One of the four fire alarm panels in the power station.
Every fitting label in the stock department was cracked, curled, and blank.
A bridge crosses the main street of the village; one that goes nowhere. Ambiguity intended.
When ‘men’ meant ‘worker’.
The meticulously tiled dry house shower floor–cracked by frost.
A little catwalk gives access to the most important gauges in the building. Behind them are huge vents and fans. I bet it got steamy in here.
The top floor of the nitrating house was full of switches and breakers for the operation below, each bearing a label and number. Nowadays everything is printed, but when INAAP was built, all these signs were painted by hand.
The fantastic red elevator that is Pool #61, built 1928.
A wounded flour mill, muscled into the corner to keep out of the way.