A house carries with it the history of many. It is an archive of people’s lives. Each generation leaves its mark. Each object tells a part of the story. There is no before and no after.
At the beginning of the 20th century, Sweden was a country of farmers. Rural areas flourished. But life was hard, people were poor and working conditions were hard. They could barely feed the growing population. Modernization of agriculture led to fewer jobs. More and more people left the countryside in the hope of a better life. Farms and fields were abandoned. What remains today are deserted houses.
I imagine the life that once filled these rooms. Because a house is more than a roof over your head. It was a home, once upon a time. A place where people lived, survived and took care of each other. A safe haven where people loved and argued.
Now only the houses remain. We let them fall apart. We don’t care. But the memories don’t disappear. They are trapped in the material. Everything tells the same story. When the wind rustles through old newspapers and makes the torn curtains flutter like a whisper: we were here.
Selected images:
Det som är kvar
Marjolijn Schoemans (2026)