Breaking Away
1930’s New York was the decade the skyline evolved from towering buildings to true behemoth skyscrapers. While the iconic image of nearly a dozen iron workers eating lunch on a steel beam in Rockefeller Center might be what’s etched in our psyche, there was another engineering development that was taking shape far from New York - one that would adorn nearly every one of these new skyscrapers.
A thousand miles away, in Bloomington Indiana, the limestone industry was literally exploding. And in 1931, over 200,000 cubic feet of it was used in the construction of the most notorious building in Manhattan, the Empire State Building.
Located minutes away from downtown Bloomington, rests a rectangular hole in the earth where that very limestone was mined out of. The crater from the Empire State Building is one of the largest of all the nearby quarries, but it has long been abandoned. The Empire Quarry’s sheer rock walls have now filled with a collection of ground and rain water giving it an alluring hue.
Today, the land is on private property and off limits to the public. Signs around the quarry warn against trespassers. Another warned against explosives in the area. Katie and I found a nearby road we could park on, and after a quick jaunt in the woods, we were standing above the rim.
Sneaking onto the rim above Empire Quarry
To stand at the base of the Empire State Building is staggering, but I would argue that to stand at the top of the quarry looking into the hole which the 102-story monolith was pulled from is even more mind-boggling. When doing so, your mind wanders about the invisible structure pulled from the crater and the untold depths of the pool of water that remains.
Quarries in this area have a long history of trespassing with the locals. Many can recount sneaking into quarries after dark, running from the police, or even the sound of a shotgun as a group of teenagers scrambled off private property. The practice exploded after the plight of the industry was fictionalized in the 1979 Dennis Quaid film, Breaking Away.
As popularity for the film grew, the crowds gathered. Many were trying to imitate the film’s iconic jump off Chimney Rock, a reenactment that would lead to many injuries and a few deaths. The water shimmers a tantalizing aquamarine hue. The overgrowth around the rim is framed in the mirrored reflection of the pool of water. I imagine to swim at the base of the vertical cliffs is as incredible as perching atop the Empire State Building and looking down.
Scene from Breaking Away, Chimney Rock
To jump off the rim though, which can be as high as 80 feet, is to gamble on what’s flooded below. When the hole was abandoned, drilling equipment, industrials bits, and always- shifting rock remained. Still, countless locals are eager to dazzle you with tails of when they made the jump.
Today, the area is filled with much more abandoned mines than active ones. Above-ground and pit-mines remain hidden behind overgrowth just off the highway. If you’re lucky enough to stumble across one of these, the site is enchanting. When Katie and I spotted a gaping hole in the side of a cliff from our car, we immediately pulled over. When we parked and walked closer, the site was even more captivating.
The entrance to the mine we discovered was massive, but hidden almost completely by trees and brush. Looking down the side of the cliff face, we could see the entrance point was one of dozens, each with a pile of rocks 3-4 stories to deter explorers.
As we scrambled over the rocks and into the mine we were transported into another world. The mine, which was once bustling with activity, held an unsettling silence. Rusty machinery and remnants of the former operation dotted the mine floor. A trail of carved rock wound deep into the mine in dozens of directions, each leading to darkness. The steep walls were etched with jagged edges, serving as a reminder of the demolition used to extract the rock. The once industrial space must have deserted seemingly overnight.
The spot was a favorite for Katie and I to wander in for years. Endless alcoves and smaller offshoots within the quarry made getting turned around almost evident. We brought several friends here to get lost in the maze together. One particular friend, Sam, was especially captivated. The labyrinth of twisting mazes intrigued Sam in a way it hadn’t others.
Sam was an artist, an incredible one, who entered street art competitions, painted amazing murals, and hosted his own exhibits. I had gone and seen him at a sidewalk contest once, where he was working on a portrait of his two daughters, and I was in disbelief that the entire portrait was made from sidewalk chalk.
