A couple weekends ago an urbex trip, having met with little success, morphed into a general city exploration. We would wind up in the neighborhood of Pullman on the South Side. A couple posts on this historic enclave will follow; we’ll start with a bit of art in the heart of this community.
Means of escape are provided, should misadventure occur.
Three B&W shots from an abandoned theater in southern Wisconsin, including a monochrome take on a shaft of light previously photographed from a different angle in color.
I spent a long time circling this car, trying to find the right balance of exposure time, ISO, and flashlight angle. Thus, I have a lot of similar shots, and it gets hard to choose the definitive one. The original shot of this car (to be found on this recent post) I’m no longer quite happy with. So, here’s a couple variations.
Like Orpheus of Greek myth, we descend into an underworld, impelled by our own dark longings and melancholy. Unlike the ancient hero, we have no lyre with which to soothe and pacify what we may find in Hell, and we know that our Eurydice will never come home with us. We hope only to capture what we see before the lights of the inferno dim and the gates slam closed behind us once again.
For those not from my fair city, Chicago has one spot, the spot from which everyone shoots photos of the skyline. There are almost always several people snapping away, with entire bridal parties stopping by on a regular basis to get the spectacular backdrop for their wedding photos. If you’ve seen postcards of Chicago or seen B-roll of our skyline, it was often shot here. So you’ll excuse the shot below as nothing new, just a “me too!” perhaps. But if we each have a guilty photography pleasure, the Idiot Photographer’s might be kittens, and mine is certainly cheesecake shots of this city’s skyline. Hopefully my guilty pleasure rubs off on you.
…and for the curious: it’s on Solidarity Drive, the road which runs out to the Adler planetarium.
I tramp through mud, brick piles, moss and mildew, asbestos and goldenrod to take photos of the discarded and forgotten. Yet for some reason the most common search term to find this blog has been “blue people oprah” this past week.
Never stop being so random.
Regards, the idiot photographer.
Hell is commonly depicted as a lake of fire teeming with the damned, the craggy shores being filled with scenes of souls being tortured. While this mise-en-scene may be appealing as a painting by Hieronymus Bosch, the real Hell would never offer its denizens the solace of suffering en masse. In fact, lifetime journeys across bleak unchanging vistas separate any two penitents. Each of the damned suffers among waking nightmares of his own making knowing that he will never unto eternity glimpse another soul.
A veritable army of daemon-slaves has been raised to administer this cursed realm. Each of these, too, is separated from his nearest cohort by unimaginable distances. So it was that these blight-lorries, the likes of which is pictured below, were built and set into motion by the very breath of Lucifer Morningstar himself. Eternally these cross the plains of Hades in mute, leering caravans. They will visit each demon, bearing torture implements as well as tea and a decent selection of books on tape.
October light sweeps through a derelict theater
One thing Cleveland has in spades in empty, abandoned factories that range from spectacular architecture to a hollow, echoing concrete box.
But even in the most seemingly barren of places there is a magical place to be found.