Digital Ink'd

The historic Chestnut Street factory, once a bustling hub of industry in Norwich, Connecticut, has traversed a remarkable journey through time, reflecting the city's industrial revolution and its current quest for revitalization. Established in 1885 as the Beer Bottling Works, this site remained active in various capacities until its eventual demolition in 2015. Initially, the factory played a pivotal role in Norwich's burgeoning beer industry. By 1897, it had expanded its operations to include Carpet Cleaning and Beer Bottling Works, showcasing the diverse industrial activities of the era. The early 20th century saw further diversification with D.M. Wilson's Steam Carpet Cleaning & Dye Works in 1903, followed by the establishment of the Norwich Nickel & Brass Company and the Pequot Brass Foundry in 1914. The J.B. Martin Company, known for manufacturing silk velvet, took over in 1926, and finally, the Norwich Paper Box Company occupied the space from 1949 until the

The memories of a vine-covered house in Newark left to decay while New Jersey's low-income residents grapple with an ever-worsening housing crisis, have stayed with me. Despite the urgent need for affordable housing, properties like this remain abandoned. This crisis is not unique to New Jersey; it is a pervasive issue across the United States, growing more severe with each passing day. I remember the day I stumbled upon this house vividly. En route to another destination, I noticed the neglected property and felt an inexplicable pull to investigate. I parked my car and approached with a sense of purpose as if I owned the place. With my trusty Canon T3i camera in hand, I began documenting the scene, capturing the story of a once-lived-in home now surrendered to the elements. I didn't venture inside. The house's dark interior and the possibility of encountering squatters made me cautious. Alone, and unwilling to risk my camera, I confined my exploration to the exterior. This

Interior Shot Update: February 29, 2024 **The journey of uncovering the stories behind historical sites is often fraught with twists and complexities. It's a path that demands diligence and an unwavering commitment to accuracy. In the pursuit of documenting the remnants of industrial heritage, a recent endeavor led to an unexpected realization: an image previously attributed to the interior of the Steele Heddle Manufacturing Complex was, in fact, misidentified. After an exhaustive review of various Philadelphia surveys and a meticulous comparative analysis, it has been determined that the actual location depicted is the Steel (Steal) Units Manufacturing Company. This significant oversight highlights the challenges inherent in historical research and urban exploration. The Steele Heddle Manufacturing, a separate entity, is located a mere street away, along W Allegheny Ave, further complicating the initial identification process. I extend my sincerest apologies for this confusio

  A derelict ferry boat awaits its fate. A plethora of boats of all sizes usually dock nearby before being towed away for scrap metal.  Driving along the winding road toward my designated parking spot, the scene ahead was impossible to miss. A black and brown rusting heap of metal, like a fallen giant, jutted out from the shore towards the water. It stood out starkly, an anomaly in the landscape. If you were an eagle, this facility would be unmistakable from the sky. Once a hub of energy and industry, this old railroad terminal, now silent and decaying, could no longer unload its tons of black gold. Reaching the property was straightforward, though the long walk there was a challenge. But as I arrived and stood at the beginning of the tracks, looking into the heart of this beast, my fatigue vanished. There was a beauty in its decayed grandeur. The remnants of its working days were still evident. Wooden track beams, now cracked and weathered, and the landing zone for train cars, althoug

  One hot summer day in August 2016, nearly eight years after my last visit, I went back over my archived photographs of the vibrant graffiti hub that had become a hot spot on Instagram so long ago. I knew it was illegal to step onto the property—it’s mostly abandoned and isolated, with over 150 acres of old industrial coal structures. But I found it quite peaceful, and I wasn’t the only one there admiring the artwork. Despite Philadelphia having some dangerous neighborhoods, I never felt unsafe at the pier. Recently, Graffiti Pier made headlines again. On July 31, 2024, a 10-20 foot section of the pier’s eastern point collapsed into the Delaware River. This part of Pier 18, once a coal-loading site for the Reading Company in Port Richmond, has been in a state of limbo for decades. The collapse could push it towards being sold or lead to its complete demolition. What could have been a prime riverfront public park for Philadelphia residents? Since 2018, the Delaware River Waterfront Cor

United Pattern Company was an enigma along Railroad Avenue in Bridgeport, Connecticut. From the outside, it appeared robust, standing tall with its mortar interlocking brickwork, a seemingly steadfast presence on the aptly named avenue. However, beneath this tough facade, the building was but a hollow shell, held together by struts and wooden boards, completely devoid of floors. For years, as I traversed different parts of Bridgeport, the sight of this building became a familiar landmark. I passed it multiple times, and from the rooftop of the nearby Casco Manufacturing building, I could see it from above—a stark reminder of a bygone era. It was an empty husk, a relic of industrial history that I encountered time and again during my travels through various Connecticut cities and towns. My friend J had once advised me that attempting to explore the interior was futile, as it was merely an empty shell. The only interior photographs of the place were taken by Stephen Berner . Aside from B