The Port is in flux. Dormant industrial buildings are being reclaimed and repurposed. With analogue cameras and rolls of film, three local photographers have unbolted doors to capture this moment of transition.
The ghosts of the working port are everywhere. In the wool stores, jarrah floors reek of lanolin. In the flour mill, dusty machines evoke the thunder and rumble of steel and stone cracking wheat. At the quarantine station, bedding laced with moth holes is tossed back from an iron bedstead as if the internee has just departed.
Of the cluster of boat yards that clung to Cruickshank's Corner, however, nothing is left but steel slipways; the rest was demolished in 2009.
The photographers find beauty in abandoned spaces—hidden elements revealed by a shaft of light through a broken window, the solidity of stone quoins that once bore the weight of tons of milling machinery.