Seven TV sets and not one shows my reflection. I’d also like to point out not two of these are the same.
Plaster doesn’t last long without a roof.
The vibrant colors clashed with the silent hotel.
A green chair in a green room.
The zebras had the right idea when they saw the pink beds–run.
Judging by the bed, this room was used by employees in its later years.
It seems someone planned on stealing the fridge, but gave up on the second floor.
Shag carpet is fabulous, and I hope it makes a comeback.
I really like the way this high-ceilinged room is decaying. Well, decayed. It’s demolished now.
Strange graffiti in a side room. Someone was having fun…
The woman in the wall has the bed; is pulling it in; is holding you down…
Old hospital beds.
The original color of the wall was probably green.
Perhaps one side is firmer than the other?
One of a few dozen steel bed frames left in the rubble of the collapsing building.
A blue chair in a blue room
This is the far interior of the hotel, where the darkness made the shag carpet seem to move whenever the trees outside swayed. That is to say, constantly.
This section of the hospital recently collapsed.
Beds line a basement room that is part way between the concepts of inside and outside. Boards and bricks were falling while I was photographing it—stay out.
Part of the hotel where employees slept and spare bed parts were stored.
Clothing and a guest bed left behind.
This room on the top floor of one of the oldest buildings has seemingly not changed since it was adapted for employee use. Some sections of the hospital were adapted for staff to live in. Paying Patient Ward–where capable patients were separated from wards of the state.
The view into one of the asylum rooms of Norwich Hospital. A long time ago, a window broke, letting the vines crawling up the bricks outside to move indoors and across the floor.
Where staff could sleep.