Digital Ink'd

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...

  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...

The Pink Flamingo on Harrison Street Whether it is a dead mill or tannery, a car will always be sitting in a discrete corner.  Gloversville, New York, earned its name for a reason. For decades, it was the undisputed glove capital of the world. But today, the massive tanneries, dressers, stitching factories, and dyers that built this city are quietly disappearing. One of the most fascinating casualties was the former Cayadutta Tanning Company Inc. Locals called it the Pink Flamingo. Before that, it was E.S. Parkhurst & Company, a place workers simply knew as the Hair Mill. Sitting at the southwest corner of Harrison Street and NY-30A, the property spanned two parcels. A private owner held one piece of the land, while the city owned the other. Visiting the abandoned site felt like stepping into a forgotten tannery that just needed a bit of TLC and elbow grease to restart operations sans a pocketed overhead roof. Just outside the main tanning building, a junked Mercedes sa...

Rare Taisei Kogaku 135mm Twin Tele A remarkable lens from Japan, very sharp wide open, of the famous zeiss inspired design with preset aperture. It's well made, all glass and steel, with excellent color and contrast. The optics in this lens are amazing, it is simple and it works. It's bokeh and colour rendering are brilliant and it's as sharp as a razor. This is one of the mythical lenses of the days of lore, and hard to find even on ebay. There is about 340 degrees of rotation on the focus ring. The lens came with a 2X adapter as well. This series of lenses (model 680) were made between 1962 & 1969. The included tele converter is shown in the picture. This gave the kit the twin tele name.  Sharp Kogaku 135 Also known as the Taisei Kogaku [Tamron] Tamron 680 Twin-Tele 135mm f/2.8. A rare lens with the hard to adapt praktina mount. Mounting this lens onto to a EOS Rebel won't be easy. I have been trying to source an adapter for my Canon 600D Rebel but...

  I was driving towards what used to be the Consumers Park Brewery when something caught my eye—the wooden gate doors of the old auto parts store were wide open. Someone had broken in. The building had been vacant for years, even as new construction surged all around it. Right next door, a fresh, modern structure had risen, but this place remained untouched—a relic of the past hollowed out and forgotten. I pulled over without hesitation. These moments don’t come often. A while back, another shuttered dealership had been left open for months, its entrance exposed. Graffiti artists had made their mark on the metal gates, turning the abandoned space into an urban canvas. I had thought about exploring it, but before I could, the gates were suddenly chained shut overnight. The opportunity was gone. Not this time. This time, I wasn’t letting the moment slip away. I stepped inside, finally getting a look at what had been hidden behind those rolled-down gates and green plywood barriers. An...