What if buildings could speak? What stories would they tell of their heyday, their decline, their longing to be noticed again?
My newest 2-minute animated film gives voice to the Riviera Hotel in Weymouth. Once a glamourous Art Deco seaside destination, she now stands tired, quietly fading behind layers of wear and time. This film, which blends illustration, storytelling, and poetry, imagines what she might say if she could speak.
The project began with my illustrated book If Buildings Could Speak, What Would They Say?, in which I gave voice to both buildings at risk and those that have already been saved. That book found its way to Purcell Architects, and to my surprise, they had worked on two of the buildings I featured. They invited me to give a CPD talk, which led to the creation of this latest short film.
I want to share these stories not just to mourn what’s lost but to celebrate what’s possible. Some people rescue animals. I rescue buildings through visual storytelling that reawakens public memory and sparks imagination.
My prints and illustrations, inspired by buildings at risk and those that have been saved, are available on my website. Artwork from this Riviera Hotel project will also be available for purchase soon.
And if you’re here for the stories, welcome. This is about inspiring good thoughts and actions, and remembering the beauty in the places we thought were lost. If you are inspired by my movie and poem, please help me share this with the right people to make change happen.
What Would She Say? — A Poem for the Riviera Hotel, Weymouth
I stood with pride, so bold, so grand,
A jewel upon the Dorset strand.
Where seaside guests would dance and dine,
Beneath soft lights that used to shine.
Prime position by the bay,
The Pontin’s spark has washed away.
A name on ledgers, investment made.
A distant deal, left to fade.
I wear the years upon my face,
My painted beauty lost in place.
They polished floors, they patched my skin,
Yet never brought my soul within.
My ballroom roof is draped in grey,
A ghostly tarp where grandeur lay.
My gardens choked, my railings torn,
I wait, forgotten and forlorn.
They hold the keys but never see—
I wait, unseen, a memory.
Not lost, not gone, still standing here,
Yet fading more with every year.
Imagine if new life began,
A future bright, a hopeful plan.
Not just in whispers, nor through prayer—
But as a home, with thought and care.
By Vicky Anne Vaughan, as part of her ongoing storytelling and illustration work celebrating heritage places.
This poem and project are shared under Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.