5-10-15

Right in the heart of the city, barely a minute’s walk from the polished elegance of Plac Trzech Krzyży, hides a tenement that Warsaw seems to have quietly erased from its memory. Behind a nondescript gate, the corridors rot in silence: paint curls like burnt paper, an old Soviet radio stands guard on a dusty shelf, and hand-drawn devils grin from blood-red walls. Light sneaks in through cracked blinds and broken windows, catching decades of graffiti, fallen plaster, and the faint smell of lives that ended long ago. This is not some distant ruin on the wrong side of the river, this is decay hiding in plain sight, in the very center, where no one expects it. These photographs are a short, uninvited visit to a place the city has already buried alive: raw, melancholic, and strangely beautiful.