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Abandoned Church of Divine Flames
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The main attraction 😍😍😍
A surprise I would never forget.
One cold morning, S and I headed across town to check out a church many Instagrammers have trodden upon when this church became known for its abandonment in the sprawling green lawns of this residential neighborhood. It seemed every day when the first image appeared of this church's unique stained glass windows everyone all of a sudden appeared within its walls within the next two weeks. Mind-boggling how one picture starts out online and all of a sudden everyone knew about it.
S and I parked the car and took a spin in front of the church only to realize that from the street level, you could see another feature of this church prominently displayed in full view (main photo above). It was the plastic/glass rods hanging from the ceiling. Finding no entrance from the front, we went around and made our way past the high chain link fence and entered the partitioned side of the walkway to the busted door lock. Making our way inside, I headed straight for the chandelier and clicked away happily until S shouted to come to take a look inside the main church hall.
👀
Inside was just the way it was even though months had passed since the last posting of this property. Everything was in unblemished condition with the exception of bad graffiti in the balcony seating some immature scoundrel(s) decided to mark up. The red seats, in particular, show their age where many congregants sat for years and years of church service. Behind the pulpit stood the shimmering and brightly colored stained glass depicting the red-hot yellow flames smoldering bush from a green base. It was all there and more from the very first moment I saw it appear in my Instagram feed.
Center Aisle
Balcony
The Biblical Bush
On the side stood the piano forlornly waiting to be hammered into religious harmony. Behind stood a standalone church kitchen and backroom where I assumed the congregation gathered for light lunches and church dinners. Chairs and tables are piled high throughout. The only sound emanating from the room was water dripping down from somewhere. A tell-tale sign of an unmaintained roof. After clicking away with delight we headed upstairs to check out the rooms and find the way up to the balcony overflow seating. After finding it and shooting from above, we found more empty rooms, office storage, and a standalone room which must have been a church classroom due to the blackboard. Nothing of note besides the balcony existed upstairs. So we made our way down the basement level.
No sweet melodies
Center View
Front of Pulpit
Down in the basement, we found a pitch-black room large enough for a dancehall party of 100 people or more. If I remember correctly there was a disco ball or not. It has been a while since I visited this church. My memory was a bit fuzzy of what I explored down in the basement. Nothing of note and no tools to aid us in lighting the room, we made our way underneath the chandelier and clicked away at all angles until we decided our time was up and left.
Office Room
Bumping our fists heading to the car, another exploration completed in the books.
Nestled discreetly behind an unassuming fence line, the facility stood as a quiet sentinel of bygone experiments and chemical innovation. It was a place where the unseen battles against pests and pathogens played out, away from the public's prying eyes. I remember the day I ventured there with two curious friends, a forgotten piece of the past awaiting our exploration. From the road, this place appeared like any typical business establishment, revealing no secrets. But as we rounded the back, it revealed itself, an open invitation to step into a world shrouded in history. The facility's landscape consisted of three main structures: an office building, a series of imposing greenhouses, and an enigmatic garage-like structure that eluded our access on that particular visit. That garage still stands to this day, a silent sentinel to the mysteries held within. The year 2018 marked a turning point when the greenhouses and the office building met their end, succumbing to the inexorabl
For weeks, I had been orbiting the perimeter of the impending demolition of the Church of St. Michael and St. Edward, a once revered church in the heart of Fort Greene, like a moth drawn to a flame. The neighborhood, a patchwork of tight project housing, seemed indifferent to the fate of this historic edifice. The intel I had received suggested that entry was as simple as scaling a wooden fence, yet the timing had never felt right. Until one day, it did. With a mission in New Jersey looming, I knew it was now or never. The demolition was advancing at a startling pace, the church's twin steeples already reduced to rubble. The skeletal remains of timber beams and rusted steel frames peeked out from the ruins, a testament to the relentless march of progress. Summoning a surge of courage, I seized a moment of quiet in the bustling housing project and vaulted over the fence. My heart pounded in my chest as I slipped unnoticed into the church grounds. The once grand entrance now stood as
I still recall my solo expedition to this place during the early days of my urban exploration career. I strolled past the ubiquitous Dunkin' Donuts, and with surprising ease, found myself inside the property, likely through an open garage entrance. I remember the anxiety, the fear of encountering someone inside who might be interested in my camera gear and wallet. But I pushed those thoughts aside and got to work, exploring every nook and cranny, save for the roof. The constant clatter from the neighboring recycling redemption business reminded me that I wasn't alone, and I didn't want to draw attention from anyone who might spot me from the adjacent property. Masked against the dust, I delved into the exploration, avoiding the roof to stay out of sight. This was back in September 2016, when I ventured far and wide across Connecticut's cities and towns. The building was mostly empty, save for a few metal containers on the top floor. The walls, however, were a canvas of
Rolling up to this once-vibrant car wash, I couldn't help but reminisce about the blunder from my last visit. Okay, so, note to self: never neglect the basics. My camera’s autofocus was off and, embarrassingly enough, my photos turned out blurrier than the city's morning haze. You'd think after all this time behind the lens, I'd catch something so obvious during a review. But hey, even seasoned shooters have off days, right? After a short hiatus from photography, I probably was a tad rusty. This time around, I made doubly sure I got it right. The site, a casualty of fire damage, lay exposed, its innards spilling out for all to see. An odd mishmash of household clutter and heavy-duty waste was thrown about as if the place had held a garage sale for discarded items. The scene hinted at the handiwork of unscrupulous contractors using this dilapidated garage as their personal landfill. In its heyday, the lube bay was buzzing with activity, with workers navigating beneath a
This abandoned northeastern factory sits in the back of a quiet residential street surrounded by nature. Next to this two-story building remains another abandoned medical complex boarded up to the gills. Stay tuned for upcoming flicks. Getting into this building was quite hard. We hopped a perimeter fence in the middle of the morning just before a police car was sitting taking a quiet break or making their due diligence check on the property. This property is down the road at a current asbestos abatement medical hospital by the local town/state agency. Once on the property, it offers a mix of old machinery and pipework from this little factory which was probably much larger before residential developers took over. In addition, the building was free of graffiti and its brick-walled facade still looked like the day it was constructed. The only giveaway is the wide-open away roof. No open containers, drug paraphernalia, or signs of local teenage BYOB bando partying.
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