This series of photographs taken around London are portraits of a becoming. Places that no longer are, and are not yet, images of transformation. There is something both decadent and organic about the way the city transforms itself. I keep on falling into its fascination as I walk its pavements: I discover new corners and revisit places, surrendering to an irresistible flânerie. These closed-down spaces may be the subjects of makeover or demolition – I have seen it happen many times in the years I have been living here – but it surprises me how many of these empty properties still exist quietly, stuck in a hiatus which clashes with the cool, trendy, rampant image of the capital. I don’t look at these spaces neither with sadness for the ‘golden’ times, nor as a social commentary of the money-driven transformation of the town. I rather observe them through the filter of a ‘literary’ melancholia, interpreting the hints they give out about their past existence in the frame of a somewhat romantic idea. They become the protagonists of a fictional recollection lined with a vague and inexplicable nostalgia for something gone or perhaps never truly existed or experienced: what, in Esperanto, was supposed to be named ‘Sauxdado’.