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Alleys and Ruins
Long after dark, I venture into bleak urban settings, seeking out their elusive splendor. With the city humming in the background, I find inspiration, peace and refuge where none should exist.
My determined and intense outings often lead into dangerous neighborhoods, at times resulting in trouble. I’ve run from street gangs, been accosted by crazed drug addicts, and have had guns pointed at me. If the police see me lurking in a dark alley, I am often questioned and searched.
With a family history of homelessness, I developed a need to create monuments out of these shunned spaces. Although positive, life-affirming perceptions are not usually associated with acute urban blight, I feel compelled to dignify what has been rejected.
The Alleys & Ruins photos are lit at night using a light painting technique I began developing in the early 1990's. I light the area by waving hand-held colored lights during long exposures. More on the process here.
Alleys & Ruins no. 151, Razor
2022, Philadelphia, PA, 10:30pm
Alley 151 almost never came to be. A misstep during the shoot in Philly resulted in my having to go to the emergency room.
It was almost pitch black in this out-of-the-way location. I had done a 35 minute test polaroid and was now shooting the film. On the 2nd 35 minute exposure, while walking backwards and lighting the wall on the right, my left leg got tangled in a coil of razor wire. I didn't know what was happening and so I shook my leg to release myself because this pause was messing up my shot. Then I felt a sting followed by a rush of warm liquid streaming down my leg.
I finished lighting the wall and went to the camera to close the shutter. Then I looked at my leg and was horrified by the big gash and the amount of blood. Luckily two of the guys with me, Andrew and Dorian, volunteered to find a pharmacy and bring back supplies. I knew I didn't have the shot and I wanted to do one more exposure.
I've never done a shot while being so injured and it was not pleasant, but the adrenaline kept the pain at bay.
The guys got back 30 minutes later, just as I was finishing the exposure.
Being photographers, Andrew and Dorian couldn't resist taking photos of my wound. Looking at them later, they are gruesome.
I cleaned up as well as I could, wrapped it in a bandage, then headed, at midnight, to try and find an emergency room.
Alley 151 almost never came to be. A misstep during the shoot in Philly resulted in my having to go to the emergency room.
It was almost pitch black in this out-of-the-way location. I had done a 35 minute test polaroid and was now shooting the film. On the 2nd 35 minute exposure, while walking backwards and lighting the wall on the right, my left leg got tangled in a coil of razor wire. I didn't know what was happening and so I shook my leg to release myself because this pause was messing up my shot. Then I felt a sting followed by a rush of warm liquid streaming down my leg.
I finished lighting the wall and went to the camera to close the shutter. Then I looked at my leg and was horrified by the big gash and the amount of blood. Luckily two of the guys with me, Andrew and Dorian, volunteered to find a pharmacy and bring back supplies. I knew I didn't have the shot and I wanted to do one more exposure.
I've never done a shot while being so injured and it was not pleasant, but the adrenaline kept the pain at bay.
The guys got back 30 minutes later, just as I was finishing the exposure.
Being photographers, Andrew and Dorian couldn't resist taking photos of my wound. Looking at them later, they are gruesome.
I cleaned up as well as I could, wrapped it in a bandage, then headed, at midnight, to try and find an emergency room.
Alleys & Ruins no. 153, Boom!
2024, Miami, FL, 8pm
I was in Florida doing an art show and scouting locations to shoot, when I found this amazing abandoned building on the outskirts of the Wynwood district in Miami. A couple graffitiartists, trek6 and ishmael, had turned it into a giant boombox! I knew light painting their work would make it glow and come to life in a beautful and different way.
The Wynwood neighborhood in Miami might be the coolest place to visit in the city - most of the buildings are covered with stunning murals. But its a bit of an island, surrounded by rough neighborhoods, so the location went from happy touristy, to sketchy very quickly as we worked into the night.
I was in Florida doing an art show and scouting locations to shoot, when I found this amazing abandoned building on the outskirts of the Wynwood district in Miami. A couple graffitiartists, trek6 and ishmael, had turned it into a giant boombox! I knew light painting their work would make it glow and come to life in a beautful and different way.
The Wynwood neighborhood in Miami might be the coolest place to visit in the city - most of the buildings are covered with stunning murals. But its a bit of an island, surrounded by rough neighborhoods, so the location went from happy touristy, to sketchy very quickly as we worked into the night.
Alleys & Ruins no. 149, Dumpster Dive
2016, Chicago, IL, 10:30pm
Crawford Steel is a steel service company in Chicago's Southwest side. For years, their huge industrial building was always being tagged by gangs, creating an uncomfortable eye sore for employees and customers. When owner Michael Isaacs learned that high quality murals were left alone out of respect, he had an epiphany, and started down a surprising and enlightened path that would transform the Crawford Steel building into what has been called Chicago's Sistine Chapel of graffiti. When I arrived, I was immediately drawn to this lonely, beat up dumpster.
The lighting in this image is a bit of a departure from my norm. I tend to stick with colors that might actually appear with city lights and moon light, so lots of orange and fluorescent greens and CTB blues. For the first time I went full fantasy with a light touch of magenta.
This was a 30 minute exposure, again with my 50 year old Hasselblad film camera, and with non-stop light painting.
Crawford Steel is a steel service company in Chicago's Southwest side. For years, their huge industrial building was always being tagged by gangs, creating an uncomfortable eye sore for employees and customers. When owner Michael Isaacs learned that high quality murals were left alone out of respect, he had an epiphany, and started down a surprising and enlightened path that would transform the Crawford Steel building into what has been called Chicago's Sistine Chapel of graffiti. When I arrived, I was immediately drawn to this lonely, beat up dumpster.
The lighting in this image is a bit of a departure from my norm. I tend to stick with colors that might actually appear with city lights and moon light, so lots of orange and fluorescent greens and CTB blues. For the first time I went full fantasy with a light touch of magenta.
This was a 30 minute exposure, again with my 50 year old Hasselblad film camera, and with non-stop light painting.
Alleys & Ruins no. 136, Motor City
2010, Detroit, MI, 9:30pm
This is Detroit's Packard Plant, built in 1903 and once the most modern car manufacturing plant in the world. At its peak it housed more than 40,000 workers. Today it holds another record: it is the largest abandoned industrial complex in the US and possibly the world. It is a mind-boggling 3.5 million square-foot ruin. Alley 136 shows a tiny fraction of the entire building.
The Packard automobile was the premier luxury car in the world in the early decades of the 20th century, but following WWII the company's management made a series of tactical errors. Ironically, while the country was experiencing the post-war boom, with record auto sales, the Packard became unable to compete with the Big Three: GM, Ford and Chrysler. The factory closed in 1958 and the plant was virtually empty after that, except for a few small businesses taking up a small fraction of this behemoth. The last tenant, a small factory of 8 workers, left in 2009. All remaining security guards were pulled leaving the building vulnerable to attack.
Today the plant is a regular target for budding arsonists who light it up for kicks - there are weekly incidents. But this is a city that made Devil's Night famous: the Halloween tradition of lighting vacant buildings on fire. In Detroit the numbers are hard to believe: 169 fires in 2010's Halloween, and this is way down from the average 500-800 Halloween fires per year in the 1980's and 90's! Fire crews are called to the plant twice a month, but they have all but stopped putting out fires there, rather than put their men in constant danger.
I first shot the plant on a Summer night in 2010, and then returned the next day, exploring the area inside and out. The entire abandoned complex was epic with a capital E, and I realized then that I had failed with my first attempt and would have to return to re-shoot this incredible location. One big problem was the number of angry-looking gang bangers driving by slowly at night, staring closely at me, my gear, and my friend Anna. This made the first shoot very tense and caused me to rush the process, and to not think clearly. I hurried the shot and left with something I wasn't happy with.
I returned again in September, this time with Tom Holt, a lieutenant in the Detroit Fire Department, who carried a big gun in his holster and wore his police-looking fireman's badge around his neck and who gave me the scoop on the plant fires. Gang filled cars drove by several times again, one pimped out car crossed our path several times, but now I was relaxed. Tom would put his hands on his hips, clearly exposing his badge and gun to them, and he would stare them down as they drove slowly by.
(This was the second time Tom had backed me on a Detroit shoot. The first time, in 2004 for Alley 63, he carried a baseball bat, and threatened any one who even looked at us!)
So... this time, I could breathe easy, knowing I was safe. I was able to calmly frame the heart of the plant. I also had the time and patience to do the extensive light painting necessary for such an enormous scene. I walked down the very dark road on the right side several times (it was actually more of an alley) with my lighting equipment, firing bursts of blue, then returning to add bursts of green higher up, in the end having lit up the whole side of the plant. This was followed by lighting the sign with a spot; lighting the inside of the walkway to add a little interior light behind the sign; and of course adding the blue in the foreground.
A little error during my lighting shows you how I work. The shadow on the blue pillar (prominent in the middle foreground) is me holding up a blue-gelled flash. I hadn't stood far enough away from the camera and left my shadow behind. I'll call it a self-portrait!
This is Detroit's Packard Plant, built in 1903 and once the most modern car manufacturing plant in the world. At its peak it housed more than 40,000 workers. Today it holds another record: it is the largest abandoned industrial complex in the US and possibly the world. It is a mind-boggling 3.5 million square-foot ruin. Alley 136 shows a tiny fraction of the entire building.
The Packard automobile was the premier luxury car in the world in the early decades of the 20th century, but following WWII the company's management made a series of tactical errors. Ironically, while the country was experiencing the post-war boom, with record auto sales, the Packard became unable to compete with the Big Three: GM, Ford and Chrysler. The factory closed in 1958 and the plant was virtually empty after that, except for a few small businesses taking up a small fraction of this behemoth. The last tenant, a small factory of 8 workers, left in 2009. All remaining security guards were pulled leaving the building vulnerable to attack.
