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All Things Connecticut New Print Releases

What Remains of the Joy

What Remains of the Joy (Pleasure Beach on Long Beach Peninsula, Bridgeport, Connecticut)
“What Remains of the Joy”
Pleasure Beach on Long Beach Peninsula, Bridgeport, Connecticut
© 2014 J. G. Coleman

“It is said that time is unrelated to everything else. It goes on and on, unnoticing of our actions, our falls, our triumphs. Who’s to care then, if time does not remember us? It flies by, fleeting, inattentive and disinterested in any occupants of this earth. What are we, then, if time thinks so little of everyone it passes?”

—Alexia Purdy, “Disarming”

Abandoned places possess a unique allure for those who are receptive to the stories that resonate in the hollows of their vacant buildings and crumbling foundations. Few places in Connecticut so strongly embodied the “post-apocalypse” aesthetic as Pleasure Beach, a deserted amusement park and cottage village which stood vacant for nearly two decades at the end of a two-mile peninsula on Long Island Sound. My newly-released work features the quiet landscapes of this ghost town and seeks out untroubled beauty in a place where the rhythms and sounds of mankind have been extinguished.

Beginning in the late 1890s, Pleasure Beach emerged as a modest amusement park and beach cottage community situated at the end of a long peninsula that extended westward from the coast of Stratford into Bridgeport Harbor. Although it was initially accessible only by ferry, a swing bridge was eventually constructed in the 1920s which connected Pleasure Beach to the coast of Bridgeport and permitted easy access for pedestrians and automobiles alike.

A Wall Overtaken (Pleasure Beach on Long Beach Peninsula, Bridgeport, Connecticut)
“A Wall Overtaken”
Pleasure Beach on Long Beach Peninsula, Bridgeport, Connecticut
© 2014 J. G. Coleman

The next five decades proved tumultuous for the amusement park. Throughout the years, it would enjoy periods during which it was wildly successful, only to grow run-down and be sold off when shifts in economy or culture led to declines in attendance. But whenever Pleasure Beach reached the brink of abandonment, it seemed that another owner would step up and take the reins for some number of years. When a fire ripped through the park in the 1950s, its days as a proper amusement park were numbered, but a beer garden, dance pavilion, playhouse and other disparate attractions remained and continued to draw some visitors for another two decades. When the dance pavilion succumbed to fire in the 1970s, and with the rest of the structures beginning to show their age, the 80-year legacy of Pleasure Beach finally came to a close.

For owners of the dozens of cottages adjacent to the defunct amusement park, though, the closure may perhaps have been a welcome source of quietude. After all, they continued to enjoy their seaside properties for another two decades, accessing them via the same old, trusty swing bridge that once serviced Pleasure Beach. But even this lingering human presence would not last. In an all too common scenario for Pleasure Beach, fire engulfed the mid-section of the bridge in 1996, destroying the only road to the cottages. With municipal emergency vehicles no longer able to access the area, the cottagers were evicted. They hauled away whatever of their belongings they could by barge and the entire neighborhood of cottages, alive with summertime joy just a year earlier, quite suddenly became Connecticut’s largest ghost town.

Dominion of the Gulls (Pleasure Beach on Long Beach Peninsula, Bridgeport, Connecticut)
“Dominion of the Gulls”
Pleasure Beach on Long Beach Peninsula, Bridgeport, Connecticut
© 2014 J. G. Coleman

My piece, Dominion of the Gulls, was taken upon the stub of the decaying swing bridge that still extends from Pleasure Beach towards the Bridgeport mainland (the charred mid-section of the bridge was directly behind me). Ever since Pleasure Beach was abandoned almost two decades ago, clever herring gulls have been cracking open clams, oysters and snails by dropping them upon the bridge decking from dozens of feet in the air. Some of my other works above, such as What Remains of the Joy (top) and A Wall Overtaken, portray further ruins such as broken lamp posts and crumbling seawalls which are commonplace along the beaches.

Dawn Over Lewis Gut (Lewis Gut, Pleasure Beach & the Long Beach Peninsula, Bridgeport, Connecticut)
“Dawn Over Lewis Gut”
Lewis Gut beside Pleasure Beach & the Long Beach Peninsula, Bridgeport, Connecticut
© 2014 J. G. Coleman

But despite the unfortunate circumstances surrounding the abandonment of Pleasure Beach, there’s no doubt that nearly two decades of isolation from the densely populated mainland has returned this barrier peninsula to a wild state. My pieces, Dawn Over Lewis Gut and Lewis Gut, Tide Withdrawn, celebrate the natural beauty that has persisted at Pleasure Beach even as time and vandalism took its toll upon the structures. For the benefit of the inquisitive, it’s worth mentioning that Lewis Gut is the narrow cove which separates Pleasure Beach and the Long Beach Peninsula from the mainland of Stratford. The term “gut” for a cove or bay always struck me as somewhat odd, though I’ve come to discover that it is in no way without precedent.

For sure, the story of Pleasure Beach could’ve ended with its abandonment in 1996, but both Bridgeport and Stratford have shown renewed interest in the land over recent years. For its own part, Stratford went ahead and demolished the dozens of decaying cottages adjacent to Pleasure Beach back in 2011, eventually selling its stake in the peninsula to the federal government for preservation as valuable breeding habitat for shorebirds. Bridgeport has gone a different direction, reopening the grounds of Pleasure Beach as a town park. In fact, as of June 28, 2014, ferries began shuttling visitors back and forth between the mainland and the newly-constructed dock on the tip of the peninsula.

