SILENT MONOLITHS

Concrete behemoths haunt rural landscapes.

Coaling towers, the subject of this mesmerizing, eerie photo essay, once functioned as coal storage containers for steam engines, hovering high above train tracks, positioned so that trains could pause to receive fuel beneath them. In the early part of the 20th century, newly developed architectural techniques allowed for these towers, previously built from fragile, flammable wood, to be more sturdily crafted out of concrete reinforced with steel. By the 1950s, however, these impressively permanent structures fell into disuse, as diesel trains supplanted coal entirely. Often remotely situated, they were left to age and decay beside farms, amid forests, and on the edges of small towns. Photographer Brouws made an impressive pilgrimage of sorts over the course of five years, traveling around the United States and Canada to capture documentary images of approximately 100 still-standing towers. In “Typology,” the first section of this collection, Brouws focuses his camera on the curious shapes of long-dormant towers. Some resemble grain silos; others look like barns lifted aloft, by turns spindly, portly, and occasionally wildly lopsided, like something built out of blocks by a toddler at play. A second section, “Typographies,” moves the lens out a bit further, placing coaling towers in situ—some still reside, disused, above active train lines; others fade quietly into copses of trees. A few are so awesomely decrepit and odd that they almost seem alive, wobbling like Baba Yaga’s house on shaky chicken legs. Brouws’ work here is informed by typology theory and the New Topographics movement, which is broadly fascinated with the relics of decaying Americana, but this book also serves, more widely, as a meditative mirror to readers. What happens to what is forgotten? How do we decode what lies in disuse?

A bleak but beautiful observance of past progress.