This piece is about many things. It is about the lifespan of a manmade structure - its construction, to much fanfare, its uses over forty years, and finally its destruction so that something bigger and "better" can take its place. It is about my own ability to cope with loss and change. It is also a political statement about waste, extravagance, and the myth of progress. Everything you see in the images assembled here - with the exceptions of Brian and myself - was slated for the landfill. Although we were successful in coordinating the salvage of nearly all of the furniture and many of the fixtures, much more potentially useful material, such as giant plates of glass and rare vintage glazed bricks, will not be saved, nor will any of the mature trees on the site.

Today, November 6, 2007, the beginning stages in the demolition of 3000 North Interregional have begun. Today, also, I learned from my extremely well-informed roommate of a plastic 'garbage island' twice the size of Texas floating in the Pacific Ocean. Is it surprising, with our culture's cavalier attitude toward disposability, that this thing exists? At least the garbage island will not be able to count 150 auditorium seats from Texas among its 3.5 million ton bulk.

These images catalog three afternoons spent in deep thought (and sweaty labor) in the abandoned Health Resource Center, formerly Hyltin-Manor. In those three days, I got to know Hyltin-Manor far more intimately than I ever had when I was simply working across the street from it. I explored each room with painstaking thoroughness, marvelling at its subtle nuances - the hidden closets, the architectural details that spoke of a bygone era of craftsmanship.

It is too soon to tell if this project has brought me the closure I had sought. However, I know I have been successful in creating an image of Hyltin-Manor that will survive in the public consciousness forever.

Elizabeth J. Anderson
November 2007

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