Lewis Gut, Tide Withdrawn (Lewis Gut beside Pleasure Beach and Long Beach Peninsula, Bridgeport, Connecticut)
“Lewis Gut, Tide Withdrawn”
Lewis Gut beside Pleasure Beach and Long Beach Peninsula, Bridgeport, Connecticut
© 2014 J. G. Coleman

Between reanimating the peninsula with sounds of summertime joy and setting aside a large swath as conservation land, one could hardly imagine a more positive direction for the latest chapter in the story of Pleasure Beach. That being said, I would be lying if I didn’t admit at least a hint of regret that Connecticut’s most distinctive ghost town —and, for that matter, one of its most peculiar wildland areas— has suddenly become quite a bit more tame and pedestrian. In this day in age, as Connecticut is further developed and quiet, out-of-the-way places seem to be vanishing, the notion of a modern ghost town of any sort existing in the state seems preposterous. For better or worse, civilization in Southern New England abhors a vacuum and one would think that such a large expanse of beachfront property would have been swallowed up by a developer long ago. Indeed, its remarkable that Pleasure Beach persisted so long in its barren state in spite of the hustle and bustle on the nearby mainland. For well over a century, though, Pleasure Beach has been characterized by change and by ever-repeating patterns of renewal and exhaustion. Seeing this place revived from its ruins may be bittersweet in a certain sense, but its a fitting addition to the saga of Pleasure Beach.

For those who are curious, the photographs seen here were produced in March 2014, roughly three months before Pleasure Beach was reopened for the first time in 18 years.

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Categories
All Things Connecticut New Print Releases

The Light at Fayerweather Island

Fayerweather Daybreak (Black Rock Lighthouse on Fayerweather Island, Seaside Park, Bridgeport, Connecticut)
“Fayerweather Daybreak”
Black Rock Lighthouse on Fayerweather Island, Seaside Park, Bridgeport, Connecticut
© 2014 J. G. Coleman

For nearly 200 years, the Black Rock Lighthouse has been perched upon Fayerweather Island just off the coast of Bridgeport, Connecticut, weathering countless hurricanes, blizzards, floods and even the tireless efforts of several generations of vandals. Against all odds, the Black Rock Light continues to watch over Long Island Sound to this very day, an enduring reminder of a bygone era of Connecticut maritime heritage.

This iconic lighthouse of the Bridgeport coastline is featured in my new pieces, Fayerweather Daybreak (above) and Black Rock Crescendo (below), both of which feature the white hexagonal tower against the glorious light of dawn. Indeed, the Black Rock Light is quite a rare gem, especially when we consider that so much of the view of Bridgeport’s coastline in this area includes industrial buildings and factory smokestacks.

Black Rock Crescendo (Black Rock Lighthouse on Fayerweather Island, Seaside Park, Bridgeport, Connecticut)
“Black Rock Crescendo”
Black Rock Lighthouse on Fayerweather Island, Seaside Park, Bridgeport, Connecticut
© 2014 J. G. Coleman

It may be interesting to note that, even though the Black Rock Light is situated on Fayerweather Island, it is one of the few lighthouses left in Connecticut that is accessible by the public on foot. Most of Connecticut’s off-shore lighthouses were constructed upon islands that are relatively distant from the coast, but when the Black Rock Light was built upon Fayerweather Island in the earlier half the 19th-century, it was a mere 1000 feet from the mainland. In fact, folks could even walk to the island on a sandbar that would emerge during low-tide. By 1880s, the decision was made to build a large stone breakwater over the existing sandbar, permanently linking the island to the mainland even during high tide.

The new breakwater would surely have been appreciated by lighthouse keepers and maintenance crews who could now easily move back and forth between the island and mainland without the need for a boat. But in 1933, when the lighthouse was officially decommissioned and essentially left abandoned, the breakwater became an avenue for vandals that gutted and routinely defaced the structure while the ravages of time and environment took their toll. Mercifully, two efforts at restoration were eventually launched, one in the 1980s and the other in the 1990s, which succeeded at stabilizing and beautifying the decaying structure.

Unfortunately, even with the lighthouse now being part and parcel to Bridgeport’s Seaside Park, vandalism remains an on-going issue. During the shoot that I produced Fayerweather Daybreak and Black Rock Crescendo, for example, I found the walls of the lighthouse scribbled with all manner of graffiti which I decided to painstakingly edit out of my final images. The result is that the lighthouse you see in these works is a bit idealized, at least in the sense that it is shown in the context of world where folks might be inclined to respect this old sentinel of Black Rock Harbor rather using it as a personal billboard.

Luckily, if spray paint is the only problem that the Black Rock Light needs to contend with, it’s likely to fare exceptionally well. Upon its completion in 1823, the builders of the Black Rock Light claimed that it had been constructed to “withstand the storm of ages”… so far, it’s done exactly that.

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As part of J. G. Coleman’s Decor Series prints, all of the works seen here are available at Fine Art America. You are encouraged to visit his J. G. Coleman’s Fine Art America eStore, or see all of Fine Art America’s connecticut art.