There is something captivating—almost mesmerizing—about stepping inside an abandoned building. For me, the experience is less about the emptiness and more about what has been left behind: the peeling paint, the cracked walls, the layers of dust slowly consuming everything. There’s a certain beauty in decay, a quiet elegance in how time seems to take its toll on every surface. Perhaps it’s because these structures—once so full of life, activity, and purpose—are now utterly still, in various stages of decay, between their original intended purpose, and eventual collapse.
On a recent venture, I visited the remains of a power plant with my friends Luke and Lucas, hidden within the grounds of an abandoned psychiatric hospital in New York State. This structure was both eerie and magnificent, and held within its walls a massive maze of catwalks. Unlike the patient wards or administration buildings of such hospitals—places that often hold an entirely different weight, steeped in the human experiences that unfolded within—this power plant felt distinct, its massive scale built solely for purposes of mechanical power generation.
Industrial buildings like this have always held a unique appeal for me. There’s something almost poetic about the massive scale of the machinery left behind, the rusting behemoths once responsible for generating the energy that ran this enormous institution. Standing next to those giant generators and boilers, I couldn’t help but feel small—infinitesimally small, in fact—compared to the machinery that once roared with life. The sense of proportion, that immense scale, serves as a reminder of just how small and fragile we are in comparison to the things we’ve built.
As a photographer, capturing this atmosphere—the contrast of human ingenuity against the natural decay—is exhilarating. The textures are incredible: layers of flaking paint that fall away like ancient bark, revealing a patchwork of color and rust. The dull hum of the outside world fades, replaced by the occasional echo of dripping water or a pigeon flapping its wings as it passes through a shattered window. Light, often scarce in these spaces, becomes a precious commodity, filtering through dirty windows or cracks in the ceiling, creating rays of light that hang in the dust, and casting long shadows that make the hulking machines seem even more imposing.
Every corner of the power plant held a new surprise—abandoned control panels with dials frozen in place, tools left to rust as if someone had only just walked away. In a way, it’s easy to imagine that the plant’s operators simply vanished, leaving everything behind. The stillness feels deliberate, almost planned, as though the building itself chose this fate.
And yet, even in its decay, there’s undeniable beauty. The juxtaposition of rusted steel and nature’s slow encroachment creates scenes that feel almost painterly. Vines had begun their invasion, wrapping themselves around the skeletons of machines, while water dripped from unseen cracks, pooling on the floor beneath metal beams weakened by years of neglect. It’s the kind of environment where life and death coexist—where what was once functional has become almost sacred in its abandonment.
But perhaps the most striking thing about photographing these spaces is the emotional weight they carry. For years, this power plant was the beating heart of the psychiatric hospital—its quiet, mechanical pulse keeping the lights on, the heat running, and the machines functioning. Now, the silence is overwhelming. What was once so vital now sits forgotten, a relic of a world that no longer exists. And in that silence, I can almost hear the whispers of its past, the faint echoes of engines that will never turn over again.
As I captured the final images before stepping back into the present, I couldn’t help but feel a deep respect for the building, for the stories it holds, and for the incredible machines within. There is something undeniably beautiful about these decaying industrial giants, something awe-inspiring in their scale, and something deeply human in their slow return to the earth.
For as long as they stand, they will continue to tell their stories—one rusted beam, one forgotten bolt, one broken window at a time. And as long as I can photograph them, I’ll be there, camera in hand, documenting the grace of their decay.
Behind-The-Scenes Still From Luke Explores…
Middletown State Psychiatric Center
Middletown, New York
September 2024
What’s amazing to me is how much of this equipment would actually still be in use today were it not left to decay like this. What a waste of perfectly good electrical equipment!
I would love to have taken some of this stuff home, as I love all things that look industrial.
I’m surprised it isn’t locked up. Very interesting stuff!
Thanks, Thomas!
It was actually locked up, so my friends and I had to find a way to access the building without resorting to breaking in. A lot of these places require you to climb in and out of windows, for example. During our exploration, we also climbed numerous ladders and traversed a lot of catwalks.
The colors and contrasts between the industrial equipment and the trees of the surrounding landscape are incredible.
There was an abandoned factory I visited several times to take pictures of graffiti, some of it really amazingly detailed. What had once been a place of mass production had become a safe space for people to practice their art. It’s all been torn down now and turned into apartments and restaurants. In some ways that’s an improvement but I still feel there’s a history that’s been lost.
The same thing is happening to this facility. Most of the buildings are being converted into private businesses, and one of the larger buildings is being used as a homeless shelter due to is original construction which consisted of hundreds of patient rooms. While one might make the argument that this is being done in the name of progress, I agree that we are also letting go of history. This facility was truly massive.