Sam probably would be uncomfortable with being recognized as a gifted artist, and he certainly wouldn’t mention it himself. He’s humble, but sometimes hard to read. One time I filled the back of his pickup truck with over a hundred pounds of carrots in the middle of the night. Apparently, he hated it, but I never learned this until years later.
Sam was struck by the mine’s mystery of trails that crisscrossed each other seemingly at random. As we got lost together, he had an idea to make a mural on one of the massive columns in the mine that would greet only the most disoriented of visitors. A secret and beautiful discovery that one would be lucky to find once, and maybe never find it again.
Sam’s sidewalk chalk portrait
It was evident that a handful of artists had been in the mine before, but they all stuck near the entrance where their art would be seen. Sam wanted his to be hidden. One rarely discovered by the most daring of adventurers who would be rewarded for their travels.
There were several obstacles to our quest. The mural would have to be big. The rock columns resemble sequoia trees at their base. Anything painted on the walls are dwarfed by their size. Without power, we would also have to pack in battery-powered equipment and spotlights. The batteries would require limited time, which meant either scaling down our mural or including more artists. Sam had the idea to make it a community mural - sending an open invitation to anyone who wanted to leave their mark.
His idea was sort of a paint-by number project where he would roughly outline the portrait and we would fill in the lines. This was another thing I liked about Sam. If Sam wanted a perfect final product, most of us would not have been invited - especially people who had filled his truck with carrots.
We discussed how many people we would need to fill the columns width given the limited battery power. Sam still hadn’t decided on what to paint, but when we landed on about a dozen people needed for the mural he stopped.
“How about The Last Supper? We each get a disciple!”
So, one saturday afternoon, we caravanned out to the mine with an eclectic mix of friends. We packed a duffel bag full of paint cans and brushes. We carried backpacks with spare batteries and tripods with spot lights. After marching deep enough into the cave where any sign of light had disappeared, we set up our full production pointed at a single column. The rocky canvas, one of thousands, was ready to be transformed.
Sam and I bookended the spectrum of abilities with me being hopeless and Sam taking the role of da Vinci. Sam began by outlining the disciples sitting around the table. We each picked a color and followed behind Sam, indiscriminately painting inside the lines without regard to what each other’s color palate was. With so many people working simultaneously, the portrait was designed to be a geometric, “pick a spot and start spraying” type experiment. It was a holy mess, but a beautiful one.
Early on we realized the most important equipment we left behind was a ladder. I recalled stumbling across one years before in a hidden corner of the mine. The spot stood out to me because it was in one of the furthest sections. It was stacked on top of an odd ledge and then pierced upwards higher than the rest of the ceiling. It was one of the only locations where water was persistent, spraying down from the ceiling over the ladder, and gathering in a pool underneath. It was as if the miners had been trying to dig out a skylight and then quickly abandoned their project when they struck water.
Seeing as I was the least equipped to paint, I set out deeper into the mine in search of the ladder. As the spotlights faded, I pondered if I had volunteered to find the ladder, or if the task had been carefully orchestrated. My unsteady hand was comically pushing the limits of our carefree approach.
Soon, the sound of my friends faded completely. This was the deepest I had ever been into the mine by myself, and I quickly realized I was outmatched for the ladder task as well. At some point, I got turned around while walking down a particularly narrow offshoot of the main trail. The walls narrowed more and more like an ancient medina full of alleyways.
It was nearly an hour of wrong turns and dead ends before I began to panic. The ladder mission had been abandoned quickly, as my mission simply became finding my friends again. I was in a part of the mine I had rarely ventured, and there was almost nothing out of the ordinary amongst the sea of rock. Shortly after my careful walk turned into an anxious jog, I spotted a piece of graffiti I recognized. I was able to get back to one of the main arteries and follow it to an entrance.
Multiple splits make it easy to get lost away from the entrance
At first sign of light I saw the silhouette of a man and woman walking in the distance. I knew they weren’t with my group, and they were alarmed when they saw they weren’t alone. I tried to break the ice by running right up to them.
“What day is it?!” I said frantically. The man looked stunned as my panicked face broke into a smile and we shared a collective laugh.
