Visions of a post-apocalyptic planet have forever lurked within the human subconscious, finding varied but alluring interpretations in art and cinema. The subgenre of science-fiction has often forayed into this demise of humanhood and the idea of remnants—human or non-human, left behind in the wake of a canonical future event that we seem to be working towards in the now. This allure, admittedly so, is much more fixated on a visual romanticism of sorts entangled with a biophilia, more than anything else words could convey on paper. Perhaps the first affectation in the formation of that visual, especially in the absence of a human subject, is upon architecture, the built beacon of a civilisation, and among the last remaining symbols in a world where "man would suddenly disappear," as remarked by French photographer Romain Veillon in his second visual odyssey documenting human fragility and planetary fortitude.

The ruin of architecture through crumbling surfaces, decaying edifices, and the deposition of temporal patinas is a gradual one, and never nearly as spectacular as the instantaneous crumbling of say, a large housing block. Then there is the narrative extension, a romanticised re-imagining of the life in these spaces and structures before it vanished. This outlasting is perhaps one of the more enduring proofs of the practice of architecture as an art form, created to outlast the creator at the end of all human endeavour. Veillon mines this fascination with the post-apocalyptic vision in a series of over 200 photographs of abandoned homes, churches, hospitals, performance halls, factories, schools, and outdoor structures, the abandonment in the present doubling up as found fortune and refuge in the future. The afterthought is also reflected in the new photographs he presents this time around, as the presence of more classical motifs and artwork deepens the void of time between and amplifies the decay.

"My pictures act as a new kind of 'Memento Mori'; they are here to remind us that everything has an end and that we should enjoy it while it lasts,” Veillon states, as his compendium of spaces in abandonment, decomposition, and subsequent bloom translates a simultaneous vision of the past, present, and future—the three time spheres signifying when the buildings were originally constructed and occupied when they were documented, and what they depict, respectively. This trilobal delineation of time persists through the sequel as it did in the original, Green Urbex, with Veillon’s distinctions serving to populate the three unnamed phases of the great vanishing he envisions would be the inception of his book. The first one places the temporal marker on the immediate aftermath of the disappearance of the human population, with pictures capturing the slight settling of dust over vessels populated with life moments ago. The second inculcates pictures that showcase the onset of the decay and the time elapsed with cracks and mould appearing, and the dust on the ground and surfaces replaced with crumbs of falling plaster. The final one is the phase of reclamation—something Veillon’s pictures harp on as an inevitability—with vines and greens organically growing over measured proportions of every human intervention. "These photographs do not show dead buildings, they show us buildings which are finally alive!,” states French illustrator and comic artist Mathieu Bablet, in his introduction to Veillon’s book.

While there is an unmistakable visual allure in the capturing of spaces that outlasted human use, and their reclamation by the perennialism of nature, Veillon’s work and the Green Urbex duology beget an understanding of consequence beyond the parochialism of coffee table aesthetics. Along with the more philosophically outlined questions of mortality, transience, and metamorphosis that persist in these pictures, there is the question of collective care, an abundance of buildings even as a lack of dignified housing elevates to the level of a near global crisis, and what we do with a heritage in the present. The latter of these musings is especially relevant in the present scenario as a time-worn ruin and disrepair falls on several present structures that may just require minimal repair and brushing off to be put into use again, lest our neglect of them add to a phantasm of building stock.

In fact, part of the experience of the book, apart from an appreciation of its verdant character, is in deciphering two overarching questions. The first has to do with pondering upon why these spaces, as they exist in our present, were abandoned in the first place. The second, a more profound line of questioning, could delve into the reason for the allure of the post-apocalyptic visual that seems to transcend media, despite the idea underscoring essentially death, destruction, and obliteration of an entire population. It could be the deep-seated desire for a hard reset laden with the weight of centuries of human exploitation and misdoings, or a momentary comfort in our current predicament. It is, for all its preceding violence by and on humankind, a vision of peace, founded in hope or a just retribution.

You can see more of Romain's work here.