Nestled deep in the European Forests, somewhere between where the Šumava ends and the Böhmerwald begins exists the small city of Luchtzig. It would remain an entirely unremarkable city (known primarily for its tradition of fine furniture left by its early Bohemian-German roots) if it were not nearly destroyed in its entirety during WWII. The entirety of what exists now has been built on top of the ruins of the previous iteration of the city. Furthermore, none of the current population of Luchtzig occupied the city at the time of the war. Except for the name and the location of the structures that compose it, the city is entirely composed of new materials and is inhabited by new citizens.

Like a strange palimpsest that has attempted to restore the very text it erased, the ghost of old Luchtzig haunts itself. The old streets and apartment complexes cut through what is now brick and stone. Where once was a factory is now a park; where there was an allée, a shopping mall. The spirits of the inhabitants of old walk the ghost city. Occasionally they may be seen: a spirit will disappear through a wall, indicating the existence of some unseen entrance that has long been lost. A single figure will walk along the sky in the hallways of a memory. Fog rolls where these ghosts crowd.

Occasionally, a person will disappear from the world of the living only to be seen in glimpses, walking through that ghostly world of the past. It is my theory that the cities are interchanging in search of equilibrium – the past and the present merging until both inhabit the exact same space. The dual Luchtzigs finally becoming one.

Though I must wonder if this phenomenon is truly as isolated as it appears. Perhaps such metamorphoses are occurring elsewhere, everywhere, dragging the past up from the dust.