There’s a certain solitude within the sparseness of an industrial lot that I find comforting. Their emptiness offers a reprieve from New York’s unrelenting pace. In them, time slows; its presence is more pronounced. They're marked by the rust of immovable detritus and unkempt grass overgrowing . Trucks pass by and workers mill about, but there are few signs of metropolitan buzz to be seen anywhere.
Heaps of unsold materials stand, stack and pile together like abstract monuments to nothing in particular. Everything appears as if it has always been there, yet bear no histories I know of. Objects there are waiting to be made - to be transformed into a product of recognizable use and incorporated into the everyday. To me, their past is unknown, their present is unfamiliar and their future lay elsewhere.
This dissonance creates a space in which I feel removed from my reality. Where I can be alone, and at ease, amongst the unfamiliar, yet seemingly, untouched. In a city of millions, when large crowds are risky and loneliness is everywhere, I’ve found comfort in the hard grounds of industrial zones and empty lots. Photos and text by Benji Gielser.