A pipe bracket seems to have rusted off of the ceiling.
A closeup of a high window in Bunge.
The workshop and parts room was full of light and meticulously sorted bolts, nuts, washers, gaskets, and all sorts of specialty hardware.
Archeologists believe the great house on the mesa was rebuilt shortly before it was abandoned in the 13th Century AD. Tri-X 400 Film, haphazardly self developed.
Peering through the glass in the Hoist Operator’s cab, stained with graffiti. The cable and reels can be seen through the glass… these are now gone.
I like this picture because it shows some of the only unbroken windows at Packard.
This building was responsible for storing and drying the barrels. Compare right.
Some of the rotting clothes were in boxes, split long ago from moisture. Others were just heaped in piles.
Imagine with yellow window guards are eyebrows and the open windows are the eyes. This headframe seems a bit curious.
The man behind the curtain watches, but doesn’t say anything. Probably the smartest one in the room.
This little curled yellow thing is one of the last hints that this adobe building was lived in.
A typical room in the barracks, reinforced from mortars and light shelling, possibly.
A 1960s style TV set in a sun room at the back of the poor house. The concrete room survived the roof collapse and was full of rotten children’s books and toys. Perhaps it was where donations were sorted, or perhaps it was a nursery/orphanage area.
The grand staircase with little balconies leaning over it. All the stone stairs are broken and graffiti marks every wall.
This roof hasn’t budged under the weight of snow, instead it just filters-through the light onto the floor.
One of my favorite shots from that year, conveyor line parts stacked and hung with Postal Service bins from decades ago.
A sign facing the city on an exterior wall–a sort of motivational poster.
This is where the transformers were housed. Note the steel tracks in the floor for moving equipment around the building.
I am not sure what caused the discoloration, but two of the walls near the door to the machine shop are stained yellow-red. I assume this had to do with the walls in relation to blowing piles of iron ore, and that the walls have been partly infused with iron oxide. Any other ideas?
Noontime light, long criticized for the boring shadows it grants photographers, comes into its own sometimes.
The old boilers of the steam plant have been mostly gutted to remove loose asbestos.
Germany’s steel mill city.
One of my favorite shots of the headhouse at the Saskatchewan Wheat Pool #4, with one seagull threading the needle. The socket holes on the frame got blown out thanks to my bad developing, but I like the effect. Arista 100.
The stonework was done by a local handyman of sorts, who was also a guard at a nearby insane asylum. He did a great job, it seems to me.
To get more light into the wards, the building was narrow and had angular rooms, often staff space, perpendicular to the main hallway.
One of the walls of the train shed was growing, thanks to a little bit of sunlight and a constant trickle of rainwater over it. FP-100C.
Shuttered windows on the side of one of the collapsing bonded warehouses.
A crack in a window in a wall. What’s this doing here?
A back-lit tree with the silhouette of a roof spire in the background.
The headquarters for the plant was in the middle of it. It’s abandoned but well preserved–a strange sight in Gary, Indiana.
Birch shadows on stone walls… have you been looking at my Christmas list?
Looking toward a void–formerly a hallway to the mineshaft–now a hole in the ground.
A control panel that was mothballed, anticipating a time when the plant may be reactivated.
After a little rain, the roof took on the color of the bright pink letters.
The very top of the Administration Tower’s spiral staircase. There’s an old antenna of some kind there, as you can see.
It’s almost hard to tell whether the colors come from oil in the water or the colorful glass lit up by the Michigan sunset.
A circular common room in one of the original parts of the hospital. When the asylum was especially crowded, this would be filled with patient beds, too. It’s very strange that this floor was not tiled like the other common rooms. It makes me wonder if especially dangerous patients were kept in this ward; those who could not be trusted to not extract and sharpen the ceramic tiles. Portra 160.
The sun unzipped the clouds. Mist blew across the harbor.
A rusting disconnect gangway. The smokestack is for a boiler, if I recall.
