A cracked sign at dock-level, where loading boats would be tied below the taconite conveyors. All across the surface of the concrete dock were taconite pellets, like slippery little marbles. One wrong step could put a worker in the water, which is a bad, bad place to be.
Squinting from the top floor through the skyway, one can feel small, like they’re in a heavy industrial dollhouse.
Construction in 2014 reveals a lost stone sign.
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.
If it wasn’t for the humming and crackling of the wires, I could believe I had arrived to a post apocalyptic landscape.
A long exposure of the side of the coke ovens, lit by the nearby streetlights.
It’s a small world… look at it.
Looking toward the museum from a broken window on the side of the concrete tower. The sign on top lights everything a dull pink-orange.