At church, all the stained-glass windows have names of original church members painted on them. Our congregation dates to around the turn of the 20th century, and the main part of our building was completed in 1909.
Two blocks east of our church is a street that bears this family name.
I’ve written lately of wishing for good in-camera JPEGs from my digital cameras. This photo is straight from my iPhone 6s, no editing. That happens more than I care to admit with my iPhone. I only wish the phone were easier to hold and use as a camera.
Church windows Pentax ME, 35mm f/2 SMC Pentax-FA AL Eastman Double-X 5222 2018
In the little church I attend on the Near Westside of Indianapolis, the sanctuary windows are all stained glass and feature the names of original members. Their descendants attended until the last of them died about a decade ago. Today, these names are historic curiosities to the current members.
Snow-covered steps Kodak VR35 K40 Kodak Max 400 (expired) 2018
At church, we all come in the back door. Our parking lot is back there.
But it means we often forget about our front door. The door that the neighborhood sees. And so on this snowy Sunday, nobody thought to shovel it clean. Were it not for the footprints on the steps, our neighbors might think we were not even open. Indeed, when we encounter them around the neighborhood that’s sometimes what they tell us.
It’s a common trap churches fall into: we know our ways. But we want to meet people who aren’t in our church, and they find our ways strange, or even to make no sense. And we wonder why we seldom see anybody new on Sunday.
Welcome to downtown New Augusta Olympus XA Kosmo Foto Mono 2017
While I was shooting up my first roll of Kosmo Foto Mono (which I review tomorrow — but for a preview, see my profile on the Kosmo Foto blog) I stopped briefly in New Augusta, a small town that has long since been swallowed up by Indianapolis.
I lived near here for a long time, and it became a place I visited from time to time just for photography. I wouldn’t mind living here. Even though New Augusta is surrounded by suburban strip malls on one side and light industrial on the other, when you’re on its streets it feels like a hundred miles from anywhere.
What was I thinking, photographing this Art Deco church building on expired slide film? I wanted beautiful photographs of my visit.
Beauty is, of course, subjective. If you enjoy the color shifts of expired film, you probably find these photographs to be lovely. I guess they are, in their own way. I just hoped for realistic color and clarity, as I wanted to share this church as you’d see it if you walked up to it.
It’s not that I couldn’t go back and photograph it again; Versailles (pronounced ver-SALES) is only about 80 miles southeast of Indianapolis. I’m sure I’ll do just that one day and get exactly the photographs I want.
This church is named for its builder, James Tyson, who made his fortune as the first investor in Walgreen’s drug stores. Completed in 1937, Tyson built the church as a tribute to his deceased mother, a charter member of this congregation upon its 1834 founding.
This carefully maintained building of brick, terra cotta, copper, aluminum, and glass famously contains not a single nail in its construction. Many of its materials were imported from around Europe, but the oak pews are of local timber.
I was inside for a meeting of the Historic Michigan Road Association; Versailles is a Michigan Road town. Two alignments of the Michigan Road pass through Ripley County, of which Versailles is the seat. The original 1830s alignment lies a few miles to the west, but the road was rerouted through Versailles at the dawn of the automobile era.
Such an architectural gem is unusual for a small Indiana town like Versailles. Tyson built two other Art Deco buildings here: a library and a school. The church is arguably the loveliest of the three.