“Paint the fence,” they said, but I don’t feel like it… who cares, anyway.
The office building was fancy compared to the utilitarian factory behind it. My favorite part was the logo crown.
The mostly-empty distilling room is easy to spot from the outside because of the distinctive round window.
This is a great example of a combination rock house; the silos below used to fill trains with ore dropped from mine cars pulled to the top of the structure.
The State School stage, taken as it was getting scrapped.
Heavy industrial looks good in cotton candy pink.
Through a section of the tailings boom where mountain winds tore open the sheet metal around the conveyor, I poked my head out.
Negative twenty looks much warmer in retrospect, wouldn’t you say? Taken through the window of a gantry crane cab.
They left and took their God with ’em. Doesn’t feel too empty without ‘im, though.
This is a room where the actual explosive elements were mixed. In the event of an accident, this glass wall would give way before the concrete and thus direct the flames and shockwave away from the rest of the building. In other words, the glass is not just to get a lot of wonderful natural light into the building.
A screened water wheel, presumably for rotating the dredge once it lowered its “foot” to pivot in place.
Because Oshkosh is close to Green Bay, the Packers are very popular there. Everywhere in the plant there were traces of ‘Cheese Head’ culture.
I revisited the mill years after my documentary. Now it is even more destroyed and surrounded by new fences.
A bedroom, from the basement. The Dog Days are Over.
What time is it?
Looking up to the second floor of the Nitrating House, where cotton would be soaked in nitric acid. These brought cotton into the building.
A walk-up service window on the side of an administration building of some sort. I have a feeling the buildings were color coded.
In the middle of one of the outlying cottages, perhaps the Masonic Cottage–it was too damaged to tell, really–are these pair of skinny doors that led from patient rooms to a common area with rotting shag carpet.
The office was redder than the rest of the building.
The walls are separating on the adobe house…
Looking through a secure ward door at the destroyed rooms beyond.
The coke plant looked more natural through a grimy window.
A bleak double room in what used to be the Receiving Hospital, built apart from the Kirkbride to observe incoming patients before they were placed in a ward.
On the top floor of one of the old wards, the slanted roofline makes the this group room more claustrophobic. Portra 160.
The old mill (right) and power plant (left) with the new mill behind them.
One of the generators, weeks before it was taken apart to be shipped to another power plant somewhere else.
The beacon was installed in 1938 and removed in the mid-2000s.
The east side of the boiler shop sported a platform with a control booth and heavy machine mounts. Note the door that replaces the lower section of stairs for explorers.
Like looking out of an airship.
Another perfect Indianan sunset alights like a bird on the tops of the vent houses and tree-packed smokestacks.
Grimy windows and the other half of the complex trade interests and stares.
An observation room, possibly for children, has drapes around a 2-way mirror. You know, to dress up the fact that someone could be watching anonymously on the other side.
The power lines follow the street, down to the mineshaft. Everything revolved around the mine, it seemed.
2005. A skyway connecting two Which tube carried the beer? I hope it’s the big one!
The copula where molten metal would pour is on the left. It seems the whole floor was covered in ash in front of it.
An old name for an older elevator, as seen from an abandoned rail spur.
Looking at the boarded exterior of the newer area of the orphanage from its 1914 section.
This side of the mill, which abuts the Great Miami River, is much older than the other side of B Street. You can tell it went through many revisions.
Originally, this part of the dock was reserved for the weather station.
Fire doors separate the buildings.
A colorful makeshift wall.
Watching the comings and goings of doctors, nurses and new patients was a mainstay of asylum routine; one can find it easy to imagine pale faces pressed against the block glass windows, staring out at the world moving past them.
The bottom area of the smokestacks house storage spaces. The windows of these rooms that were never completed line up perfect.
One of my favorite visual feature of grain elevators, especially big ones, is how they repeat.
From Main Street, looking straight up at the A Mill, only the silence makes one think that nobody’s still inside, grinding grain into Pillsbury’s Best.
