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 cloud moves across the attic in front of the window. How? A photographer’s secret.
The most pointless, beautiful and nuclear-bomb-proof catwalk I’ve been on to date. It goes between two high levels in its own bottom-lit concrete capsule in the center of the tallest, thickest building. Hang on, we’re riding this one out.
C’mon, guys. PIck up to trash.
Grimy windows and the other half of the complex trade interests and stares.
The roof compromised, rain water rolls down the main stairway.
A 8-foot-tall volume indicator that could be read from across the beet boiler floor–convenient when the controls are 20 feet away.
In this ghost town where there were brick, wooden, and dirt-brick buildings, the latter fared the best by far.
Kat dancing down the trestle, which is one of the highest in the state, standing about 100 feet over the road. Mamiya 6/Portra 160