Every room and space has its own history waiting to be told. In these images afternoon light embraces the almost empty and aging spaces, lingering a while on peeling wallpapers or crooked window ledges. My sister lived in this house when she was eighteen. Everyone knew the house as ‘Woodstock’ because of the street it was on and because of the spirit of the people that lived in the house whether they were rent payers, visiting or just people who came for a party and forgot to go home.