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.
One of the only remaining pieces of equipment in the distilling room is this green control panel on a bridge suspended in the middle of it all.
Rain and snow has gutted a third of the building. From the ground floor, I could see the sky in some places.
Each patient had a card of record that reported major events. Births, changes in diagnosis, and for some, death.
The bottom of the tailings boom is rotten. In days when the dredge, floated, gangways connected it to shore, it seemed. You can see the size of the pontoons under the boat here.
Aluminum spools replaced their wooden counterparts, later in the factory’s history.
A washout two thirds of the way down the tram gave me a place to relax in the thin air.
This mean-looking thing had a purpose, probably, but that function has been lost to decades of expansion.
Robotic pincers to move molten rods of glass between machines.