Today the plant is a regular target for budding arsonists who light it up for kicks - there are weekly incidents. But this is a city that made Devil's Night famous: the Halloween tradition of lighting vacant buildings on fire. In Detroit the numbers are hard to believe: 169 fires in 2010's Halloween, and this is way down from the average 500-800 Halloween fires per year in the 1980's and 90's! Fire crews are called to the plant twice a month, but they have all but stopped putting out fires there, rather than put their men in constant danger.
I first shot the plant on a Summer night in 2010, and then returned the next day, exploring the area inside and out. The entire abandoned complex was epic with a capital E, and I realized then that I had failed with my first attempt and would have to return to re-shoot this incredible location. One big problem was the number of angry-looking gang bangers driving by slowly at night, staring closely at me, my gear, and my friend Anna. This made the first shoot very tense and caused me to rush the process, and to not think clearly. I hurried the shot and left with something I wasn't happy with.
I returned again in September, this time with Tom Holt, a lieutenant in the Detroit Fire Department, who carried a big gun in his holster and wore his police-looking fireman's badge around his neck and who gave me the scoop on the plant fires. Gang filled cars drove by several times again, one pimped out car crossed our path several times, but now I was relaxed. Tom would put his hands on his hips, clearly exposing his badge and gun to them, and he would stare them down as they drove slowly by.
(This was the second time Tom had backed me on a Detroit shoot. The first time, in 2004 for Alley 63, he carried a baseball bat, and threatened any one who even looked at us!)
So... this time, I could breathe easy, knowing I was safe. I was able to calmly frame the heart of the plant. I also had the time and patience to do the extensive light painting necessary for such an enormous scene. I walked down the very dark road on the right side several times (it was actually more of an alley) with my lighting equipment, firing bursts of blue, then returning to add bursts of green higher up, in the end having lit up the whole side of the plant. This was followed by lighting the sign with a spot; lighting the inside of the walkway to add a little interior light behind the sign; and of course adding the blue in the foreground.
A little error during my lighting shows you how I work. The shadow on the blue pillar (prominent in the middle foreground) is me holding up a blue-gelled flash. I hadn't stood far enough away from the camera and left my shadow behind. I'll call it a self-portrait!
Alleys & Ruins no. 40, Window Fire
1998, Brooklyn, NY, 1:45am
When my studio was in Chicago's Art District, the artists and galleries would open their doors for the 2nd Friday Gallery Walk. During one of the 2nd Fridays I notice that a teenage boy in my studio is looking and pointing to Window Fire in an unusual way. I walk up to him and his dad and the boy continues to point.
He is standing sideways to the piece hanging on the wall. His arm is erect, index finger pointing. His head is turned and tilted in a strained and awkward position towards the picture, his intense eyes are just fixed on the photograph, and he is frozen in this position.
I stare at him for a while not sure what to make of it. I ask the man if he is his father and he says yes. I say that the image seems to have caught his attention, and he tells me his son has autism but he's never seen him have such an intense reaction to a work of art before. He likes to take him to art shows because he seems to like it, but this is a first.
The son is still in this intense, frozen position and I ask the boy what he sees in the photo but he ignores me and just keeps staring and pointing. I go to the back of my studio where I have an 8x10 print of Window Fire. I come back and hand him the print, telling him its a gift.
He looks at it, unfreezes and takes it. He stares at it intently and suddenly grabs my hand and kisses it repeatedly, looking at me with a big smile. I'm embarrassed and I look at his father who is beside himself. He is utterly shocked and his mouth is open. Bursting with emotion, he tells me how happy he is that my work has brought out such an extreme, positive emotion in his son.
Whenever I look at Window Fire today I can't help but wonder if this image in any way is how this autistic boy sees the world.
When my studio was in Chicago's Art District, the artists and galleries would open their doors for the 2nd Friday Gallery Walk. During one of the 2nd Fridays I notice that a teenage boy in my studio is looking and pointing to Window Fire in an unusual way. I walk up to him and his dad and the boy continues to point.
He is standing sideways to the piece hanging on the wall. His arm is erect, index finger pointing. His head is turned and tilted in a strained and awkward position towards the picture, his intense eyes are just fixed on the photograph, and he is frozen in this position.
I stare at him for a while not sure what to make of it. I ask the man if he is his father and he says yes. I say that the image seems to have caught his attention, and he tells me his son has autism but he's never seen him have such an intense reaction to a work of art before. He likes to take him to art shows because he seems to like it, but this is a first.
The son is still in this intense, frozen position and I ask the boy what he sees in the photo but he ignores me and just keeps staring and pointing. I go to the back of my studio where I have an 8x10 print of Window Fire. I come back and hand him the print, telling him its a gift.
He looks at it, unfreezes and takes it. He stares at it intently and suddenly grabs my hand and kisses it repeatedly, looking at me with a big smile. I'm embarrassed and I look at his father who is beside himself. He is utterly shocked and his mouth is open. Bursting with emotion, he tells me how happy he is that my work has brought out such an extreme, positive emotion in his son.
Whenever I look at Window Fire today I can't help but wonder if this image in any way is how this autistic boy sees the world.
Alleys & Ruins no. 146, Electric
2014, Portland, OR, 11pm
Portland is a city with some odd contrasts. It is one of the hippest, most artsy cities I've visited, and yet it has some of the harshest rules against graffiti. There's a blanket zero-tolerance policy covering the entire city. It is illegal to create a mural on an outside wall even if you have permission (or a commission) from a property owner.
So while Portland is an awesomely cool and progressive city, it tries to keep its exterior squeaky clean. Huge brick walls begging for murals remain free from paint (and inspiration)
Enter the ruins of the Taylor Electric Supply Warehouse, built in 1936, in the Central Eastside Industrial District. After being destroyed by one of Portland's largest ever industrial fires, it has become a mecca for the city's street art. After the 2006 fire, toxic chemicals started to pour out and a thorough clean-up was required, leaving behind huge bare walls that were quickly painted over by graffiti artists.
Every few months the city will paint over the entire structure to discourage graffiti, but all they do is leave behind a fresh, clean canvas for more art.
There are precious few places in the city to see quality graffiti art (as opposed to quick, ugly tags) and the ruins of the Taylor Electric company have sparked debate over whether the space constitutes an artistic gem or a horrible eyesore.
But the land has been sold and is now slated for re-development. The graffiti walls will be torn down and the street artists will have to look elsewhere for inspiration.
Portland is a city with some odd contrasts. It is one of the hippest, most artsy cities I've visited, and yet it has some of the harshest rules against graffiti. There's a blanket zero-tolerance policy covering the entire city. It is illegal to create a mural on an outside wall even if you have permission (or a commission) from a property owner.
So while Portland is an awesomely cool and progressive city, it tries to keep its exterior squeaky clean. Huge brick walls begging for murals remain free from paint (and inspiration)
Enter the ruins of the Taylor Electric Supply Warehouse, built in 1936, in the Central Eastside Industrial District. After being destroyed by one of Portland's largest ever industrial fires, it has become a mecca for the city's street art. After the 2006 fire, toxic chemicals started to pour out and a thorough clean-up was required, leaving behind huge bare walls that were quickly painted over by graffiti artists.
Every few months the city will paint over the entire structure to discourage graffiti, but all they do is leave behind a fresh, clean canvas for more art.
There are precious few places in the city to see quality graffiti art (as opposed to quick, ugly tags) and the ruins of the Taylor Electric company have sparked debate over whether the space constitutes an artistic gem or a horrible eyesore.
But the land has been sold and is now slated for re-development. The graffiti walls will be torn down and the street artists will have to look elsewhere for inspiration.
Alleys & Ruins no. 113, Truck Stop
2008, Milwaukee, WI, 1am
While in Milwaukee's historic Third Ward, I was thrilled to find an old abandoned 1957 Chevy truck, sitting at the end of an alley surrounded by abandoned buildings, and slowly becoming one with the earth. It was unclear what this truck did for a living, but it had been sitting in this alley for years waiting for its close-up. On the truck's bed was another old truck in even worse condition, having been in a fire.
It almost seemed like the Chevy had sprung from the fertile ground, the way it was surrounded by lush greenery. I wasn't sure how to bring this idea to life, but I lit the grass with fluorescent green light to give it a little more power, and then worked on the truck with blue lights to give it life.
The old cabover trucks are snub nosed, giving them a real face and lots of character. Then there are the 2 headlights... While everything else is rusted and broken, these 2 lights are almost sparkling and beaming with joy. I imagined an elf emerging daily to give them a good polish!
While in Milwaukee's historic Third Ward, I was thrilled to find an old abandoned 1957 Chevy truck, sitting at the end of an alley surrounded by abandoned buildings, and slowly becoming one with the earth. It was unclear what this truck did for a living, but it had been sitting in this alley for years waiting for its close-up. On the truck's bed was another old truck in even worse condition, having been in a fire.
It almost seemed like the Chevy had sprung from the fertile ground, the way it was surrounded by lush greenery. I wasn't sure how to bring this idea to life, but I lit the grass with fluorescent green light to give it a little more power, and then worked on the truck with blue lights to give it life.
The old cabover trucks are snub nosed, giving them a real face and lots of character. Then there are the 2 headlights... While everything else is rusted and broken, these 2 lights are almost sparkling and beaming with joy. I imagined an elf emerging daily to give them a good polish!
Alleys & Ruins no. 138, New York, NY
2011, Brooklyn, NY, 9pm
In March 2011 I was in NYC for the opening of my Alleys & Ruins solo show at the Cond� Nast Gallery in Times Square. The New York Times wanted to document my work and my night shoots for a story, and at the show I'm introduced to Corey Kilgannon, a veteran New York Times city reporter. We arrange to meet a few days later to head off on one of my night adventures. Times photojournalist Robert Stolarik is also there, taking photos of me at work. In the first 10 minutes, he shoots more pictures than I've taken in 10 years.
We head to a spot I'd already staked out by the East River in Greenpoint Brooklyn, across from Manhattan. This is an absolutely majestic location, where remnants of a pier lie, along with old, fallen girders from a long gone structure, and in the background, the beautiful and ubiquitous Manhattan skyline.