Judging by the bed, this room was used by employees in its later years.
The fresh snow makes the whole complex look a lot cleaner than it actually is.
Algae grows where water flows/From the sawtooth roof/To the mines below/The sun climbs high/But is in no one’s eyes/A wall alone crumbles/It was no suprise
In the barracks.
A string of vehicles have found death at Packard recently. Usually they are simply driving up ramps and pushed off the rooftops, but this one seemed destined for a worse fate. Found in the far corner of the far building.
Looking out the second-floor lighthouse office window. On this visit, the last ice of the season was slowly drifting into the harbor.
A white star marks the landing between the Keeper’s Quarters (Second Floor) and the radiobeacon and furnace rooms (First Floor).
The north side of the plant is modern 60s industrial architecture, meaning massive open spaces with no personality. This mirror is the most interesting thing I could find.
A broken scale in Isabella A, next to an old wood stove.
A tower above Minneapolis that few people see.
The front of the Art Deco hospital, complete with Art Deco gears and Crosses of Loraine!
In a now-demolished building, a skylight begins to separate.
In this old repair shop, vines fall from the rotting roof to meet mossy concrete. Even though it had been dry for days, water dripped in from the roof to make permanent puddles between workstations. It was full of color and sound and industry and nature.
The power gauge showed… broken.
The south wall of the power plant. Its sheet metal skin couldn’t fit around the structure, it seems… note the very strange protruding superstructure.
Connecting the Administration building’s tower and top floors is this beautiful cast iron staircase. It was probably designed to help service the clock originally planned to be set in the tower, but when the hospital went over budget the state cancelled the timepiece. Now we are left with a gorgeous stair with little or no real purpose–not that I’m complaining. I am a long-admitted spiral staircase fetishist.
Looking through Workhouse A from the top of a silo.
In the power house corner is this gratuitously gigantic doorway. It used to be even bigger, too, as indicated by the brick arch another foot over the top windows.
Part of the Laundry Building with an ugly archway between rooms. Note that even this building had a nurse’s station with shatterproof windows. Laundry was done by supervised patients as part of their Occupational Therapy and the staff took no chances.
An interesting crane in the back of the machine shop. It seems very light duty, so I am not certain what it was used for.
In most places, it may seem off for there to be a tunnel door on the top floor of a building, but Ford was that kind of place. This door from the steam plant led into a skyway and tunnel that connected to the main assembly floor.
A damaged roof channeled rain onto the adobe walls, cutting them in half. In the distance, a preserved house and the ruins of the Colmor School.
Looking toward Mitchell from its last building.
The backdrop has become the pallet for water damage and graffiti.
This is one of my favorite doorways (yes, I have favorites) for a few reasons: 1.) You can see how the once-arched door has been squared-off for rectangular doors to fit; 2.) you can see one complete historic door and one ruined door, and the chain that used to hold them together before someone kicked-out the security, and; 3.) I like the texture of the bricks and design of the radiators in the room beyond–the blacksmith shop. Just do.
The fences helped discourage patients from throwing themselves down the stairs.
Looking above the altar.
The exterior of one of the administrative wings.
Part of the plant has been reused as a scrap metal yard.
I wonder when fluorescent lighting was added.
The corner of Clyde on Michigan Street looked like it had been sealed a long time.
Standing atop the dust collector, the factory breaks down into diverging patterns, processes.
Chicago looks in as we look out, for holes and trolls where anything goes.
This picture is lit by a direct lightning strike of the building. It’s impossible to describe the feeling of being in this giant open building the moment it channeled an electric explosion into the earth.
The organ and bits of glass that have lost their way. Try not to see the upside-down wooden cross dangling from the stained-glass-crown on the church’s front side. Of course, it’s to keep the loose panes from falling out onto the road in wind, but at the same time…
Looking through the hole where a glass pane once was at the Columbus Mine ruins, just south of Animas Forks. It was quiet when I took the picture, but for the gurgle of the nearby Animas River.
