The Zenitar Telephoto 135mm 1:3.5

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Potter Hill Mill of Westerly Rhode Island

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  In my extensive ventures across various businesses, churches, factories, and plants, I've encountered a plethora of remnants from bygone industrial eras. Yet, none have left as profound an impression as the sight of the leftover machinery at the former Potter Hill Mill. Nestled amidst its surroundings, these aging relics stand as silent witnesses to a vibrant industrial past, their once-potent functionality now subdued by the relentless march of time. The manufacturing equipment, once the lifeblood of cotton goods production, remains steadfast, firmly bolted to the floor, slowly succumbing to the relentless embrace of rust and decay. It's a scene frozen in time—a rare glimpse into the mechanical marvels of the 1800s, preserved in their original state, untouched and unscathed by modern interventions. As I gaze upon the weather-worn structures and rusted machinery, I'm struck by the poignant juxtaposition of past and present. The former textile mill, once a bustling hub of...
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Diner Dreams and Declines: The Kullman Dining Car Company

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  While exploring the area for a different site, I stumbled upon this abandoned property, marked by a large pile of household refuse and debris from commercial demolitions, improperly discarded. As night began to fall, I hesitated to venture inside alone. This caution might have been fortuitous, for on a subsequent visit to Newark, New Jersey, I discovered a makeshift bed crafted from an oversized couch. It seemed someone might be using this as a makeshift sleeping area, unwittingly inhaling potentially lethal chemicals not meant for human respiration. The entry to this forsaken place was through a semi-open truck loading dock, obstructed by a concrete barrier, presumably to halt further looting of the structure or to deter unethical contractors from dumping their illegal waste under the veil of night. Once an industrial site, this property was marred by environmental pollutants such as metals, paint, and polyaromatic hydrocarbons. Ninety-one years ago, it was operational before fa...
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The Forgotten Arsenal: Winchester Repeating Arms Company

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The chain-link fence groaned under our weight as we slipped through, pressing close to the weather-beaten brick of the former Winchester Repeating Arms factory. Above us, the ladder’s rusted rungs protested with each step, but hesitation wasn’t an option. Discovery meant confrontation, and the sprawling parking lot just beyond the fence was a minefield of potential witnesses. One stray glance from a passing driver, and the game would be over. By the time we reached the landing, the adrenaline had sharpened into focus. Cameras in hand, J and I moved deeper into the carcass of the building, where the echoes of machinery and workers had long since faded. What remained was a skeleton: hollowed-out floors, walls stripped of identity, and an almost performative emptiness. No brass casings, no faded blueprints, no ghosts of assembly lines, just the quiet resentment of a place forgotten. The July heat outside was oppressive, but inside, it pooled like a fever. Humidity clung to every surface, ...
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Acme Cotton Company Mill

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  It was one of those dusky afternoons when the sky fades to the color of old denim that J and I once again found ourselves standing outside Acme Mill, a relic of industry, timeworn and nearly cartoonish in name, conjuring images of Looney Tunes contraptions and Saturday morning chaos. The irony wasn’t lost on us. But beneath that whimsical name was a place brimming with real history, the kind that clings to the walls and lingers in the dust. We slipped in through what can only be described as a makeshift rabbit hole, a gap near a boarded-up garage door barely large enough to squeeze through. Unknown to us, there were several open doors around the property that we failed to see. We went the hard way. Inside, the air was still, stale with the scent of decaying fiber and damp timber. Light was running out fast, and shadows began creeping in with intent. The interior unfolded like the final act of a forgotten play. Piles of old product labels, some spilling from the corners, others st...
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Creative Packaging and Paper of Worcester

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  I wish I could tell you how J and I got inside. But truth be told, the memory’s gone fuzzy, like an old film reel playing just a little out of sync. What I do remember is this: the stale scent of time, the eerie silence of abandonment, and the feeling that we’d stepped through a tear in the fabric of the present. It had been years since I last set foot in Massachusetts. These days, it’s rare you’ll find me wandering anywhere in the upper Northeast. Life has a funny way of circling back, though. Once upon a time, I called this place home, three years in total, though you wouldn’t know it from how little I explored. The first year, I was carless, and Massachusetts isn’t the kind of state that makes it easy to explore on foot, especially if you’re not in Boston. By the time I bought a car and started to find my rhythm behind the wheel, the clock was already ticking down on my final months there. Funny, the timing of it all. That was 2012, the same year I should have bought some Bitc...
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