I set up, figure out my lighting and exposure, and shoot a test Polaroid that requires a heavy dose of my own lighting. After 2 minutes of processing, I peel away the sealing strip on the instant film (which doesn't seem so instant in the digital age) and the shot looks good! I'm always excited when I know I'm zeroing in on a great photograph, but I'm extra happy since I have the freakin New York Times with me! I show them the Polaroid, excited at the picture I'm constructing. I get the film ready and prepare my lights for the actual photo. Just then a cop car rolls in, lights flashing.
Oh, I forgot to mention, to get to this location we had crawled through an opening in the chain link fence and we were clearly trespassing... The officers are angry and yelling at us to return. Corey volunteers to speak to them and see if his NY Times credentials can get us a break before I take the camera off the tripod. He returns with bad news. The cops have threatened to cuff us and lock us up for the night unless we leave immediately. Its a heart-breaking moment and I am fucking pissed! I had spent 2 days driving around staking out dozens of locations, taking notes, digital pictures... This spot, through the fence, by the East River was a treasured spot. I wasn't mad at the cops, I was mad because it was a form of death. I wanted to give life to this image, but instead, here it would lie, buried and undiscovered forever.
I'm miserable as I'm packing my gear, and Corey notices. Then I see that he's smiling, "You don't understand, this is great," he says. "The story just got way better - the cops kicking us out?" Its something of a consolation, but not really what I'm looking for. I get more and more determined to get this shot!
We pack up and leave because neither of us wants to take a ride in a cop car, and we head to another good location I had found, which in the end, becomes Alleys & Ruins no. 137, Portal
I have to leave NY the next day, but a month later I'm back and the first night I head straight to this location. My heart is pounding out of my chest because I know how fast things change, and there's a very good chance all the ruins by the river are gone! I squeeze through the fence again, anxiously looking around. If the same cop catches me, I am totally screwed. I walk up to the location and I'm ELATED!! Its all just as it was a month ago! I quickly throw my tripod up, frame the shot and grab my lights. On this second risky attempt, all goes perfectly and I get the shot.
In March 2011 I was in NYC for the opening of my Alleys & Ruins solo show at the Cond� Nast Gallery in Times Square. The New York Times wanted to document my work and my night shoots for a story, and at the show I'm introduced to Corey Kilgannon, a veteran New York Times city reporter. We arrange to meet a few days later to head off on one of my night adventures. Times photojournalist Robert Stolarik is also there, taking photos of me at work. In the first 10 minutes, he shoots more pictures than I've taken in 10 years.
We head to a spot I'd already staked out by the East River in Greenpoint Brooklyn, across from Manhattan. This is an absolutely majestic location, where remnants of a pier lie, along with old, fallen girders from a long gone structure, and in the background, the beautiful and ubiquitous Manhattan skyline.
I set up, figure out my lighting and exposure, and shoot a test Polaroid that requires a heavy dose of my own lighting. After 2 minutes of processing, I peel away the sealing strip on the instant film (which doesn't seem so instant in the digital age) and the shot looks good! I'm always excited when I know I'm zeroing in on a great photograph, but I'm extra happy since I have the freakin New York Times with me! I show them the Polaroid, excited at the picture I'm constructing. I get the film ready and prepare my lights for the actual photo. Just then a cop car rolls in, lights flashing.
Oh, I forgot to mention, to get to this location we had crawled through an opening in the chain link fence and we were clearly trespassing... The officers are angry and yelling at us to return. Corey volunteers to speak to them and see if his NY Times credentials can get us a break before I take the camera off the tripod. He returns with bad news. The cops have threatened to cuff us and lock us up for the night unless we leave immediately. Its a heart-breaking moment and I am fucking pissed! I had spent 2 days driving around staking out dozens of locations, taking notes, digital pictures... This spot, through the fence, by the East River was a treasured spot. I wasn't mad at the cops, I was mad because it was a form of death. I wanted to give life to this image, but instead, here it would lie, buried and undiscovered forever.
I'm miserable as I'm packing my gear, and Corey notices. Then I see that he's smiling, "You don't understand, this is great," he says. "The story just got way better - the cops kicking us out?" Its something of a consolation, but not really what I'm looking for. I get more and more determined to get this shot!
We pack up and leave because neither of us wants to take a ride in a cop car, and we head to another good location I had found, which in the end, becomes Alleys & Ruins no. 137, Portal
I have to leave NY the next day, but a month later I'm back and the first night I head straight to this location. My heart is pounding out of my chest because I know how fast things change, and there's a very good chance all the ruins by the river are gone! I squeeze through the fence again, anxiously looking around. If the same cop catches me, I am totally screwed. I walk up to the location and I'm ELATED!! Its all just as it was a month ago! I quickly throw my tripod up, frame the shot and grab my lights. On this second risky attempt, all goes perfectly and I get the shot.
Alleys & Ruins no. 81, Heidelberg Project
2005, Detroit, MI, 2am
I had heard about a surreal art project in the heart of Detroit's devastated east side - another neighborhood in ruins, where abandoned or burned out homes outnumber those that are lived in. One of its residents, Tyree Guyton, decided years ago to give life to this area in the form of the dadaesque Heidelberg Project. He would reclaim empty homes, the street, trees, empty lots - it would all get a major makeover. My friend Eric and I decide to drop by, at 2am.
Wandering through, one lot is more bizarre than the other. Massive black tubing engulfs one house, the tubes entering it in numerous places. Elsewhere, a front yard has perhaps fifty vacuum cleaners lined up in rows; a jumble of old boats, nailed together, form a 20-foot high sculpture, and everything is painted, much of it in red. The heavy brush strokes have left streaks from the dripping paint.
The project as a piece of art is brilliant, if not oppressive and angry. However, some years ago, in an apparently shortsighted fit, the city attacked the project, bulldozing most of it. Plenty remains however, and Mr. Guyton keeps on adding.
I'm looking at oil drums painted over with the word GOD when I notice that the same car has driven by several times, and it's not a cop. I'm feeling nervous - at night, this truly is a dangerous place and maybe its time to go. Eric wants me to take my camera out and take pictures, but I'm saying that's a bad idea - I've survived 15 years of shooting alleys at night because I can draw the line somewhere.
Then I see the dollhouse: It's just too much to believe, and the lighting is perfect. And I think "Oh no. Now I have to take my camera out."
I quickly set up. It's a 25-minute exposure, and I can't waste time. Somewhere in the middle of the exposure, gunfire erupts. Eric and I look at each other and grimace. What we are doing here is nuts, but I have to finish the exposure.
The same car drives around for a fourth time, the driver studying us and the equipment. And in the distance, bullets are still being fired.
I look at my watch: 23 minutes. Good enough, I tell Eric. We jump in the van and take off.
I had heard about a surreal art project in the heart of Detroit's devastated east side - another neighborhood in ruins, where abandoned or burned out homes outnumber those that are lived in. One of its residents, Tyree Guyton, decided years ago to give life to this area in the form of the dadaesque Heidelberg Project. He would reclaim empty homes, the street, trees, empty lots - it would all get a major makeover. My friend Eric and I decide to drop by, at 2am.
Wandering through, one lot is more bizarre than the other. Massive black tubing engulfs one house, the tubes entering it in numerous places. Elsewhere, a front yard has perhaps fifty vacuum cleaners lined up in rows; a jumble of old boats, nailed together, form a 20-foot high sculpture, and everything is painted, much of it in red. The heavy brush strokes have left streaks from the dripping paint.
The project as a piece of art is brilliant, if not oppressive and angry. However, some years ago, in an apparently shortsighted fit, the city attacked the project, bulldozing most of it. Plenty remains however, and Mr. Guyton keeps on adding.
I'm looking at oil drums painted over with the word GOD when I notice that the same car has driven by several times, and it's not a cop. I'm feeling nervous - at night, this truly is a dangerous place and maybe its time to go. Eric wants me to take my camera out and take pictures, but I'm saying that's a bad idea - I've survived 15 years of shooting alleys at night because I can draw the line somewhere.
Then I see the dollhouse: It's just too much to believe, and the lighting is perfect. And I think "Oh no. Now I have to take my camera out."
I quickly set up. It's a 25-minute exposure, and I can't waste time. Somewhere in the middle of the exposure, gunfire erupts. Eric and I look at each other and grimace. What we are doing here is nuts, but I have to finish the exposure.
The same car drives around for a fourth time, the driver studying us and the equipment. And in the distance, bullets are still being fired.
I look at my watch: 23 minutes. Good enough, I tell Eric. We jump in the van and take off.
Alleys & Ruins no. 97, NOW
2007, Los Angeles, CA, 1:30am
Planning my first night venture into the bowels of L.A., I decide I want two people with me, as opposed to my regular one. When these contacts cancel at the last minute, I'm left to explore alone.
Telling myself I'll just look and not shoot, this plan quickly dies when I find this bridge, just east of downtown.A group is huddled under it when I first arrive, so I decide to return. An hour later I come back and set up, only to find I have to retreat again when a gang sees me, down the tracks, and starts heading my way. But there is just no way I'm going home without this image on film. I return once more, 30 minutes later and set up again. I do my light readings and start an exposure. My standard procedure, in order to compress time and get out fast, is to begin the long exposure and only then ponder whether I want to add my own lighting. I quickly see there is no shot unless I'm very active during the 15-minute exposure.I pull out a flash and get my gels ready, but before I can start my lighting, a train rolls by and stops right in front of me, and then stays put. I start cursing, and looking around nervously - I alternate between pacing, looking for danger, and thinking about how I'll light this scene. After what seems like an eternity, the train picks up again and slowly rolls its way out of my frame.I quickly get back to work. I start the exposure and move in with my lights, adding blue light under the bridge, then switching to a warm filter. At the end, I'm running around half-crazed, firing many bursts, especially on the pillars. In my adrenaline fury, I trip and land face first in the rubble, eating a mouthful of dust, while my flash slams into the ground. I jump up... Luckily the flash still works. I finish my lighting and throw the gear in the van, thrilled and anxious to see the results.