A long exposure in the crane cab at sunset throws a bit of color into the bleak yellow glows between the windows and car shaker.
At first glance, I thought the center building was a hoist house because of the shape of the window. Now I think this was built as a warehouse and later used as a laboratory.
Looking toward the Female Infirmary Ward from the long, glass, Conservatory hallway.
A window for light and air pokes above the big arch in the hallway. Most of the interior ceilings were broad brick archways.
One of the only extant assembly line tracks in the body painting department. No photographer leaves Fisher 21 without capturing some version of this spot; hope you like mine.
Ultimately, it was the bad roof that doomed these buildings.
There were a few large houses on the Old Crow property where employees would live. The glen had little housing.
The balcony used to be beautiful, you say. I say, it still is.
An insurance office.
Between two brick buildings is a metal one with many windows set into it. Having been in many mills of similar design, I conjecture that this was the milling building, where machines ground the corn before it was boiled.
The Osborne Mercantile reflected in Twohy Mercantile’s eastern windows, minutes before subset. The current owner has done a fair job replacing broken windows with plexiglass to keep the elements out.
Different colors stained the small panes on the top floor. For once, it seemed more ridiculous to not be inside an abandoned factory.
Shadows of the trees from the materials yard.
The engine room.
Small stained panes and orange brick. I had no idea when I took this picture that the colored glass would turn the insides of the mill into a bright aquamarine. It was a beautiful intersection of nature and industry, in the most unintended way.
The stone chapel sits beside the main house and received a particularly heavy dose of gothic architectural touches.
The top of the giant arched windows facing the Mississippi and the swing bridge.
The arches of the Twohy building, before some of the signs and sills were painted in 2015.
The old men’s ward is an example of what the hospital resembled before part of the complex was modernized. Small rooms, light switches outside the door, small observation windows set into heavy wood. If you ask me, though, the tile work across the floors is the most spectacular.
West Elevation of the Depot. Ektar 100/Mamiya 6
This is one of the more private rooms in the old section of the hospital. It likely only accommodated one patient.
Redlining is the practice of shutting certain races out of neighborhoods, and it is still a big problem today. Such behaviors were a big factor in creating the need for these projects.
In its last years, the church had a congregation of only about 100. It opened with 1.700…
One of the few windows that escaped steel plating the last time the hospital was sealed tight to let nature roam within.
Since this picture was taken, the roof has totally collapsed in this area.
Stairs and power lines enter the abandoned depot. Shingles slide off the rotten roof. Ektar 100/Mamiya 6
Looking past the hoist room (left) toward Shaft No. 1, behind the concrete head frame built in the late 1940s. This shaft could haul equipment from ground level (below) to shop level, where the picture was taken.
Looking into a common from the grounds. The block glass makes the interior seem dreamlike and distorted. Note the poor condition of the bricks around the window.
Inside the main entrance to the depot. Through the ‘To Station’ door, you can see some of the news stands. Look at the floor!
The buildings were level with one another, so one could look through as many as a dozen factory floors from one window.
Call me angsty, but I like it. Found in the Auxiliary Hospital.
While squatting in the power plant a very powerful storm moved over unforgettable, throwing blasts of lightning across the countryside. The plant got a direct hit, in fact, and the sound of the boom reverberating through the turbine hall is something unforgettable.
The building on the right was where parts not assembled onto vehicles would be set in crates for shipment.
Taken while standing on the torn outline of a scrapped altar. With my back to the faded outlines of men, books and the Holy Grail, the room seems much lighter.
HDR matrix panorama. Looking from the grain elevators, now doomed, toward the city between the flour mill’s water tower and tile elevator’s neon sign, the old and new economies seem almost united. Yet the financial centers rise in reality to shadow the now-abandoned industry and manufacturing. The way of things, I’m told.
The side of the oldest building on the property, the former casket factory.
Paperwork litters the floors of the zinc mine offices.
