to investigate. I found a white van with a dog-cage in the back, complete with Alsatian, a canvas shotgun case in the footwell, and a shaven-headed gentleman who I fervently hope is on my side if I’m ever in a barfight when he’s around. We chatted for a few minutes and I explained that I was taking pictures of the farm, and he explained that he kept an eye on it for the owners.

It’s not an occupation for either the foolhardy or the faint-hearted. Oh, yes – and your model will be wanting a hot bath as soon as you’ve finished shooting…