A possible restoration

To this day I still don’t know what it was that drew me to Bloomfield, nor what was it that made see it a different light. But as I continued to photograph it as time went by, I felt as though I had begun to develop a bond of sorts with the aged mansion. So many old homes like this are lost to history and end up being torn down, but Bloomfield was different. Despite its run down appearance and ragged facade, it still seemed to have life within it, however faint. Like Charlie Brown’s scraggly tree, it seemed as though it needed me. It then became my project, and I inquired around as to what its fate might be, and, if possible, could it be saved.

During this time of my life, I was going thru a lot of issues. Things had gotten a little better since I entered college, but I still had problems at home and I was haunted by my teenage years and early childhood. And as I saw the house as needing me to help save it, I realized that this notion was reciprocal and would become mutually beneficial. The more I photographed, sketched and painted that old house, the more I realized that it was a reflection of myself. It was damaged, disfigured, ostracized and unloved. It sat there alone, awaiting its fate, until I drove by that one day. The idea of Bloomfield being restored and again becoming a happy home for someone gave me hope that I could also restore my life and become the person I wanted to be. But I feared I might end up looking on as this sad old house was destroyed, unable to do anything to stop it. It would be gone forever, lost to the history and the march of time.

As spring turned into summer, I found out that the nearby town was planning on annexing Bloomfield and the three hundred and some acres that surrounded it. I don’t recall all of the politics of the situation, but there was some concern that a developer would buy the annexed area, tear down Bloomfield and build a bunch of new houses. But thankfully there was a hero who would save the old mansion, a local man who made his living restoring old buildings. All of the land did eventually get annexed, but this man bought Bloomfield and a few acres of land around it. The rest of the acreage got sold to a developer, and did eventually became a large housing development. I began a partnership with this new owner, as he was happy to have me document the restoration of the house. As the work proceeded, he even gave me a key to the house so I could come and go at my leisure and do my photography. Restoration work really did not get started until later that summer. Care was taken to replace only that which was necessary and to restore the house to the way it would have looked before it was divided up into apartments. A few walls and a mid twentieth century stairwell were removed, and part of the floor had to be torn up and replaced.

It was during this time that Bloomfield became more than just a photography project; a way to get a good grade on an eventual senior thesis. What it had become was a refuge of sorts, not unlike a castle keep I could retreat into if I felt I had no where to go. Despite that initial nighttime visit where I felt apprehensive, I always felt safe at Bloomfield. It was peaceful, quiet and I felt as though nothing bad could happen to me there. Sometimes I’d go there if I got into an argument with my mom or dad, or if I just felt like I needed a break. When the weather was nice I would climb out onto the porch roof and lie in the sun and close my eyes for a while. While I normally spent only a couple of hours there at a time, even those short periods provided much respite. Bloomfield offered me shelter for those many months as I documented its return to glory.

I have always felt that in the course of my life I have been inexplicably drawn to various places and people. Paths that would normally never cross unless somehow a diversion or detour was made. Even though I had obliviously driven past Bloomfield many times, something made me do a double take. And then there is the more recent instance of me “discovering” the New River Gorge Bridge. Although it is much further away than Bloomfield was to me back in my college days, it was still figuratively “right under my nose”. I knew about it, but, like Bloomfield, I knew nothing about it, and its significance to me would only be revealed later on. Both structures/places were brought up into my awareness when they needed to be. They were part of my journey, part of a host of issues I was (and still am) seeking to solve. I now know what Bloomfield meant to me and the impact it had on that time in my life. The whole bridge thing is still a work in progress, even though I may never lay eyes on it again. I don’t know what purpose it has served or will serve for me in the present and future.