Doors fascinate me. The simplest of shapes. A rectangle, tall and wide enough to let anyone go through without banging their head. Children sweep and squeeze through. So functional. And yet, a door separates the inside from the outside. The private from the public sphere. Or lets them in or out. In Giraudoux’s La guerre de Troie n’aura pas lieu, there are doors at one extreme of the stage. The open doors mean peace. The closed doors mean war.
Those particular doors are from Bologna, Florence, Mexico, Milan and Paris. In disorder.I like my doors scrambled. Can you guess where each door is from?
Detail from the previous door
All photos (c) BMO and Equinoxio
Did you guess the correct order? 🙂
Answers next week. Have a great week-end