Water damage dissolved the ceiling into sludge. Pillars remain, as do the plastic light covers, now on the floor.
The back door into the old distillery building. Not castle-like at all, sadly.
Island Station, in the middle of the power house, in the middle of a thunder storm. Flapping pipe covers and sheets of ran penetrating one massive arched window and blasting through the other, as winds power through the building from the Mississippi. The sound of the thunder made every length of steel squeak under the pressure.
The crumbling building barely contained the colors inside of it.
A caustic tank in one of the unremodeled brewhouse backrooms.
The ‘working’ part of the furnaces are about a story above ground level, so the catwalks snake above the tree line.
The sun was setting outside, highlighting the textures and lines that made the form of the power plant take a fourth dimension–time.
In one of the hundreds of bunkers across the busy highway from the empty plant ruins. Most did not have doors, but I got lucky on this one.
No wonder the factory shut down; everyone was scheduled to work 9 to 5 and the clock’s broken! (In all seriousness, this is/used to be a beautiful timepiece, especially for a utilitarian factory like this.