I never cease to be astounded by it, from a perspective of a study of decay. You have what was obviously a cabin, walls of steel swiss cheese, barely recognisable, and in the middle of the room, a wood and brass bed head, upright, gleaming as though it's just been polished, and opposite it, a small vanity with a smooth white marble or porcelain top and a perfectly intact front of wicker. After almost a hundred years.
One of the pictures that has remained in my brain for decades, though I can't find it online, was an unrecognisably twisted mess of metal from the debris field, and sat on top of it, upright, an intact teacup, as though someone had just placed it there and walked away.
It's the dissonance of intactness contrasted with terrible decay and destruction that I thinks makes the images so arresting. The randomness of what is still virtually the same and what is completely obliterated. The parallel between that and the randomness of who survived and who did not. It makes me hurt, deeply, for all those who never came home. Five more, now, who will be there, in some form, forever.
MOO
