I was asked by Lady C., aka Cherry Norwich, to write a bit on my experiences at and emotions about Norwich State Hospital, for a book she has in the works on the history of the Hospital. It will include photos of and stories from models she has photographed there, as well as many images documenting the site and interviews with former staff and patients. I am honored to be a part of this.
Norwich State Hospital resonates with me on every level. As one born into a family history rife with mental illness, a grandmother who tried to commit suicide twice, had shock treatment, an aunt in a nursing home at an early age due to bipolar disorder, an uncle in a group home as he is schizophrenic, an ex-boyfriend of nine years who would mutter swears at the angry voices that pounded in his head…and my own maybe not-quite-categorizeable version of mental illness which leads to anxiety, mania, and paralysis.
That was the initial draw to shooting out of an abandoned mental hospital.
So many layers beyond that have drawn me back, repeatedly.
The first time was fucking amazing. Pre-dawning it, while no longer necessry, was a scary and excting intro to Norwich. Lady C. and Karen picked me up (from where my father dropped me off around midnight) at The Hungry Tiger. A faux blues bar filled with guys wearing baseball caps and drinking domestic beers. It was raining heavily. I sat outside waiting in the designated “smoking area”, dressed like a jewel thief, complete w/black headscarf and many fucking bags. Drunk dudes pullled some extraordinarily average come-on lines as I smoked my cigar – I was way too focused on what we were about to do to give them the least notice.
That evening we drove into Norwich, stealthed down the railroad tracks (I learned Mohegan Sun from the other side of the tracks is like 12 o’clock on a sundial, showing the exact half-way p0int to our destination), and we sat in the theater freezing our asses off (it was late October) waiting for the sun to rise to shoot.
I was the first model, Lady C ever shot (despite having taken many pics in abandoments prior) and what shone thru even her first time shooting with a model was her innate ability to capture the personality and truth behind the model and location. Models are not objects to Lady C, and the abandonments she shoots out of are personalities to her, as well. They live and breath together.
I had been given much urgent instruction on the drive to the locale where we parked the car before walking thru woods to reach the railroad tracks. All bags ready to go, seatbelts unbuckled prior to stopping the car, out the door in silence and walking almost running until reaching the woods. No cell phone conversation, silence speed and utmost caution finding our way into a building to await the morning, manners of fending off Security if approached, once inside, staying away from windows, smoking only in areas where the lit end couldn’t be viewed by patrolling Security.
I followed Lady C. and Karen thru mazes of tunnels…Not knowing in the least where I was being lead, carrying five bags following the light from someone aheads’ cell phone thru falling-down tunnels where water leaked onto the floor which was rife with potholes and random objects blocking the way. Thinking about the level of trust I was putting in her. As a bondage submissive, I realize the Dom has the responsibility not me. My safety is his priority. My responsibility as a good “sub”: know how to folllow, take direction….behave to a point exactly as needed. It’s a sacred relationship that is earned. She, the first night, earned that level of trust.
We went back a number of times. Many photographers and models have wanted me to take them there. I cannot. She is my guide, my “Master” in these matters. I realize, now, once on the property, without guidance I could wander the tunnels, move around, find my way about, But that is only becuause, the first few trips, I put my trust in her.
We went back once in December, Shot a silent erotic video on the old Stage, kinda burlesque-style. I wore majorly huge fake eyelashes, curled my hair right before she picked me up at 3am, combed it out once we were ready to shoot. We were shivering as we waited for the sun to rise in that building that is now being demolished…the shivering didn’t stop as I became scantily clad and danced…she hadta slow the video down in parts to cover up my shaking with cold. We were outtta there by noon tbat day, a kick-ass video under out belt, making tracks in the snow that would make us easily traceable to anyone caring to find out.
Another trip, we truly started gettting our jam on with video. We came with many ideas, but found we best worked using a location that spoke at the moment…ideas flew to us on the spot. As the sun rose, I put on my make up in the room next to the space in which we had napped as we pre-dawned it, awaiting sunlight, full of adrenaline yet fucking exhausted. It was a bathroom, there was a broom…I had some cold chicken and an energy drink to fuel me for the day in one 0f my bags. I asked her to go with my vague idea. Skeleton discussion prior to filming me taking a piss in an 80 year old decrepit toilet, eating chicken and drinking on that toilet, then masturbating with an ancient dusty broom.
Ideas sped to us without trying. She became enamoured of sunbeams falling in a tunnel…starting shooting stills. I had a slight thought. She filmed me tripping and falling, hazily undressing as the sunbeams danced upon my body, falling to sleep on an ancient dirty floor.
That day ended when we had a fuckload more energy in us and vidcos yet to be created. We had filmed a simple duct-tape dental chair bondage short, and then a POV-style “rape scene”; she following me with the camera as I reacted to her “advances” (my favorite part remains when she realized I had a piece of tape sticking to my ass…she unsure what to do, but eventually, still POV-style, gently removed the tape from my behind. What a tender moment in an impending rape!)…At the end of that scene, we were smoking, I was naked, and we were planning part two of the video. Construction crews were on the site, and even tho my “screams of distress” and swearing and spewing hatred on video were quietly done, we could hear, loud and clear, the sound of rough constuction workers – “Where’s the front door?” about to enter the building in which we were comfortably sitting.
We looked at each other, panicked. Knowing the day was over. Knowing getting caught woud not just mean a ticket and court date, but the destruction of that days’ work.
Within a minute I was dressed in my “jewel thief” clothing and multiple bags of wardrobe packed. We back tracked thru building after building, making our way thru tunnel after tunnel, scoped the scene of possible exits to run thru overgrown summer grass and brambles where we could easily be seen before exiting the propety.
It took us an hour and a half to get out safely. Once on the tracks, we breathed a sigh of relief. Thank YOU, Lady C., for teaching me thru multiple trips how to Ninja it thru windowns and tunnels and down long leaps to the ground while carrying my always-too-many bags of wardrobe. Thank you for teaching me to trust my own judgment, and with0ut question folow yours.
Demolition crews are on the ground now. Buildings are coming down. We have a final trip to make, you scoping out where the new security cameras have been put into place prior, figuring out the safest entrance.
More videos and stills must be created than can fit into the day. I will be more comfortable making my way thru the property. You’ve taught by example how to Ninja. Yet you remain my “Master” in navigating the territory.
You bring the camera and locale expertise…I bring the fetish…the ideas come from the perfect location, from between us and beyond us.
The adventure is ready-made by the nature of what Norwich is, all that it stands for, its artchictecture a piece of history with stories told and untold…It remains a living story-book, a choose-your-own adventure, the Greatest Amusement Park ever not meant to be created.
