Two versions of Detroit. One where buildings stand tall and proud, and one where they wilt under the sun. It’s an amazing juxtaposition.
The porcelain hoops guided the silk threads through the device.
A matrix panorama of the brewhouse staircase, post-scrapping. So pretty…
You can see almost ever level of the factory from this spot.
Looking at the casting floor from the roof. In the distance are the copulas where molten metal was poured.
On the top floor of one of the old wards, the slanted roofline makes the this group room more claustrophobic. Portra 160.
The roof of the elevator was partly lit naturally with six big skylights. The less electricity pumped into a grain elevator, the less chance of a grain dust explosion.
The small door leads to the offices, the large door leads to the shop. My back at this time is to the corrugated steel wall. At the time I wondered why there was just one steel wall, not knowing that 40 years before there was another spot for an engine here. This section of the roundhouse has become a sort of town dump–car seats, cans of paint and tires are piled into its corners.
A high-ceilinged room where kegs would be delivered for cleaning, before they were refilled with fresh booze.