Planning my first night venture into the bowels of L.A., I decide I want two people with me, as opposed to my regular one. When these contacts cancel at the last minute, I'm left to explore alone.
Telling myself I'll just look and not shoot, this plan quickly dies when I find this bridge, just east of downtown.A group is huddled under it when I first arrive, so I decide to return. An hour later I come back and set up, only to find I have to retreat again when a gang sees me, down the tracks, and starts heading my way. But there is just no way I'm going home without this image on film. I return once more, 30 minutes later and set up again. I do my light readings and start an exposure. My standard procedure, in order to compress time and get out fast, is to begin the long exposure and only then ponder whether I want to add my own lighting. I quickly see there is no shot unless I'm very active during the 15-minute exposure.I pull out a flash and get my gels ready, but before I can start my lighting, a train rolls by and stops right in front of me, and then stays put. I start cursing, and looking around nervously - I alternate between pacing, looking for danger, and thinking about how I'll light this scene. After what seems like an eternity, the train picks up again and slowly rolls its way out of my frame.I quickly get back to work. I start the exposure and move in with my lights, adding blue light under the bridge, then switching to a warm filter. At the end, I'm running around half-crazed, firing many bursts, especially on the pillars. In my adrenaline fury, I trip and land face first in the rubble, eating a mouthful of dust, while my flash slams into the ground. I jump up... Luckily the flash still works. I finish my lighting and throw the gear in the van, thrilled and anxious to see the results.
Alleys & Ruins no. 141, Cotton Belt
2011, St Louis, MO, 10:30pm
The St. Louis Southwestern Railway, better known as The Cotton Belt Route, was formed in 1891 to supply a rail route for the booming cotton industry. Cotton was brought north to St Louis from Arkansas and Texas. The Cotton Belt was eventually bought out by Union Pacific.
The Cotton Belt Depot building was built in 1911, but would not last. The depot was closed and abandoned for good in 1959. It has sat vacant ever since. Its an enormous husk of a building, north of the arches, a block from the Mississippi river.
In 2011 the depot was voted Best Old Building in St Louis by Riverfront Times, and in 2014 two artists painted a 750 ft mural, called "Migrate", on the eastern wall to greet daily commuters.
Behind the building, when I was there, a tent city had formed for dozens of homeless people, including its "mayor" an imposing and boisterous woman they called Big Mama. I walked thru parts of it the day after the shoot. A sign provided the name of the camp: "Welcome to Hopeville"
The St. Louis Southwestern Railway, better known as The Cotton Belt Route, was formed in 1891 to supply a rail route for the booming cotton industry. Cotton was brought north to St Louis from Arkansas and Texas. The Cotton Belt was eventually bought out by Union Pacific.
The Cotton Belt Depot building was built in 1911, but would not last. The depot was closed and abandoned for good in 1959. It has sat vacant ever since. Its an enormous husk of a building, north of the arches, a block from the Mississippi river.
In 2011 the depot was voted Best Old Building in St Louis by Riverfront Times, and in 2014 two artists painted a 750 ft mural, called "Migrate", on the eastern wall to greet daily commuters.
Behind the building, when I was there, a tent city had formed for dozens of homeless people, including its "mayor" an imposing and boisterous woman they called Big Mama. I walked thru parts of it the day after the shoot. A sign provided the name of the camp: "Welcome to Hopeville"
Alleys & Ruins no. 147, Dequindre Couch
2015, Detroit, MI, 11pm
Sam the Man and Chuck the Magnificent
I met Sam the Man and his brother Chuck the Magnificent while searching for a location to shoot in Detroit. I had been exploring the 2-mile long Dequindre Cut, a one-time rail route, carved below street level in the 1920’s. The Cut was another epic example of Detroit’s ruins. I had seen it a few times over the years but I was always too afraid to shoot it. It was a valley of abandoned buildings and bridge underpasses that at night was pitch black and desolate to the extreme. Lighting it would be a huge undertaking, drawing attention to me in a remote, obscured location that just seemed too dangerous, even by Detroit’s standards. I had hoped that finally, tonight, I could at last muster the courage to shoot it.
When I dropped by to take a look, it was being demolished! Construction and demolition trucks were parked all around and the cut was losing its appeal – for my purposes any way. There was one last remaining piece of blight, at the northern tip, and I knew it would not last. But devastation continued to persist in most other areas above and below – to the left and to the right. I ventured to the northern tip and began exploring.
Crossing the Cut on the Alfred St bridge, I find Sam and Chuck sitting by the road. Chuck is actually curled up on a couch and half asleep. But Sam is friendly and wants to talk. He sees me looking closely at everything. “Hey what you lookin for?” I tell him I’m looking for a place to photograph later at night.
“You gonna take pictures?” he says laughing. “Ain’t nothin to take pictures of here.”
I laugh too, and explain briefly what I wanna do. And I ask what the gang situation is like around here. Sam has a unique way of breaking up words in the middle, and adding emphasis to the second half. “Well, I’m the care-Taker… been here 30 years, this is my neighborhood. Seen it all change – used to play ball on the street. I can give you access – you take all the pictures you want! – just buy me a beer!”
I tell him I’m gonna explore a little and if I see something I wanna shoot tonight, I’ll buy him a beer. I walk through the ruins of an old lamb skin factory and I’m not surprised to find a thousand great locations. But one in particular grabs me: a once elegant couch sits quietly among the rubble, framed beautifully by a literal hole in the wall. Behind it, the interior of the building is now a budding forest.
I walk back to Sam and Chuck. “Here’s $5,” I say, giving Sam the bill. Excited, he says, “Hey that’ll get me three beers!! You got full access man! And don’t worry – everyone here knows me. I’m the vi-Per. Ain’t no one gonna mess with you.” He gives me a fist bump and introduces himself: He’s Sam the Man, always has been. His inseparable brother is Chuck the Magnificent.
I tell him Chuck the Magnificent looks comfortable, and he says his brother is sad because his girlfriend died recently. I say I’m sorry and ask how she died.
“She died because of ob-Session.”
“Obsession?”
He hunches over and looks at the ground. “She was stabbed 37 times by a guy … who was obsessed with her. He loved her, but she had a boyfriend. So he killed her, right here in front, right on the street. Thirty-seven times…” he emphasizes, looking at me. “He don’t like to talk about it. It was his girlfriend. Killed her right on Mother’s Day too.”
That was only 4 months ago. He nods, “Mmm-hmm”
I ask him how he’s the caretaker.“
I sleep right in there,” he says pointing to a doorway of the building I’ll be shooting in later. Sam tells me matter-of-factly – with zero disappointment or regret. “That’s where I live. This is my spot – me an my brother – right here. Thirty years … This been my hang out.”
“What about winter?” I ask.
“What about winter??” He begins to shiver. “It gets cooold in the winter, man, it gets cooold! Tell me about it!” he laughs again.
“What do you do?”
“Blan-Kets man! Aaa.lot.aaa.blan-Kets!”
“Looks like you got this whole place all to yourself.”
“Me and my brother…and lots a cats.” He leans back and looks up as if remembering something. “Thirty years…”
I tell Sam I’m gonna look around a little more. He gives me another fist bump and I head off back to the ruins of the old Lamb Skin Co. Then I do something I wish I had done more often in the many years I’ve been shooting the Alleys & Ruins: I shoot a video of the area. It’s still light out and my friend Nate (who’ll be watching my back) hasn’t arrived yet.
Since I normally shoot exteriors, I’m not prepared for the hazards of the enormous amount of rubble, especially the nails, and I very nearly puncture my foot while shooting the video.
After the video, I’m back near the couch thinking about the photograph I’ll be shooting, and how do I light this – the couch, the rubble, the weeds in the background. I wonder if my foot will get impaled during the shoot, while I stumble around countless exposed nails with my lights in the dark, wearing the wrong shoes. As always, I want to create a kind of fairy tale version of this bleak scene…and then I wonder who sleeps on the couch… is it Chuck?
Then I notice behind me, Stan the Man is walking down the alley. “You going to get your beers?” I call out.
“You know it!” he yells, fist in the air, and laughs.
By the time the shoot is over, it’s near midnight. Nate and I pack up and walk out to the street. Chuck is fast asleep on the same couch, but Sam is not around. Maybe he’s in his bed. I dig into my pocket and pull out another fiver. I roll it up and jam it into a crack in the chair… a little morning surprise for the brothers. It’s the least I can do for the Viper.
Sam the Man and Chuck the Magnificent
I met Sam the Man and his brother Chuck the Magnificent while searching for a location to shoot in Detroit. I had been exploring the 2-mile long Dequindre Cut, a one-time rail route, carved below street level in the 1920’s. The Cut was another epic example of Detroit’s ruins. I had seen it a few times over the years but I was always too afraid to shoot it. It was a valley of abandoned buildings and bridge underpasses that at night was pitch black and desolate to the extreme. Lighting it would be a huge undertaking, drawing attention to me in a remote, obscured location that just seemed too dangerous, even by Detroit’s standards. I had hoped that finally, tonight, I could at last muster the courage to shoot it.
When I dropped by to take a look, it was being demolished! Construction and demolition trucks were parked all around and the cut was losing its appeal – for my purposes any way. There was one last remaining piece of blight, at the northern tip, and I knew it would not last. But devastation continued to persist in most other areas above and below – to the left and to the right. I ventured to the northern tip and began exploring.
Crossing the Cut on the Alfred St bridge, I find Sam and Chuck sitting by the road. Chuck is actually curled up on a couch and half asleep. But Sam is friendly and wants to talk. He sees me looking closely at everything. “Hey what you lookin for?” I tell him I’m looking for a place to photograph later at night.
“You gonna take pictures?” he says laughing. “Ain’t nothin to take pictures of here.”
I laugh too, and explain briefly what I wanna do. And I ask what the gang situation is like around here. Sam has a unique way of breaking up words in the middle, and adding emphasis to the second half. “Well, I’m the care-Taker… been here 30 years, this is my neighborhood. Seen it all change – used to play ball on the street. I can give you access – you take all the pictures you want! – just buy me a beer!”
