If you own any kind of house, the specter of Grey Gardens always looms.  Personally, I kind of love how an unkempt garden looks and the way it creeps all over its surrounding area like a leafy liquid spilling in slow motion. There's a chair under all those vines. It's the kind of creeping invasive weed that makes real estate agents shudder and fascinates romantics. The effects of neglect on the inside of the house are a lot less beautiful or photogenic. But there's something about wild plants allowed to express themselves with no regard for our spaces and the artificial objects inhabiting it that really appeals to me. It feels like a sort of benign revenge.