A disconnected speaker at stage right. I liked the colors and the texture of the sound tiles.
This picture typifies the industrial ideal of the early 20th century. More metal than air. More efficiency than beauty. More profits than people.
The remains of the site radar beside the command building.
Between the Old Crow and Old Taylor bonded warehouses are some of the fouled barrels, now the only ones left, which were left to rot in the elements. Nearby in a loading bay that has obviously been disused longer than the rest of the property, terra cotta roofing waits in crates.
Shoes and booze, backstage.
Mushroom pillars hold up the dreams of so many, the profits of so few.
1950s safety posters about static and proper footware hide in remote offices, where the curious haven’t stolen them… yet.
A leftover swatch remembers the last fabric sewn here.
We mark our world in unexpected ways… this is how patient possessions would be stored during their stay in the old asylum wards. It’s about the size of a shoebox, and this particular drawer has a name where the others do not. Its place reminded me of the hospital cemetery where more than 3,000 are buried and less than 1% of whom are recorded by stone or plaque in their resting place.