Human society has advanced so much in controlling and dominating nature that we often suffer from a syndrome similar to the Dunning-Kruger effect, we believe we have far greater power over our environment than we actually possess. We build reservoirs, redirect rivers, dismantle mountains, alter biotopes, modify forests, and unintentionally even change the climate. It seems our ability to shape the world as if it were a ball of clay knows no limits.
However, in a way, this is nothing more than a temporary illusion, a small mirage that, if we could perceive it more quickly, would reveal the fragility and impermanence of our impressive achievements. Everything we accomplish requires immense work, energy, effort, and planning, all of which can only be sustained for a limited period. The moment we stop exerting our desire for control, nature effortlessly reclaims its space, once again demonstrating its absolute dominance over a land that has always belonged to it.
I saw this striking reality with absolute clarity while taking a short hike near Pola de Siero. On one of the secondary roads leading out of town, an abandoned house caught my attention, the kind I love photographing. After a few strides through the underbrush, I reached its main door, which, surprisingly, stood open, inviting exploration.
Despite the rooms being in poor condition, some dilapidated furniture remained. I captured several photos filled with decay yet brimming with nostalgic charm. The furniture, distinctly from the seventies, bathed in the dim light seeping through the windows, evoked stories and memories from the past, fueling imagination about people who are no longer here and circumstances lost forever. But the room that impacted me the most was the one I’m sharing in this photograph. Here, relentless nature has decisively reclaimed its place, mocking our supposed power over it. Even though the structure was man-made, nature reminds us it’s merely borrowed, sooner or later, everything returns under its dominion.
