Digital Ink'd

Some places hide in plain sight. You could drive Route 9 a thousand times, your eyes fixed on the traffic ahead, and never notice it. Tucked back from the highway, shielded by a dense curtain of trees, a long, low building sits in silence. It’s a flicker of grey through the green, a place the world seems to have forgotten. But to step inside is to walk into another dimension. What was once a series of five long, industrial bays is now a cathedral of concrete and spray paint. The air is still, but the walls scream with color. This is a living gallery, an ever-changing canvas for artists whose names, Taco, Ikay, Jase, Zy, Toco, Cent, Toasty, Soma, Tobe, are layered one on top of the other in a vibrant, silent conversation. For a moment, the function of the space is lost. You’re not trying to read the words; you’re simply absorbing the sheer, explosive artistry of it all, a language of shape and color plastered against a willing canvas. What was this place? The building kept its secrets w...

Inside the old Holo-Krome building, made up of about eleven connected blocks at the far end of Brook Street along the west side of the rail line running between New Haven and Hartford, Connecticut, there wasn’t much left. After the company’s move to Wallingford, the place was pretty much empty. Most of the old machines had already been packed up and sent to the new facility. All that remained were piles of scrap metal scattered around the floor. The building was demolished in 2018. The building itself was something to see. Its sawtooth roof, complete with skylights, was a rare sight in today’s world of modern warehouses and factories. But this building wasn’t part of the sale. Environmental concerns and the high cost of upkeep kept it off the market. What stands out in this story is what happened next. Fastenal, the company that bought Holo-Krome’s machinery and inventory, had planned to ship everything to their big factory in Minnesota. But once they got a good look at who was still w...

  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...