The Future: A Photography Project Born from Rust and Time

The Future: A Photography Project Born from Rust and Time

It started with a gas station.

One day, I was driving when I passed an old, abandoned gas station—one of those places that once buzzed with life but had long been left to decay. The pumps still stood, rusted relics of another era. The windows and doors were boarded up, as if trying to keep time from creeping in. But nature doesn’t wait for permission. Vines cracked through the concrete, trees grew up against the walls, and birds and squirrels made homes in what was once a pit stop for road-trippers and commuters.

It was ruined. A relic of the past. And yet… it was beautiful.

Nothing lasts forever. Not even concrete.

I remember thinking: Is this the future of all gas stations?

The answer was obvious. Petroleum won’t last forever. One day, every gas-powered car will stop running—some might end up in museums, but most will be abandoned, left to rust in forgotten corners of the world. And that’s when I had the thought that really stuck with me:

What will happen to all those cars?

Some of mankind’s most beautiful designs, built with precision and artistry, will one day become nothing more than wreckage. Swallowed by nature. Forgotten. That realization hit me hard. I love automobiles—not just as machines, but as pieces of engineering and design that tell stories of their time. And knowing that my dream cars, the ones I may never even own, will ultimately meet the same fate as that gas station… It hurt.

But it also sparked an idea.

I wanted to see it for myself.

Tracking Down the Future

I started searching. I scoured the internet for abandoned cars in Ontario, and, unfortunately, I found plenty. Classic cars rusting in driveways, hidden gems collecting dust in barns, entire fields full of forgotten vehicles.

And then, I found it.

22 acres of nothing but abandoned cars.

Rows upon rows stretching into the distance, like a graveyard of machines.

I tracked down the owner, an incredible old man with stories as rich as the rust on the hoods. We sat in his home, drinking hot chocolate, eating the donuts I’d brought, and losing track of time in conversation.

When I finally stepped onto his property, it felt like I had woken up from a long cryo-sleep in a post-apocalyptic world.

A car from another era, its body faded and peeling, trapped in the grip of a tree that had grown through its frame. The forest had no regard for design or nostalgia—it was simply reclaiming what had been left behind.

An old truck, its face hollowed out, its headlights long gone. The rust had eaten through its body, but there was still something commanding about it, like a warrior standing in defiance against time.

This car must have once been someone’s pride and joy. Maybe it was driven off the lot brand new, its owner beaming, excited to take it on the open road. Now, it sits here, its hood warped, its lights empty sockets staring into nothing.

Entire piles of dismantled pieces, cars stripped down and stacked like forgotten relics of an era gone by.

The Future Is Already Here

This was it. The Future.

Or at least, a future. A hauntingly beautiful one.

One where our greatest machines, our proudest creations, are slowly consumed by nature. It’s poetic, really. The cycle of life doesn’t just apply to the organic world. Even metal, even chrome, even our most advanced engineering eventually succumbs to time.

This is where my photography project begins.

A visual exploration of what happens after the machines stop.

Because if we don’t stop to imagine the future, how can we shape it?