DoorDitch.co.uk

DOORDITCH#DoorDitch is an Instagram project showcasing the doors of Shoreditch. With all of the regeneration around the area, these unique pieces of art work won’t be around for long. DoorDitch.co.uk

DoorDitch.co.uk

SHEShe doesn’t work anymore, this door.She sees, hears, smells, feels. Judges. She’s seen everything and forgotten nothing. Life’s unwilling witness.The homeless have slept with her...

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DoorbotThere is no story behind this door.  Technically, this building does not exist at all.  Please keep moving, there is nothing to be seen here.  No.  I am not a robot.  I apologise if my voice is toneless...  

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The Sleeping BeautyHush, don’t wake her. She dreams. She’s a thousand miles away, watching the seas rage on the bleakness of the northern coast, where the air is pure and her soul can fly free...

Read the full story: http://bit.ly/DoorDitchSleeping

Attention

Stop drawing attention to yourself. Sit up straight. Don’t you dare answer back. Get that out of your mouth right now. Stop doing that, and that. Sometimes I wonder about you. Be quiet. Shhhhh. Stop making a fuss. You’d better stop this acting up all the time. Settle down. I shall tell your father on Saturday, and we’ll see what he says to that. Stop it, just stop it. Nobody likes a show off. You know what happens to show offs, don’t you?

Story by: John V Willshire @Willsh

DoorDitch.co.uk

Egress

It gained access by way of the red door with large glass panels and reluctantly said goodbye to the glittering rainbow amongst the sun-struck clouds outside. Passing through the darkened hallway and approaching the platform was like entering another world with its astonishingly high white ceilings and far-flung indigo walls being almost impossible to see. Walking towards the Dispatcher it began to feel an overwhelming nervousness. After a pause, resolutely marching onward, it stepped into the device and vanished in a blinding flash.

Story by: Michael Kelleher

Waiting

Terrance lives here. Has for fifty years. He lurks in the dark corners, waiting for the light to find him there. He always was a patient man.

She was supposed to meet him here. A secret romantic rendezvous with the other half of his heart. But she didn’t come in time.

Love lost. Life lost. The flowers wilted along with his will. The chocolates melted along with his hope. And when his heart broke, it stopped. ”I’ll always be waiting for you”, he promised her with his last breath. But she is already waiting for him, beyond the gated door, beyond the light. She waits patiently for him. She had always been a patient soul.

Story by: Kari  |  @karimilburn

Ships in the Night

She worked for Helix.  She often mused on their mysterious tenant, Frangoulis the architect.  He was heard, but never seen.  Light footsteps on bare floorboards.  She imagined him drawing deftly.

Then one day there was a loud thump and silence. 

Oh no! Had he had a stroke? A seizure? She didn’t even know how old he was.

She scuttled upstairs opened the door and inside saw a design pinned to a board.  It looked like some child’s dream of a flying machine.

The thump had been the old sash window being wedged open.

On the floor was a solitary feather.

Story by: Fiona-Jane

Going Home

‘Ere! where’s me door gorn? Bleedin’ liberty,that’s what it is. Painted all over it they ‘av,can’t bleedin’ well see it now. Lovely door that was, painted shiny black wiv a brass knob:polished it every Monday when I scrubbed me step,I did. Lived there sixty years, brought up ten kids single-handed behind that door,after me old man snuffed it:got T.B. he did. Gord rest his soul.’

‘Whadyer mean it’s art? Can’t hang that on me bleedin’ wall can I’? Do I wanna picture? Not likely! Take me home.

Story by: Boudica

Up Is Jellyfish

It was the graffiti and ’Keep Out’ sign that drew me close, but the words scratched under drew me in. “Up is Jellyfish”, roughly hewn into the plastic with the desperate torn nub of a fingernail. I entered.

I wandered lost in a surreal void, where colours had no shape, sounds no texture and flavours squabbled and bickered in the finicky flaps between my toes. Here, big things were nothing, death but the stirring of the breeze.

Fearing the grasping fingers of madness I fled, through oceans of purple hunger, following the crazily shifting floor levels. J-E-L-L-Y-F-I-S-H. Escape is Jellyfish.

Story by: Alex Milne | diggingahole

Smile

Back then you only need inspect the ebb and flow between those thirty front doors to know something was odd. The street was a 24-hour theatre; an office of silly ideas for the thieving renaissance-dressed rats. The antics would engulf you within a whisper and drop you face down. But for all fecklessness we had a laugh all right, we knew how to smile. Intoxicated by ten, dancing in the street by twelve. We knew what it was like to live and taste the grime.

I think about those days a lot. Those rats. My face a hapless grin.

Story by: Stephen Gallagher

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DoorDitch.co.uk

The Palace of Unearthly Delights

The door to Johnny Liu’s Palace of Unearthly Delights holds a promise of all that lies beyond. It is a door of epic proportions. More than fifteen feet high and ten feet wide, it dwarfs all who stand before it; however rich, however noble, however proud. To the casual tourist it is merely a nondescript panel in an unremarkable wall, easily overlooked. But those who know its secrets will see the most exquisitely carved figures, frozen in exotic tableaus they cannot fully comprehend; figures that send an electric thrill of deep yearning coursing through their spines.

Story by: Liam J Hogan @LiamJHogan