Where staff could sleep.
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 zebras had the right idea when they saw the pink beds–run.
Clothing and a guest bed left behind.
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.
Plaster doesn’t last long without a roof.
Seven TV sets and not one shows my reflection. I’d also like to point out not two of these are the same.
One of a few dozen steel bed frames left in the rubble of the collapsing building.
Perhaps one side is firmer than the other?
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.
Judging by the bed, this room was used by employees in its later years.
Part of the hotel where employees slept and spare bed parts were stored.
Shag carpet is fabulous, and I hope it makes a comeback.
The woman in the wall has the bed; is pulling it in; is holding you down…
Old hospital beds.
It seems someone planned on stealing the fridge, but gave up on the second floor.
Strange graffiti in a side room. Someone was having fun…
The vibrant colors clashed with the silent hotel.
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.
A green chair in a green room.
I really like the way this high-ceilinged room is decaying. Well, decayed. It’s demolished now.
A blue chair in a blue room
The original color of the wall was probably green.