Just words about photography of an old factory long ago

We stood in the abandoned mica factory, our shutters clicking closed, flashes whirring. You could hear the rain rhythmically tapping the ceiling above us. Everything was damp, aged, broken and rusted. He and I appeared to be detectives at a dreary crime scene. Strewn across the floor lay beer cans and vodka bottles scattered, piles of clothes torn and tattered. They told the story of what took place there. The whole building seemed rather dangerous. Everything creaked and moaned. A set of rusty metal stairs swung from side to side as we climbed them. The second floor had a metal catwalk, a small room with a filing cabinet in it, and a door to the outside. There was a flight of stairs out there, leading to another level but the door to it was chained and padlocked.

As we explored, we used the flash from our cameras to light up what was in front of us. He took a picture of me while I photographed long, threatening drill bits that hung on the wall.

On either side of the entrance sat an old car and rejected toys, their colors faded from excessive amounts of sun. There were wet leaves everywhere and the sky was slate gray. None of the lights in the factory worked but there were about twenty circuit breakers.

When we first tried to drive up the steep hill this place resides on, there was ice. We couldn’t make it. We ended up sliding back down and He almost lost control of the car.

We visited there a short while after we started dating. I consider it a romantic and tranquil experience. We stayed silent most of the time but connected in some way. I had fun and realized that we have a lot in common. It’s a nice memory to me because I remember feeling excited about our new relationship. I was wondering what we’d teach each other as time went on. I don’t think I’ll ever forget it because there were moments when I was just enjoying myself completely. We were photographing this forgotten beauty together. We had made it come alive with light.

He plans to take me to another deserted factory to take pictures at, which sounds interesting. There are also mental institutions we could go to but we’re not allowed to trespass. These things are what I love to see. They’re my style because they’re grungy.

I believe that things can be incredible, even untouched. Letting nature take its course, do its damage, it’s just life, candid. No one needs to pose; nothing needs to be perfect since that word shouldn’t even have a definition. Everything is wonderful in it’s own way, even graffiti, bones, dust, broken objects. They’re charming and unique, in my opinion. They’re man-made and manipulated. Rich with life without having to move.