Station Guggenheim, as Ive been calling it, is imagination incarnate, and its inexplicable omission from maps and the memories of locals makes it all the more fascinating. A former Yugoslavian memorial which commemorates the fruitless yet brave peasant attack on a fascist unit, armed only with pitchforks and whatever they could grab, it has been forgotten, left to the elements, and is losing this battle also. Many of the places we visit are knowns. We know what the theater, the cooling tower, the bunker will look like because weve seen the reports and the photos from explorers far more talented than us. But for whatever reason, I had only seen exterior shots of this place. And Im glad. The impact that this fluid monumental interior had was inspiring, dizzying, and calming all at the same time. No straight lines or repeating details, yet an inviting solid concrete structure. The first view of her at the end of the long windy forested road: elegant. The 360 degree view from the top for what seemed of hundreds of kilometers: grandiose. The labyrinthian platforms, curves, and stairwells of the interior: divine. A true playground for us. And we had it all to ourselves.
Posted on: Fri, 12 Sep 2014 16:08:47 +0000