Field Notes No. 2
Field Notes No. 2
Getting to know each other
January was my first trip up to photograph the building. Not knowing exactly what I was getting myself into, I rented a couple of lenses to be safe. Get it? Safe? I crack myself up.
Anyway, I rented a 16mm–35mm 2.8 and a 50mm 1.2. I have a 24mm–70mm zoom, but it distorts too much for this project. Needless to say, I brought far more equipment than I needed.
My first trip to photograph the building was everything I hoped it would be. I arrived mid-morning, giving the sun time to swing around a bit more to the southeast. This place is magical in the morning. Light streams in through those incredible arched windows and pools on the hardwood floors in mimicked forms. Shadows shape the elaborate details of the doorknobs and hinges, and the floor creaks its welcome.
Come in, my friend. We have much to discuss.
My initial plan was to pop in my earbuds with a little 80s music and get to work. It didn’t go like that. When I say the building talks to me, I’m not just saying that to be deep and artsy. The wind on the Kansas plains doesn’t mess around, and when it really gets going it rattles the windows and ductwork. I found myself just following the sounds and chasing the light beams. I never did put my headphones in.
I spent most of the first day on the first floor. There are treasures everywhere. Hardware that I don’t even have a name for. Large, thick, solid wood doors that creak when you open them. And have you ever noticed that the shades are all at the same level? Kudos to the foundation for that extra detail. A simple but powerful statement that says we are proud of what we have done here.
Late morning I was photographing some of the details around the front door. I was very much lost in thought as I moved the tripod around the space. Suddenly I could have sworn I heard a door slam and someone yell my name. I thought maybe someone from the foundation had stopped by to see me and the door blew out of their hand. But when I went looking around the back door, there was no one there. I chalked it up to just being in an old building and creeping myself out.
I’m not so sure about that after talking with a few friends in the area. It seems our Skyscraper has some sad old stories to tell. We’ll circle back to those.
I shot for a few hours after lunch and decided to call it a day until I could look more closely at some of my files to check for noise, focus, and depth of field. I’ve been a photographer since I was sixteen years old, but my specialty is portraits. I’d be lying if I said I came into this fully confident in my architectural photography skills.
The next morning I got up before sunrise, chugged a couple of cups of coffee with Erin, and headed for the 100 block of N. Penn. It took about three minutes, and that’s only because of the treacherous dips on the Ness City side streets. I had forgotten how nice it is to not fight traffic.
Our Skyscraper was in a talkative mood. Loud and talkative. The wind was high that morning, even by Kansas standards, so the windows and cornices had a lot to share. They roared a mournful cry as if guiding me around the second floor.
Wow, what a space.
The majority of the refurbishing of the building has been concentrated on the first and third floors. The second floor once housed businesses and apartments. Whispers of their existence linger throughout the rooms. The numbers on the doors, dented and worn, mark the individual spaces along the second-floor hallway. A name I can’t quite make out is written in cursive on one of the doors.
The baseboards are scuffed and the door frames are marred. An old rusty nail and salvaged wire replace a missing doorknob while the wind and the building sing to me. At one point I set my phone to record and let it run for a little over a minute. The recording is loud and clear as a bell. Eerie, but somehow beautiful.
I spent a fair amount of time in the second-floor walk-through vault. I’ve never heard of one besides this one. It seems a bit counterproductive to me, but apparently they knew what they were doing.
I find the insides of these vault doors fascinating. There is elaborate etching on the interior surfaces of the doors, a place where so few were meant to see it. But it stands as a true testament to pride in craftsmanship. The locking mechanisms are also a rare treat. They are intricately detailed emblems of the manufacturers of the safes, still easily legible after more than 130 years.
Time and history have left their own artistic marks on the safe doors as well. It’s hard to say what some of it is, or once was, but it certainly adds to the story of resilience this Kansas community is known for.
