One of the older buildings on the site, this is an old power house that provided electricity to the plant. I spent some time walking around it and believe it was fired with coal gas but had a diesel backup installed later.
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.
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.
The “Inner-Urban Jawbreaker,” a one-of-a-kind, salty-but-sweet remnant of a bygone heavy-industrial period in this area’s history. A time when the walls were whole and the floors were clean, in other words, a time when people made things other than photographs inside the never ending corridors and factory floors.
The main gate, as seen in 2005. It hasn’t changed much since then.
The bridge here moved workers between the dock, the approach tracks, and refueling buildings.
A bridge crosses the main street of the village; one that goes nowhere. Ambiguity intended.
On the left are rows of dayrooms; on the right is one of two long hallways which connect the two halves of the hospital. The large, center section of the hallway would fit chairs for patients to look out on the gardens. They called it a conservatory. This hallway would be as close as some patients would get to nature.
Indianapolis’ beautiful downtown is in the distance, past the gas storage tank.