I tell him I’m gonna explore a little and if I see something I wanna shoot tonight, I’ll buy him a beer. I walk through the ruins of an old lamb skin factory and I’m not surprised to find a thousand great locations. But one in particular grabs me: a once elegant couch sits quietly among the rubble, framed beautifully by a literal hole in the wall. Behind it, the interior of the building is now a budding forest.
I walk back to Sam and Chuck. “Here’s $5,” I say, giving Sam the bill. Excited, he says, “Hey that’ll get me three beers!! You got full access man! And don’t worry – everyone here knows me. I’m the vi-Per. Ain’t no one gonna mess with you.” He gives me a fist bump and introduces himself: He’s Sam the Man, always has been. His inseparable brother is Chuck the Magnificent.
I tell him Chuck the Magnificent looks comfortable, and he says his brother is sad because his girlfriend died recently. I say I’m sorry and ask how she died.
“She died because of ob-Session.”
“Obsession?”
He hunches over and looks at the ground. “She was stabbed 37 times by a guy … who was obsessed with her. He loved her, but she had a boyfriend. So he killed her, right here in front, right on the street. Thirty-seven times…” he emphasizes, looking at me. “He don’t like to talk about it. It was his girlfriend. Killed her right on Mother’s Day too.”
That was only 4 months ago. He nods, “Mmm-hmm”
I ask him how he’s the caretaker.“
I sleep right in there,” he says pointing to a doorway of the building I’ll be shooting in later. Sam tells me matter-of-factly – with zero disappointment or regret. “That’s where I live. This is my spot – me an my brother – right here. Thirty years … This been my hang out.”
“What about winter?” I ask.
“What about winter??” He begins to shiver. “It gets cooold in the winter, man, it gets cooold! Tell me about it!” he laughs again.
“What do you do?”
“Blan-Kets man! Aaa.lot.aaa.blan-Kets!”
“Looks like you got this whole place all to yourself.”
“Me and my brother…and lots a cats.” He leans back and looks up as if remembering something. “Thirty years…”
I tell Sam I’m gonna look around a little more. He gives me another fist bump and I head off back to the ruins of the old Lamb Skin Co. Then I do something I wish I had done more often in the many years I’ve been shooting the Alleys & Ruins: I shoot a video of the area. It’s still light out and my friend Nate (who’ll be watching my back) hasn’t arrived yet.
Since I normally shoot exteriors, I’m not prepared for the hazards of the enormous amount of rubble, especially the nails, and I very nearly puncture my foot while shooting the video.
After the video, I’m back near the couch thinking about the photograph I’ll be shooting, and how do I light this – the couch, the rubble, the weeds in the background. I wonder if my foot will get impaled during the shoot, while I stumble around countless exposed nails with my lights in the dark, wearing the wrong shoes. As always, I want to create a kind of fairy tale version of this bleak scene…and then I wonder who sleeps on the couch… is it Chuck?
Then I notice behind me, Stan the Man is walking down the alley. “You going to get your beers?” I call out.
“You know it!” he yells, fist in the air, and laughs.
By the time the shoot is over, it’s near midnight. Nate and I pack up and walk out to the street. Chuck is fast asleep on the same couch, but Sam is not around. Maybe he’s in his bed. I dig into my pocket and pull out another fiver. I roll it up and jam it into a crack in the chair… a little morning surprise for the brothers. It’s the least I can do for the Viper.
Alleys & Ruins no. 83, Stadium
2006, Miami, FL, 3:30am
The Miami Marine Stadium was hit by Hurricane Andrew in 1992 - a Category 5 storm, with winds of 145 mph. The extensive damage forced the stadium to close down and because of legal squabbling, it was never repaired. In 2018 it was listed on the National Register of Historic Places and cannot be demolished, but efforts to restore the building have been on and off ever since. As of 2024, Its still a graffiti riddled ruin.
Bay Biscayne is in front of the stadium, and spectators would watch boat races, but the stadium was also a venue for big concerts on a floating stage. Jimi Hendrix, The Who, The Eagles and even Elvis performed there. People would show up in their bathing suits and go swimming during the concert. By all accounts, this was the greatest venue ever for shows!
In 2006, I'm in Miami where I meet Emmett, a young graffiti artist. He sees my work and tells me he has a place I have to see. That night he takes me to the remnants of Miami's Marine Stadium.
We have to sneak in by the side, through a break in the fence. It's extremely dark, so I pull out my flashlight. I shine it on the walls outside as we're entering the stadium and I see graffiti covering every square inch. We enter, and I'm starting to be blown away. The building is familiar. Like most modern stadiums, it is made of cement. The pillars and walkways and ramps: it is made to last, to withstand the pounding of hundreds of thousands of people over decades. It's a solid, modern-looking structure. But there is a big difference here. This enormous stadium has been abandoned for 14 years, after being damaged by Hurricane Andrew. It has been left to rot. And though there was an attempt to barricade it, it's clear from seeing the inside that this feeble attempt was futile. Graffiti artists and countless others have run amuck.
We walk up a long ramp leading to the 2nd floor food vendors, bathrooms and offices of this once bustling place (the ramp continues on to the many more floors above us). It is really breathtaking and utterly surreal. I truly feel I've glimpsed the apocalypse. From the 2nd floor walkway, you can see high above and down the length of the corridor - this modern wreck of a place is enormous.
I walk into a kitchen area where steel cabinets are dangling off the walls - walls that have been smashed through. I keep moving deeper into the labyrinth, through graffiti coated locker rooms and offices. I'm surrounded by pitch-blackness, but my flashlight's spot is guiding the way. As I move from room to room, more graffiti and unknown grimy streaks cover the walls, while the floor is caked with garbage and with the stench of urine and mold and decay. I walk from one destroyed room to another, including a bloodcurdling bathroom that is a sheer horror. People have gone berserk here. I look around and realize I've lost Emmett. I quickly exit the bathroom and feel chills and excitement. This is a creepy yet utterly fascinating place. I move out to the main landing again and feel the fresh air. From this second floor perch you can see the palm trees outside and you can feel the warm night breeze. I feel a little refreshed... Now its time to see the main attraction: the stadium seating. I turn around and choke - four young guys are walking toward me. "What are you doin here?" one asks suspiciously. I'm thinking I'm trapped, but I'm friggin grateful that I had earlier stashed my camera bag and tripod. And where the hell is Emmett! I know I'd better be as cool as possible - there's no way they can know I'm afraid and vulnerable.
"I'm checking this place out with my friends," I say casually.
"We ain't seen no one else. Who you with?"
"I'm with my friends - they're walkin around. This place is fuckin awesome."
"Yea," the guy mutters, and they turn and move on down the hall.
I breathe a sigh and head for the seating. I enter and finally get to look around at what has happened to this stadium. My jaw drops. I think to myself: "This is epic. This is the roman coliseum; this is a modern American ruin."
The place is enormous, and the graffiti continues to be everywhere. It is breathtaking and sad. It is such a waste. At least the Romans used their coliseum for almost 500 years. This is the age of disposable products taken to absurd lengths. I see Emmett sitting way down near the water. I go down and tell him about the four guys, then thank him for taking me to this incredible place.
He's concerned about the guys, but tells me as far as he knows, gangs don't hang out in here. He recommends I do the shot. So I head off and find my gear. The dudes are nowhere in sight. I set up the camera but the light is far too dim to get a reading on my light meter. This always happens in very low light situations. Normally I'd walk toward the light source, which might be a block away, until sufficient light would give me a reading. Here however, this is an impossibility. The only light hitting the stadium are the downtown Miami condos and office towers two miles away, across Biscayne Bay. I have to guess, and it is somewhat of a wild guess. I decide on 90-minutes at f/5.6. I release the shutter and take a seat, keeping a vigilant eye out. 30-minutes later, flashlights appear. It's the four dudes, carrying flashlights as they walk. They've ruined my shot! And I still don't know who the hell they are. Emmett appears behind me, and he calls out "Hey Joey! It's Emmett. Whatup bro!"
The friends meet and shake hands. He's one of his tagging partners. They've spent many hours together contributing to the layers of paint in the stadium. Joey looks at me and says, "man, you with Emmett? Shit, we thought maybe you was crazy walkin round here alone." This is a happy ending to one story, but my shot is still ruined. I explain to Emmett that I have to redo the shot. He can't stick around another hour, plus it turns out its gotten very late. I likely don't have an hour of night left before dawn.
This is a heartbreak. I may never get another chance here. We leave, but I've decided to return tomorrow.
The next day Emmett isn't available, but he'll try to find someone. In the evening, it's clear I'll be going alone - a thought I don't relish. Once again I'm faced with a shot that's too amazing to pass up, never mind the danger.
I decide to go very late when I think it might be safer. At 3am I'm sneaking back in through the cut fence. I take slow steps, listening very, very carefully. I climb to the second floor, quiet as a mouse. I hear odd noises and my heart races. I crouch, then freeze and wait. The noises start up again. I listen carefully then realize small animals are scurrying around. I continue on through the opening to the stadium seats. I still can't believe it. "Epic" comes to mind again. I set up at the same spot. It's not easy to frame the picture because it's just so damn dark. In fact, it's too dark to make out colors, only forms. I finally clamp down the tripod and release the shutter. The next 90 minutes is spent listening, and watching. It is uneventful, but every 2 minutes I look at my watch, thinking and hoping that 15 minutes have passed by. Through the stress, I keep thinking how great it is that I came back. The exposure is finally completed and I head off, a little quicker this time, giving the halls of this once great stadium a final look, and a farewell.
The Miami Marine Stadium was hit by Hurricane Andrew in 1992 - a Category 5 storm, with winds of 145 mph. The extensive damage forced the stadium to close down and because of legal squabbling, it was never repaired. In 2018 it was listed on the National Register of Historic Places and cannot be demolished, but efforts to restore the building have been on and off ever since. As of 2024, Its still a graffiti riddled ruin.
