I call it the Chateau. Construction began in the first decade of the 21st century. The house stands on high ground, massive, rectangular and conspicuous among Quebec’s hills and farms. It was the “Grecian” statues that drew my attention - a prolific community of marble effigies overlooking acreage of lawn that sloped towards a distant road where cars glided silently to the South.
The estate is tended by the Owner, an enigmatic man of few words. Little is known about him. No gossip of significance among the villagers who occasionally come to pay their respects at the cemetery across the lane, throwing bewildered glances towards the Chateau as they place flowers on tombstones. When I approached the Owner, camera in hand, he tacitly accepted my intrusion as some kind of arms-length arrangement, little asked and little told. I returned again and again, running between the Chateau and my computer, and as I did so the images of statues transformed - a fantasy unfolded. I began to wonder if perhaps I was mirroring the Owner’s dream - his passionate devotion to exalting past splendour.