A SUBTLE SENSE OF ABANDONMENT

It’s a Monday morning in May and Edinburgh Park, a place built to service the needs of a corporate ideal, feels almost abandoned. It’s neither decayed, nor condemned. It was just made for a culture that largely vanished overnight.

A single café defiantly bakes bread and serves coffee to a handful of people. Leisure seekers play tennis and walk their dogs. Trams come and go along the quiet and efficient grass-clad transport corridor. Yet the cavernous cathedrals of business are empty. It’s as eerie as it is baffling how the plans of human kind are always changing. They tend to leave their mark when they’re left behind.

A monument to a past that feels so recent. Edinburgh Park is adapting and diversifying. While it aims to become a cultural hub, what stands today is an awkward sense of failed ambition. A liminal chapter of a grand nowhere that wants to be a somewhere.