Bay Biscayne is in front of the stadium, and spectators would watch boat races, but the stadium was also a venue for big concerts on a floating stage. Jimi Hendrix, The Who, The Eagles and even Elvis performed there. People would show up in their bathing suits and go swimming during the concert. By all accounts, this was the greatest venue ever for shows!
In 2006, I'm in Miami where I meet Emmett, a young graffiti artist. He sees my work and tells me he has a place I have to see. That night he takes me to the remnants of Miami's Marine Stadium.
We have to sneak in by the side, through a break in the fence. It's extremely dark, so I pull out my flashlight. I shine it on the walls outside as we're entering the stadium and I see graffiti covering every square inch. We enter, and I'm starting to be blown away. The building is familiar. Like most modern stadiums, it is made of cement. The pillars and walkways and ramps: it is made to last, to withstand the pounding of hundreds of thousands of people over decades. It's a solid, modern-looking structure. But there is a big difference here. This enormous stadium has been abandoned for 14 years, after being damaged by Hurricane Andrew. It has been left to rot. And though there was an attempt to barricade it, it's clear from seeing the inside that this feeble attempt was futile. Graffiti artists and countless others have run amuck.
We walk up a long ramp leading to the 2nd floor food vendors, bathrooms and offices of this once bustling place (the ramp continues on to the many more floors above us). It is really breathtaking and utterly surreal. I truly feel I've glimpsed the apocalypse. From the 2nd floor walkway, you can see high above and down the length of the corridor - this modern wreck of a place is enormous.
I walk into a kitchen area where steel cabinets are dangling off the walls - walls that have been smashed through. I keep moving deeper into the labyrinth, through graffiti coated locker rooms and offices. I'm surrounded by pitch-blackness, but my flashlight's spot is guiding the way. As I move from room to room, more graffiti and unknown grimy streaks cover the walls, while the floor is caked with garbage and with the stench of urine and mold and decay. I walk from one destroyed room to another, including a bloodcurdling bathroom that is a sheer horror. People have gone berserk here. I look around and realize I've lost Emmett. I quickly exit the bathroom and feel chills and excitement. This is a creepy yet utterly fascinating place. I move out to the main landing again and feel the fresh air. From this second floor perch you can see the palm trees outside and you can feel the warm night breeze. I feel a little refreshed... Now its time to see the main attraction: the stadium seating. I turn around and choke - four young guys are walking toward me. "What are you doin here?" one asks suspiciously. I'm thinking I'm trapped, but I'm friggin grateful that I had earlier stashed my camera bag and tripod. And where the hell is Emmett! I know I'd better be as cool as possible - there's no way they can know I'm afraid and vulnerable.
"I'm checking this place out with my friends," I say casually.
"We ain't seen no one else. Who you with?"
"I'm with my friends - they're walkin around. This place is fuckin awesome."
"Yea," the guy mutters, and they turn and move on down the hall.
I breathe a sigh and head for the seating. I enter and finally get to look around at what has happened to this stadium. My jaw drops. I think to myself: "This is epic. This is the roman coliseum; this is a modern American ruin."
The place is enormous, and the graffiti continues to be everywhere. It is breathtaking and sad. It is such a waste. At least the Romans used their coliseum for almost 500 years. This is the age of disposable products taken to absurd lengths. I see Emmett sitting way down near the water. I go down and tell him about the four guys, then thank him for taking me to this incredible place.
He's concerned about the guys, but tells me as far as he knows, gangs don't hang out in here. He recommends I do the shot. So I head off and find my gear. The dudes are nowhere in sight. I set up the camera but the light is far too dim to get a reading on my light meter. This always happens in very low light situations. Normally I'd walk toward the light source, which might be a block away, until sufficient light would give me a reading. Here however, this is an impossibility. The only light hitting the stadium are the downtown Miami condos and office towers two miles away, across Biscayne Bay. I have to guess, and it is somewhat of a wild guess. I decide on 90-minutes at f/5.6. I release the shutter and take a seat, keeping a vigilant eye out. 30-minutes later, flashlights appear. It's the four dudes, carrying flashlights as they walk. They've ruined my shot! And I still don't know who the hell they are. Emmett appears behind me, and he calls out "Hey Joey! It's Emmett. Whatup bro!"
The friends meet and shake hands. He's one of his tagging partners. They've spent many hours together contributing to the layers of paint in the stadium. Joey looks at me and says, "man, you with Emmett? Shit, we thought maybe you was crazy walkin round here alone." This is a happy ending to one story, but my shot is still ruined. I explain to Emmett that I have to redo the shot. He can't stick around another hour, plus it turns out its gotten very late. I likely don't have an hour of night left before dawn.
This is a heartbreak. I may never get another chance here. We leave, but I've decided to return tomorrow.
The next day Emmett isn't available, but he'll try to find someone. In the evening, it's clear I'll be going alone - a thought I don't relish. Once again I'm faced with a shot that's too amazing to pass up, never mind the danger.
I decide to go very late when I think it might be safer. At 3am I'm sneaking back in through the cut fence. I take slow steps, listening very, very carefully. I climb to the second floor, quiet as a mouse. I hear odd noises and my heart races. I crouch, then freeze and wait. The noises start up again. I listen carefully then realize small animals are scurrying around. I continue on through the opening to the stadium seats. I still can't believe it. "Epic" comes to mind again. I set up at the same spot. It's not easy to frame the picture because it's just so damn dark. In fact, it's too dark to make out colors, only forms. I finally clamp down the tripod and release the shutter. The next 90 minutes is spent listening, and watching. It is uneventful, but every 2 minutes I look at my watch, thinking and hoping that 15 minutes have passed by. Through the stress, I keep thinking how great it is that I came back. The exposure is finally completed and I head off, a little quicker this time, giving the halls of this once great stadium a final look, and a farewell.
Alleys & Ruins no. 134, Dub Stop
2010, Chicago, IL, 11pm
Sometimes a scene stirs in me the ethereal feelings of a dream, and more precisely the feeling that I'm dreaming as a child. I get that fleeting but wonderful feeling that everything is cloaked in the supernatural and that the scene before me belongs in a child's blissful fantasy. That's when I know I'm onto something and I put my tripod down.
Overlapped with this is an adult, intellectualized attempt to translate the dream into a theatrical image, one where I'm trying to involve the viewer by simplifying their ability to step into the space.
But these scenes and these spaces are hardly wonderful for most people, and it's telling that I pick these locations to manifest my vision because they are also bleak desperate examples of acute urban decay, and I have always loved them. They can be dangerous, as I can testify from having pursued this strange obsession for so many years.
Because of this paradox, my work is likewise a tug of war between these extreme world views. My art is a fusion of beauty and ugliness, joy and sadness, light and darkness, optimism/pessimism, life and death.
*****
A 32X40 print in a shadowbox frame of Dub Stop is in the Illinois State Museum's permanent collection, It was acquired by the museum in 2014.
*****
Dub Stop was the featured image in the Chicago Tribune's arts Pick of the Week: an exhibit at the Illinois State Museum that featured an 8X10 foot print of Dub Stop.
*****
For the 20th anniversary of the Alleys & Ruins series, the Chicago Art District displayed an 8x10 foot print of Dub Stop (among other pieces from the series) in their street level Show Pods for 4 months. That was the longest they had ever kept an exhibit up.
*****
Someone had scrawled "Dub" on the Stop sign, and thats how this picture gets its name. But Dubstep is a type of electronic music, and Dubstep dance is a style that involves lots of popping. When done well, it is absolutely mind blowing.
Sometimes a scene stirs in me the ethereal feelings of a dream, and more precisely the feeling that I'm dreaming as a child. I get that fleeting but wonderful feeling that everything is cloaked in the supernatural and that the scene before me belongs in a child's blissful fantasy. That's when I know I'm onto something and I put my tripod down.
Overlapped with this is an adult, intellectualized attempt to translate the dream into a theatrical image, one where I'm trying to involve the viewer by simplifying their ability to step into the space.
But these scenes and these spaces are hardly wonderful for most people, and it's telling that I pick these locations to manifest my vision because they are also bleak desperate examples of acute urban decay, and I have always loved them. They can be dangerous, as I can testify from having pursued this strange obsession for so many years.
Because of this paradox, my work is likewise a tug of war between these extreme world views. My art is a fusion of beauty and ugliness, joy and sadness, light and darkness, optimism/pessimism, life and death.
*****
A 32X40 print in a shadowbox frame of Dub Stop is in the Illinois State Museum's permanent collection, It was acquired by the museum in 2014.
*****
Dub Stop was the featured image in the Chicago Tribune's arts Pick of the Week: an exhibit at the Illinois State Museum that featured an 8X10 foot print of Dub Stop.
*****
For the 20th anniversary of the Alleys & Ruins series, the Chicago Art District displayed an 8x10 foot print of Dub Stop (among other pieces from the series) in their street level Show Pods for 4 months. That was the longest they had ever kept an exhibit up.
*****
Someone had scrawled "Dub" on the Stop sign, and thats how this picture gets its name. But Dubstep is a type of electronic music, and Dubstep dance is a style that involves lots of popping. When done well, it is absolutely mind blowing.
Alleys & Ruins #100, Ghost Story
2007, Kansas City, MO, 1:30am
Kansas City's run down West Bottoms district is a mecca of haunted houses. The city has a long history of sightings, turn-of-the-century haunted hotels, long-suffering ghosts, and other paranormal incidents - it's been local folklore for a century. This colorful past has paved the way for the current crop of haunted houses.
For a fee, you enter an old abandoned building in the old warehouse district and actors dressed up as goblins, demons and pyscho killers will chase you down a hall. Among your many choices are "The Edge of Hell," or "The Beast," or the "Catacombs."
These places run in the Fall before and after Halloween - just when I was there. They pipe out loud sounds of people screaming or moaning in pain; monsters or ghosts growling, and other sound effects that can be heard throughout the night in the barren run-down streets of this district.
