I come from Saguenay. A place too wide to stay quiet. Where silence weighs heavy, winters stretch long, and you learn early that everything eventually cracks. That’s where I understood that beauty doesn’t live in what shines, but in what keeps standing, even when it’s worn down.

I never chased postcards. I chased fractures. The places where concrete remembers. The sites people stopped caring about, yet that still stand out of pure stubbornness.

I walked through factories stripped of their machines, through abandoned mines, through old bars and restaurants where the smell of beer still clings to the walls. I crossed closed cinemas, silent theatres waiting for one last curtain call.

I pushed open the doors of deserted schools, forgotten hospitals, and former asylums where silence feels heavier than the stories. I saw empty hotels, roadside motels, houses and manors still standing out of sheer pride.

I descended into prisons, passed abandoned police stations, walked across airport runways where nothing takes off anymore. Religious sites frozen in time, torn-open quarries, and countless other places no one quite knows how to name.

Under the name JMTUrbex, I’ve crossed more than 1,500 places over fifteen years. Not to consume them. Not to check them off a list. But to listen. Every place left something behind. A tension. A calm. An invisible scar.

Fragmenta was born from that. Not a brand. Not a clean project. An accumulation of pieces gathered over too many years to ignore. Fragments of places, roads, nights, and solitude.

Fragmenta is not finished. It never will be. It’s a world assembled fragment by fragment, where memory refuses to shut up.