The sun shining through one of the buildings; everything was overgrown.
A breeze and broken window has animated one of the few curtains still hanging in Nopeming as of 2015.
Connecting the Administration Building to the wards fanning out. Historical photos show cots lining this hallway when the hospital was severely overcrowded. Lit by lightning outside the grounds during a huge thunderstorm.
A self portrait, from the early 2000s.
Catwalk crating, welded over the yard crane operator cab’s windows.
Looking into the engine works from the concrete addition.
In an era where smoking was ubiquitous and sexy, smoking stations had to be a part of the job, even at an explosives factory.
Looking out of a door to nowhere at the fiery sky above.
This building looked like some sort of office.
Fluorescent lights peel back from the walls like caterpillars, rearing up and away from the glare of the sunflower-fans.
The Osborn Block (front) and the Twohy (rear) at sunset. In the distance, you can almost make out Globe Elevators. One of my favorite photos of 2013.
A view from the loft in the shipping/receiving building, where the crane operator would step into his cab.
…somebody get the number of that truck! Near the Day Rooms in the Paying Patient ward.
In the ward for the criminally insane, this door was the most-worn. Nail scratches mark the area around the peep hole, the wood is gouged everywhere from thrown chairs and hard kicks, and a ominous blood-colored stain is visible where it dripped in the second inset from the bottom. Aside from the damage, the coloring in this section was very vibrant, though it was probably little reprieve for those who had to work here.
I can confirm the existence of the long-rumored Federal Rectangle Research Institute labs.
Inside the MLK High School chemistry laboratory.
A familiar scene in Control Tower B, though the microphone has not been used for years.
When I looked out of the old mill, I couldn’t help but wonder what the hell was holding it all up.
A shuttered house at the end of the block doesn’t even have boards on it anymore.
Wind blew taconite dust against the walls of these suspended control room, making even the glass appear to rust.
This room’s trim was unlike the others. Perhaps it was for a live in supervisor.
A staircase threads between the top floor and the sluices, which are in the middle of the dredge-mill.
I had to search the shelves a while to find this old logbook. The open page lists changes in stock numbers for Cutler Hammer Coils, and one row says that a new coil was installed on the black larry. The larry is the machine that loads coke ovens.
Looking from the powerhouse across to the old Electrical Assembly side of the plant that manufactured products like thermostats. Most of the complex is connected by skyway and tunnel systems.
The barracks are being reclaimed by nature.
When not running 24 hours a day during a campaign, the plant was being repaired. Every sugar mill has a large shop and parts room for those times.
A bunk room, minus the bunks.
When block glass shatters, it looks like ice.
In the middle of the foundry, an office is untouched by scrappers, legal and not. Inside, warnings and catalogs for machines that are gone, obsolete, and melted down.
After crushing, these machines would float lighter material to the surface of the water, where it would be skimmed and discarded. Gold and silver laden stone would sink to the bottom, where it was collected for the next stage of processing. Leica/Summilux 35/Ektar 100
This section of the production floor was constantly dripping. Someone had laid down giant plastic sheeting to attempt to protect the lower floors, but it hasn’t worked.
These were some of the most attractive shops of all the mines in the area. It’s no wonder Hanna Mining wanted to use them as their center of operations in the Iron River district.
Looking through the old brewhouse toward the Keg Wash House.
A small machine shop level.
It’s a small world… look at it.
Steam pipes snake up the walls like vines, but with asbestos.
The roof has been replaced since this was taken. Hopefully, that will stem the water damage.
These dump cars moved copper ore to the top of the furnaces… it’s about two stories above ground level.
The world’s biggest paper machine was installed here about a century before this photo was taken. The orange in the windows is the brick building across the street–the new part of the plant.
A cottage for masons infected with TB to live together.
Much of the circa-1950s buildings remain with few alterations, such as these long boring sheet metal ruststicks.
The turbine hall sported a beautiful Whiting gantry crane.