Imagine wandering through the ghosts of yesterday's dreams—welcome to the eerie allure of America's forsaken homes, where every crumbling wall whispers untold stories of the past.
These dwellings, battered by the relentless march of time and elements, stand alone like neglected relics in the landscape. They evoke a chilling sense of desolation: Shutters barricade ornate Victorian towers; peeling paint reveals the grandeur of towering pillars on a once-majestic entrance; sweeping porches, once bustling with twilight drinks and leisurely weekend brunches, now lie stark and empty. Structures crumble, ceilings cave in, and nature slowly engulfs them, turning human habitations into wild overgrowth.
For over ten years, New York-based photographer Bryan Sansivero (https://www.bryansansivero.com/) has ventured across the United States, tracking down these overlooked, decaying residences, each one a silent narrator of its own narrative. Within the confines of vacated wooden farmhouses, opulent pre-Civil War plantation estates, and elaborate Queen Anne-style mansions, Sansivero has uncovered homes that were left intact, providing a window into lives from bygone eras.
Dusty reading rooms brim with volumes, documents, and snapshots; in one, an untouched coffee cup lingers nearby. Magnificent pianos and partially drained liquor bottles gather dust, while vibrant kids' play areas, littered with toys, sit eerily motionless. These scenes are compiled in his newest publication, “America the Abandoned: Captivating Portraits of Deserted Homes.”
“As I see it, it's about preserving these frozen moments in time—these hidden spots,” he shared during a phone conversation. “The thrill lies in the unpredictability of what awaits.”
Sansivero's fascination with neglected places dates back to his college days as a film studies student, beginning with the Kings Park Psychiatric Center, a shuttered mental health facility on Long Island that he featured in his documentary project.
Gradually, his focus shifted to personal homes—millions of which sit empty nationwide—particularly as urban exploration, often called “urbex” (a practice where adventurers sneak into and document off-limits urban areas, sometimes risking legal trouble to capture decaying infrastructure), evolved into a lucrative social media trend, transforming into what he compares to an intense rivalry. It's easy to stumble upon deserted hospitals, places of worship, or educational buildings; private houses, however, hold a unique excitement of revelation.
“If you hit it big online, you might rack up two million likes and hordes of followers, and everyone starts vying for that,” he noted, explaining how it devolves into “chasing the highest views, the flashiest finds, and all the hype.” But here's where it gets controversial—Sansivero has taken a stand against this rush, choosing the patient, thoughtful approach of shooting on medium-format film, even as he shares his work with over 100,000 Instagram followers (https://www.instagram.com/st.severus). “I've been doing the opposite, really. I want more film photography. Less digital, and more emphasis on vintage, distinctive gear.”
That said, the homes he encounters aren't always pristine artifacts from their last inhabitants. Many bear the scars of ruin or mischief, possibly inflicted by trespassers, unruly teens, or even fellow urbex enthusiasts. Occasionally, a lead on a property leads him to discover it's overrun by competing photographers and creators scrambling to claim the spotlight first.
Still, he often stumbles upon these places serendipitously or aided by satellite views like Google Earth, embarking on extended journeys to the South or Midwest, regions hit hard by declining industries or economic and ecological challenges.
These expeditions aren't without peril—he's breathed in mold (and now packs protective masks), plunged a leg through rotting flooring, and endured the unsettling wobble of structures on the brink of total collapse. Yet, nothing has deterred him, as he's captivated by striking architecture and quirky or historically rich collections, like rooms piled with antique dollhouses, figures of mannequins haunting the space like apparitions, or interiors still adorned for holidays from decades ago.
“I might scout a dozen or more homes in a single day and decide none are worth capturing, because they're just hollow husks or have been wrecked—offering no insight into the former occupants,” he said. “What draws me in is the backstory: how did this happen, and why was it abandoned this way?”
Sansivero delves into researching the homes as much as possible, but in “Abandoned America,” he keeps details sparse, hinting at the residents' identities without naming them, steering clear of social media's tendency to sensationalize or milk tragic tales. Among his finds are former homes of a local official, a renowned fashion and textile innovator, and a Pulitzer Prize-winning writer. In one particularly unsettling discovery, a house brimming with full-scale mannequin sea creatures revealed a chilling published story about a killer who hid victims in the cellar, as he recalled. The mannequins' true purpose? Still a mystery.
He chanced upon that property while road-tripping with a buddy; the barricaded brick structure beside the highway was impossible to overlook. “We were cruising along, and I spotted it—'Whoa, check out that place.'”
Recently, Sansivero has expanded his lens abroad, investigating European chateaus and fortresses with lineages spanning centuries. “America the Abandoned” might mark a milestone in his decade of documenting U.S. homes, but it's probably just a breather, not the finale. As he points out, with the passage of time, fresh discoveries are inevitable.
And this is the part most people miss—the ethics of urbex can stir heated debates. Is it respectful to invade these private ruins for art and social media clout, potentially disturbing fragile sites or exploiting personal tragedies? Some argue it preserves history and highlights societal neglect, while others see it as invasive trespassing. What do you think—should abandoned homes be left to fade away undisturbed, or do they deserve to be documented and shared? Does the commercialization of such explorations cheapen the genuine human stories behind them? Share your views in the comments; I'd love to hear if you agree, disagree, or have a different take altogether!
Images: Excerpted from “America the Abandoned: Captivating Portraits of Deserted Homes” © 2025 Bryan Sansivero. Used with permission from Artisan. All rights reserved.
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