There was a lot of humor in what was going on, and it was strangely appropriate background sound for my night of scouting and shooting. But as the night progressed, and as I became absorbed in my work, studying one dark corner after another, my skin began to crawl. I decided to let it crawl, and I let it crawl into my work until I finally left - a little more pale than when I arrived, but with an image I was happy with.
------------
The West Bottoms is a land that time forgot. If you ever make your way to Kansas city (and I highly recommend visiting this beautiful city), you have to see the West Bottoms. It is an incredible collection of century old buildings, mostly dusty and neglected. You just feel like you're in a different time. This is one of my favorite places to shoot in the country: its old, run down, has a crap load of character and is relatively safe compared to many other places I've shot in. And it never seems to move on from its decrepitude! And there's a reason for that. It's a major flood zone.
The valley where the Kansas and Missouri rivers meet has always been a flood zone, even before the area was settled. As the railroads, stockyards, and other industries arrived after the Civil War, their gradual encroachment on the river banks started shrinking the mouth of the Kaw River. By 1903, the width had diminished nearly by half.
The Kansas River breached its banks on May 30, 1903, and reached a height of 14 feet on the streets. By the time the waters subsided and the destruction could be surveyed, 19 lives had been lost, over 23,000 people had lost their homes, 16 of the 17 bridges nearby were destroyed, and all utilities were out of service. Unimaginable damage had been done.
In the wake of this flood, the city announced the urgent need for a flood control plan.
Widening of the river banks was finally agreed upon, but other improvements continued to be delayed. Major proposals were put forth over the years but none were fully acted upon. And yet regular, smaller floods continued to damage the west bottoms.
In 1944, a federal government proposal was approved by Congress. The proposal, which called for 112 dams, hundreds of miles of levees, and other flood protection structures, would take years to complete, but it was the most ambitious and promising plan yet to control the rivers in the Missouri River basin.
It was while this project was slowly being implemented that the disastrous 1951 flood struck the West Bottoms. The Central Industrial District was ravaged. Businesses were completely submerged, and many including the stockyards never fully recovered.
When it was founded in 1871, the West Bottoms quickly became the center of many of Kansas City's industries. Even though the area experienced frequent flooding from the surrounding rivers, it still managed to stay active for 80 years.
But this final 1951 flood was just too much. The downfall of the West Bottoms came quickly. Cities across eastern Kansas and Missouri were wiped out as flood waters flowed east towards St. Louis.
Since the West Bottoms sits directly on both the Kansas and Missouri rivers, it was hit the hardest. Flood waters put nearly two million acres of land underwater, ruining virtually all the businesses in the area.
CBS radio broadcaster Jim Burke described the devastation. "To those of you who have never witnessed a flood and the resultant effects, let me tell you, it's a sickening sight," Burke reported.
So the city packed its bags and moved up the hill to flourish where it is today.
The Great Flood of 1951 shut down the West Bottoms for the next 40 years. Most of the buildings remained derelict until the early 1990s.
Ironically, one of the big turning points for the West Bottoms was the haunted houses! The vacant, creepy vibe of the West Bottoms seemed like the perfect fit.
Eventually, people started seeing the area for its distinct character. The urban grit of the West Bottoms was a big factor in bringing people back. Successful businesses have started to bring in festivals and the arts as well. And now the old, warehouse buildings are being redone. Today you'll find a number of restaurants, urban wineries, antique stores, microbreweries and coffee shops.
Despite these successes, there are still areas of the Bottoms that are struggling. It could take many more years, but as someone who has explored the area a half dozen times, I can tell you it's one of the city's treasures.
Kansas City's run down West Bottoms district is a mecca of haunted houses. The city has a long history of sightings, turn-of-the-century haunted hotels, long-suffering ghosts, and other paranormal incidents - it's been local folklore for a century. This colorful past has paved the way for the current crop of haunted houses.
For a fee, you enter an old abandoned building in the old warehouse district and actors dressed up as goblins, demons and pyscho killers will chase you down a hall. Among your many choices are "The Edge of Hell," or "The Beast," or the "Catacombs."
These places run in the Fall before and after Halloween - just when I was there. They pipe out loud sounds of people screaming or moaning in pain; monsters or ghosts growling, and other sound effects that can be heard throughout the night in the barren run-down streets of this district.
There was a lot of humor in what was going on, and it was strangely appropriate background sound for my night of scouting and shooting. But as the night progressed, and as I became absorbed in my work, studying one dark corner after another, my skin began to crawl. I decided to let it crawl, and I let it crawl into my work until I finally left - a little more pale than when I arrived, but with an image I was happy with.
------------
The West Bottoms is a land that time forgot. If you ever make your way to Kansas city (and I highly recommend visiting this beautiful city), you have to see the West Bottoms. It is an incredible collection of century old buildings, mostly dusty and neglected. You just feel like you're in a different time. This is one of my favorite places to shoot in the country: its old, run down, has a crap load of character and is relatively safe compared to many other places I've shot in. And it never seems to move on from its decrepitude! And there's a reason for that. It's a major flood zone.
The valley where the Kansas and Missouri rivers meet has always been a flood zone, even before the area was settled. As the railroads, stockyards, and other industries arrived after the Civil War, their gradual encroachment on the river banks started shrinking the mouth of the Kaw River. By 1903, the width had diminished nearly by half.
The Kansas River breached its banks on May 30, 1903, and reached a height of 14 feet on the streets. By the time the waters subsided and the destruction could be surveyed, 19 lives had been lost, over 23,000 people had lost their homes, 16 of the 17 bridges nearby were destroyed, and all utilities were out of service. Unimaginable damage had been done.
In the wake of this flood, the city announced the urgent need for a flood control plan.
Widening of the river banks was finally agreed upon, but other improvements continued to be delayed. Major proposals were put forth over the years but none were fully acted upon. And yet regular, smaller floods continued to damage the west bottoms.
In 1944, a federal government proposal was approved by Congress. The proposal, which called for 112 dams, hundreds of miles of levees, and other flood protection structures, would take years to complete, but it was the most ambitious and promising plan yet to control the rivers in the Missouri River basin.
It was while this project was slowly being implemented that the disastrous 1951 flood struck the West Bottoms. The Central Industrial District was ravaged. Businesses were completely submerged, and many including the stockyards never fully recovered.
When it was founded in 1871, the West Bottoms quickly became the center of many of Kansas City's industries. Even though the area experienced frequent flooding from the surrounding rivers, it still managed to stay active for 80 years.
But this final 1951 flood was just too much. The downfall of the West Bottoms came quickly. Cities across eastern Kansas and Missouri were wiped out as flood waters flowed east towards St. Louis.
Since the West Bottoms sits directly on both the Kansas and Missouri rivers, it was hit the hardest. Flood waters put nearly two million acres of land underwater, ruining virtually all the businesses in the area.
CBS radio broadcaster Jim Burke described the devastation. "To those of you who have never witnessed a flood and the resultant effects, let me tell you, it's a sickening sight," Burke reported.
So the city packed its bags and moved up the hill to flourish where it is today.
The Great Flood of 1951 shut down the West Bottoms for the next 40 years. Most of the buildings remained derelict until the early 1990s.
Ironically, one of the big turning points for the West Bottoms was the haunted houses! The vacant, creepy vibe of the West Bottoms seemed like the perfect fit.
Eventually, people started seeing the area for its distinct character. The urban grit of the West Bottoms was a big factor in bringing people back. Successful businesses have started to bring in festivals and the arts as well. And now the old, warehouse buildings are being redone. Today you'll find a number of restaurants, urban wineries, antique stores, microbreweries and coffee shops.
Despite these successes, there are still areas of the Bottoms that are struggling. It could take many more years, but as someone who has explored the area a half dozen times, I can tell you it's one of the city's treasures.
Alleys & Ruins no. 135, Hard Rock
2010, Cleveland, OH, 10pm
The Temple of Lost Love
Hidden beneath Cleveland’s Eagle Avenue Bridge in the Flats, a forgotten industrial space was reborn in 1991 as the *Temple of Lost Love* — an underground, open-air gallery created by a loose collective of artists needing escape and connection. What started as a spontaneous one-night art event turned into an 11-year creative sanctuary. The concrete supports bloomed with mosaics of holy cards, glass shards, and bubblegum charms. Skeleton stencils, surreal graffiti, mobiles made from guitars — the space became a playground for wild ideas and late-night inspiration. Anyone could contribute, from seasoned artists to anonymous insomniacs. It was chaotic, touching, and defiantly alive... a place where art flowed freely
In fall 2002, city workers mistakenly destroyed the Temple, thinking it was nothing more than vandalism. Fresh anti-police graffiti and the site's gritty look likely triggered the cleanup. Without warning, they covered the artwork in flat gray paint. The timing was brutal — just weeks earlier, 50 artists had returned for a reunion, planting a garden and adding new work. City officials later admitted the mistake and apologized, but the damage was done. The erasure felt like a gut punch to those who had poured their hearts into the space. Ironically, it came on the heels of the mayor's promise to make the city more artist-friendly.
-----
Cleveland's Flats along the winding Cuyahoga River near downtown is a fascinating study in how industrial decay can be transformed into vibrant mixed use neighborhoods, with restaurants, bars and residential units having been created by renovating the old beautiful buildings, instead of mowing them down. The area and the river weren't always so nice. The river is probably most famous for being so polluted, it caught fire in 1969.
But Alley 135 was shot far away from the pretty bits. There are still miles of isolated, run-down, industrial parts of the Flats. I was under the abandoned Eagle Avenue bridge, which spans the Cuyahoga River. The road it once serviced was long gone, and so the span was locked permanently up maybe 50 feet in the air. I got help from my friend John and his wife Maryann who brought along their freakin huge Rottweiler, making this a nice, relaxed shoot where I could take my time and think.
This was my fourth time, over many years, shooting gritty corners in Cleveland, but the first time I finally got a shot I was happy with.
I shot four 8-minute exposures on my 50 year old Hasselblad, varying the light a little each time.
From 30 feet away, John shot a spotlight through some trees creating a nice warm light-and-shadow effect over most of the wall. At the same time I walked around with a couple of hand held flashes, adding green light to the steel girders plus a dash of blue to the ceiling. These colors also bled into John's light, further adding interesting lighting effects on the wall.