I smelled the mural before I found it again. The 40 foot ceilings in the mine were no match for a dozen artists working 90 minutes on the rock. We had brought two gas masks, which were an afterthought for the most part - and the ones we brought weren’t being used. The air was thick with fumes, but I was the only one who seemed to notice. “Do y’all feel okay?” I asked.
“We feel great! Where’s the ladder? We still haven’t done the ceiling.”
I had hardly told them the disappointing news when my eyes caught the mural. I stood in amazement. It was a kaleidoscope of shapes and colors.
While I was taking it in, I saw the plan taking shape for how to begin painting the ceiling. A group of friends began moving loose rock as if to make a step ladder out of boulders. The small step ladder we did have was being balanced on top of this. I moved in to steady the person climbing the rocks like a human pyramid.
The pyramid’s point, our friend Hunter, was clinging onto a rock ledge above us. She reached even further to hoist herself up when suddenly the rock shifted, and in a snap, it broke away. At that moment, the pyramid collapsed upon itself, bringing down the group on top of each other.
As we gathered ourselves, I looked up to see Hunter clutching her face and dripping blood. A piece of limestone big enough to cause some blunt force trauma had grazed her on the way down, leaving a deep gash just an inch away from her eye.
In one swift motion, Katie ripped off her shirt like an episode of Baywatch and applied pressure to Hunter’s eye. The hospital was evident, but getting her there would be tricky. A few of the muralists who knew their way out guided them while Katie walked alongside soaking up the blood. They were climbing up the three story pile of boulders at the entrance as I came running after. It was my turn to rip off my own shirt and hand it to Katie. I suggested she might want one for the hospital.
And in a few moments notice, the bustling worksite had evaporated into solitude. It was as if the mine had become re-abandoned. The worksite of 12 had dwindled to three, one of them shirtless – the other two mostly impaired from paint fumes. We stared at the mural with a range of emotions. It was unfinished chaos born of mistakes, missing rock, a few drops of blood, and above all, a gaping space where the ceiling lay blank. Nevertheless, we were proud.
It took me two years to venture back to the site of the mine. The overgrowth of the vegetation had dwarfed the massive entrances even more. With only a flash light in hand, I again traversed the maze of rock with hope evaporating each attempt to locate the column. I imagined the droplets of water collecting on the ceiling and running down the rock, reclaiming the space from human hands, just as it had done before. I convinced myself the mural was no more just as my flashlight landed on a column.
All at once I saw it. It was just as Sam had intended. I had wandered into a discovery - one I couldn’t repeat if I tried.
The painting wasn’t flawless. I am certain it was the most indiscriminate Sam had ever painted, and the most haphazard work he had ever supervised. My main job, ladder duty, had even been a resounding failure. Still, the final result mesmerized me.
It wasn't just the painting itself, but what the subjects represented—the camaraderie of twelve friends gathered around a table. It was the act of communing together. It was the same depiction on a steal beam in Rockefeller Plaza. It was the same community we constructed when we left our imperfect mark on the rock.
I recalled the friendships who brought it to life in a chaotic afternoon. I have come to appreciate the act of communing with friends and loved ones as one of the most important things in my life. To insert ourselves into each others lives is a holy mess. Rarely is the act so well documented. Every crooked line, the gaping hole, the splintered cracks, showcased an array of abilities - it was perfect.
I learned shortly after our day making the mural that Leonardo da Vinci’s Last Supper has its own gaping hole, not on the ceiling but at the feet. The painting, which has been restored and almost entirely recreated, has been painted directly on the wall of the Santa Maria delle Grazie since 1494. It was less than 100 years old when it was considered beyond repair. Shortly after its creation, the painting began to peel and flake. One by one, chips of paint would break away from the wall all-together. It was so disregarded, a doorway was cut directly into the masterpiece, right at the feet of Jesus - where broken pieces of paint collected into a flawless heap.
Locations mentioned:
Empire State Building Quarry | 39.07091, -86.52823
Aboveground Limestone Mine | Milltown, Indiana
