Front garden

I once looked at a front garden which was given a certain ephemeral beauty by the rising sun and its incident light and, without thinking, I felt the urge to take a picture. Although I had passed this place quite a few times, I never paid much attention to it. That could’ve been because of its inconspicuous simplicity (a quality I know from many buildings and places in my surroundings) or just because of me being absent-minded and used to all the things that seem to be trivial and therefore not what I tend to potter at.

Front gardens have their own aesthetic laws and work as a sort of gap. They’re normally between streets and residential houses and allow a view from outside, thus having a representative function as well as a certain vulnerability. While our homes and back gardens are protected from unwanted insights, the front garden is an entrance to the home of other people. But who are these people?

I imagined that the sparse vegetation and the mowed lawn point to a tidiness I have seen many times. The facade of the house was immaculate, one window covered with a curtain. A calm and composed atmosphere to the observer, albeit perpetually interrupted by the street noise behind me.

And while I was looking at the front garden trying to take a picture, I was wondering whether it still mattered in times of decreasing living space and evanescent possessions. Maybe the concept of a front garden has always been an illusion rather than reality because most people never even see the protected living quarters behind it? Maybe front gardens receive less and less attention, with only a few people looking at them curiously every now and then, but still without being appreciated for what’s behind the surface. And while I was pondering on these connections and contradictions, wondering how I could capture them on camera, I heard a voice: What are you doing here?