I grew up in a mill town. Massive red brick structures like this one sat abandoned along the Blackstone River in Cumberland, Rhode Island. They were the beached whales of the Industrial Revolution. Nowadays, some have been converted to condominiums with wonderful loft spaces. Some are scrappy artists’ studios. Others wait and rot.
Norwich, Connecticut, feels very much the same. Along the swift moving waterways, many textile mills were built in the 1800s. Among them was this one—the Falls Mill, built in 1855 on the Yantic River. In 1860, 350 women and 125 men worked in this place. It’s located at a beautiful and historic spot, next to a loud, misty, tumbling waterfall called “Indian’s Leap.” A number of my immigrant ancestors from Ireland—the Lynches—worked in this factory in the 1880s and ’90s, living within walking distance. James, Maggie, Julia, Jeremiah, Katie, and Delia—they all worked in this mill or the one nearby.
Sitting and drawing, I feel a bit of nostalgia. I’ve always found these hulking giants by the river to be appealing. And yet, I must remember the differences between the Lynches of the past and of those today. For my ancestors working here, the days must have been long and grueling. Looking at an 1880 census, I can see that three Lynches working a nearby woolen mill were ages 14, 12 and 11 years old.
My work, by contrast, consisted of a two-hour session of drawing onsite, followed by more drawing and writing back in my warm home studio. I like my factory better than theirs. I hope my work can draw attention to theirs.
Visiting the Relatives 