The blue-capped skyscraper on the right is Key Tower. Built in 1991, it is the tallest building in the city. The closer, lavender-capped building is the Terminal Tower, opened in 1928. At the time, it was the 2nd tallest building in the world, after the Woolworth Building in New York.
The Temple of Lost Love
Hidden beneath Cleveland’s Eagle Avenue Bridge in the Flats, a forgotten industrial space was reborn in 1991 as the *Temple of Lost Love* — an underground, open-air gallery created by a loose collective of artists needing escape and connection. What started as a spontaneous one-night art event turned into an 11-year creative sanctuary. The concrete supports bloomed with mosaics of holy cards, glass shards, and bubblegum charms. Skeleton stencils, surreal graffiti, mobiles made from guitars — the space became a playground for wild ideas and late-night inspiration. Anyone could contribute, from seasoned artists to anonymous insomniacs. It was chaotic, touching, and defiantly alive... a place where art flowed freely
In fall 2002, city workers mistakenly destroyed the Temple, thinking it was nothing more than vandalism. Fresh anti-police graffiti and the site's gritty look likely triggered the cleanup. Without warning, they covered the artwork in flat gray paint. The timing was brutal — just weeks earlier, 50 artists had returned for a reunion, planting a garden and adding new work. City officials later admitted the mistake and apologized, but the damage was done. The erasure felt like a gut punch to those who had poured their hearts into the space. Ironically, it came on the heels of the mayor's promise to make the city more artist-friendly.
-----
Cleveland's Flats along the winding Cuyahoga River near downtown is a fascinating study in how industrial decay can be transformed into vibrant mixed use neighborhoods, with restaurants, bars and residential units having been created by renovating the old beautiful buildings, instead of mowing them down. The area and the river weren't always so nice. The river is probably most famous for being so polluted, it caught fire in 1969.
But Alley 135 was shot far away from the pretty bits. There are still miles of isolated, run-down, industrial parts of the Flats. I was under the abandoned Eagle Avenue bridge, which spans the Cuyahoga River. The road it once serviced was long gone, and so the span was locked permanently up maybe 50 feet in the air. I got help from my friend John and his wife Maryann who brought along their freakin huge Rottweiler, making this a nice, relaxed shoot where I could take my time and think.
This was my fourth time, over many years, shooting gritty corners in Cleveland, but the first time I finally got a shot I was happy with.
I shot four 8-minute exposures on my 50 year old Hasselblad, varying the light a little each time.
From 30 feet away, John shot a spotlight through some trees creating a nice warm light-and-shadow effect over most of the wall. At the same time I walked around with a couple of hand held flashes, adding green light to the steel girders plus a dash of blue to the ceiling. These colors also bled into John's light, further adding interesting lighting effects on the wall.
The blue-capped skyscraper on the right is Key Tower. Built in 1991, it is the tallest building in the city. The closer, lavender-capped building is the Terminal Tower, opened in 1928. At the time, it was the 2nd tallest building in the world, after the Woolworth Building in New York.
Alleys & Ruins no. 95, Central Station
2006, Detroit, MI, 12:15am
Michigan Central Station, built in 1913, was Detroit's passenger rail terminal until the last train pulled out in 1988 and its decent into ruin began. Restoration plans would be devised. but none would come close to fruition. In a city as broke as Detroit it was too expensive to renovate and (luckily) also too costly to demolish.
In 2024, almost miraculously, the building re-opened following $740 million in renovation. It is now a technology and cultural hub and one of the clearest signs of Detroit's renaissance.
This beaux-arts classical style building was designed by the same team that designed New York City's Grand Central Terminal. The massive main waiting room on the main floor was modeled after an ancient Roman bathhouse with walls of marble and a high vaulted ceiling. Even in ruin it was a gorgeous building.
I had come to explore this monolith several times with my camera, circling the perimeter looking for a way in, past the fencing that surrounds it. Each time I was seen by police and was told each time to leave, once being asked if I was out of my fucking mind coming here at night. On my fourth attempt, I went with my friend Toko. This tiny Japanese girl was my bodyguard; I managed to squeeze my camera lens through a crack in the fence surrounding the building, and took the shot.
And then it gets ridiculous.
One of my worst faults is my insanely bad memory. After all the effort I make to get this photograph, I forget about the undeveloped negatives sitting at the photo lab, and then I almost lose them forever.
After this night of shooting, I drop the film off to be processed - this one roll of film contained three different locations in Detroit, plus all the work I had done in Nashville a week before (see Alley 93). In the weeks that follow, I continue shooting other night images, dropping those rolls off at the lab, and later picking them up. But this roll is never returned to me, and since I start forgetting I ever shot this stuff, I never ask the lab about it.
Months later I'm in the process of moving to California with Pam. We've shipped most of our stuff, including her car. We load up my van and get in to drive across the country - I just have to drop by the photo lab one last time to pick up my latest roll of film. We have just started our 2500 mile journey when I give the clerk my stub and he comes back with two rolls.
"I found this other roll with your name on it, I guess its your's," he tells me. "I think its been here a while, you might wanna take it."
I open up the package and I see the prints of Central Station and Nashville for the first time, months after having shot them. I groan and want to hit my head with a mallet, but I'm also thrilled - I can't believe my eyes!
Michigan Central Station, built in 1913, was Detroit's passenger rail terminal until the last train pulled out in 1988 and its decent into ruin began. Restoration plans would be devised. but none would come close to fruition. In a city as broke as Detroit it was too expensive to renovate and (luckily) also too costly to demolish.
In 2024, almost miraculously, the building re-opened following $740 million in renovation. It is now a technology and cultural hub and one of the clearest signs of Detroit's renaissance.
This beaux-arts classical style building was designed by the same team that designed New York City's Grand Central Terminal. The massive main waiting room on the main floor was modeled after an ancient Roman bathhouse with walls of marble and a high vaulted ceiling. Even in ruin it was a gorgeous building.
I had come to explore this monolith several times with my camera, circling the perimeter looking for a way in, past the fencing that surrounds it. Each time I was seen by police and was told each time to leave, once being asked if I was out of my fucking mind coming here at night. On my fourth attempt, I went with my friend Toko. This tiny Japanese girl was my bodyguard; I managed to squeeze my camera lens through a crack in the fence surrounding the building, and took the shot.
And then it gets ridiculous.
One of my worst faults is my insanely bad memory. After all the effort I make to get this photograph, I forget about the undeveloped negatives sitting at the photo lab, and then I almost lose them forever.
After this night of shooting, I drop the film off to be processed - this one roll of film contained three different locations in Detroit, plus all the work I had done in Nashville a week before (see Alley 93). In the weeks that follow, I continue shooting other night images, dropping those rolls off at the lab, and later picking them up. But this roll is never returned to me, and since I start forgetting I ever shot this stuff, I never ask the lab about it.
Months later I'm in the process of moving to California with Pam. We've shipped most of our stuff, including her car. We load up my van and get in to drive across the country - I just have to drop by the photo lab one last time to pick up my latest roll of film. We have just started our 2500 mile journey when I give the clerk my stub and he comes back with two rolls.
"I found this other roll with your name on it, I guess its your's," he tells me. "I think its been here a while, you might wanna take it."
I open up the package and I see the prints of Central Station and Nashville for the first time, months after having shot them. I groan and want to hit my head with a mallet, but I'm also thrilled - I can't believe my eyes!
Alleys & Ruins no. 139, Tracks
2011, Chicago, IL, 10:00pm
For years I had driven by this unique bit of rail tracks that took a sharp turn through a narrow corridor near my studio in Chicago. I wasn't convinced it would make a good addition to the Alleys & Ruins series - sometimes it's hard to imagine my final images before they're all lit up. But I did pause a few times to wonder how to light it if I ever shot it.
When ABC's Emmy award winning program, The N Beat, called me, wanting to do a feature story, I decided it was time to find out. They wanted to come along on a night shoot to document how I produce the Alleys & Ruins images. The details of my process are in fact a state secret, which lead to the rapid and lethal appearance of a special forces team rappeling from a stealth chopper. What happened to the ABC crew is now also a state secret. But bits of video made their way back to the station. And that's good news for you! You get to see how I play under cover of the night.
In it, I discuss the Alleys & Ruins in depth, including life influences, mentors, the evolution of the series and so on.
Near the end of the segment, you get views into how I lit this beautiful defunct bit of rail. The photograph required a 20-minute time exposure. I dressed in dark clothes and moved quickly, entering the scene and lighting small patches and leaving again without any trace. I am like an invisible ghost coming and going at will and never being seen. You see how I'm able to create glowing light, and how I'm able to pinpoint little dashes of color in the Alleys & Ruins series.
For years I had driven by this unique bit of rail tracks that took a sharp turn through a narrow corridor near my studio in Chicago. I wasn't convinced it would make a good addition to the Alleys & Ruins series - sometimes it's hard to imagine my final images before they're all lit up. But I did pause a few times to wonder how to light it if I ever shot it.
When ABC's Emmy award winning program, The N Beat, called me, wanting to do a feature story, I decided it was time to find out. They wanted to come along on a night shoot to document how I produce the Alleys & Ruins images. The details of my process are in fact a state secret, which lead to the rapid and lethal appearance of a special forces team rappeling from a stealth chopper. What happened to the ABC crew is now also a state secret. But bits of video made their way back to the station. And that's good news for you! You get to see how I play under cover of the night.
In it, I discuss the Alleys & Ruins in depth, including life influences, mentors, the evolution of the series and so on.
Near the end of the segment, you get views into how I lit this beautiful defunct bit of rail. The photograph required a 20-minute time exposure. I dressed in dark clothes and moved quickly, entering the scene and lighting small patches and leaving again without any trace. I am like an invisible ghost coming and going at will and never being seen. You see how I'm able to create glowing light, and how I'm able to pinpoint little dashes of color in the Alleys & Ruins series.
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