I took this photograph of Cheesden Lumb Mill recently. It lies within a spur of hills that extends out from the Pennines into Greater Manchester and Lancashire, UK.
The Cheesden Valley is a place that is full of solitude, but was once home to over 30 mills that utilised the resources of the valley. To the top left is Cheesden Lumb Mill. It is a remnant, but it is one of the earliest surviving water powered mills in the valley, and was built in 1786 (only 10 yrs after the Declaration of Independence).
I've often argued that surviving structures like Cheesden Lumb Mill are rarer than a medieval cathedral, and it saddens me that over the next decade or so, the north of England will have lost most of its mills.
I wanted to create a photograph that held the above narrative within its composition and came up with the idea of using the Cheesden brook to show the mill as a victim - as if it were bleeding out into the valley. I've deliberately placed the mill in the composition beyond the third - the eye needs to seek it out by moving across the landscape.
Taking the photograph was a difficult task - I needed to scout the landscape around the mill with my drone. Too close, and it would just look like a picturesque shot. Further back and with the twist of the brook - it takes on a more sinister aspect.
The snow helps with the feeling of isolation leaving only the blackness of the facade.
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That aura, those echoes - the muted light is transporting. What a space to feel rooted in history. I'd love to make that journey myself; you've stirred the opera lover and architectural dreamer in me.
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