The finishing touches

As my senior year began, the restoration of Bloomfield manor was well underway. I had now gotten into doing color photography and so I could take advantage of sunsets and other lighting situations. I was also doing other art related to the house, including drawings, paintings, sketches and digital manipulation of photos I had taken. A lot of it was rather dark and emotional, as befit my state of mind at the time. But there was hope, and it was manifesting more and more every week as work was done. Eventually windows were installed and doors were repaired or replaced, and it was at this time I was given a copy of the key that opened all of the doors. The contractor had no issue with me coming and going, as I was documenting his work and would provide him with copies of photos I had taken. That winter I kept on with my work, gearing up for presenting my photo thesis the coming spring before I would graduate.

At the same time, I was working on my own problems, and my dealing with my past. Just as the damaged sections of Bloomfield had to either be replaced or repaired, so I was also trying to shore up the damage done by happenings and circumstances of my childhood. In many ways Bloomfield’s existence was not unlike my life up until that point. The mansion had its early happy halcyon days, but then it fell into disrepair and began to fall apart. Until someone saw that were was still life within it, and it could be whole again.

Finally, when winter began to lose its grip and the land started to turn green, the restoration was, for the most part, complete. Bloomfield was indeed restored to its former glory, and my time of documenting the process was drawing to a close. What would happen next was not really something I was looking forwards to, but it was inevitable all the same. I had become attached to the place, in many ways and it had become such a part of my life and my own personal journey. But, eventually, it would be offered for sale to be turned over a new owner. Both myself and the contractor worried that someone might move in and make some changes to the historic character of the home. So he applied for the house to be listed on the national register of historic places (which, coincidentally, the New River Gorge Bridge is also so listed). It didn’t happen immediately, but eventually (and before Bloomfield was put on the market) it was granted that listing. What that meant was that no changes could be made, at least externally, to alter the look of the house. That was comforting, even though I’d soon be losing Bloomfield, probably forever.