Inside the Rebirth of the Salt Shed – Chicago Magazine

Documentary photographer Sandra Steinbrecher stepped foot on the property at North Elston Avenue and West Blackhawk Street for the first time, at the intersection of past and future. As of September 2021, this looming steel structure was no longer the Morton Salt complex where the space was located from 1929 to 2015, and was not yet the music venue known as the Salt Shed today and 2022 was opened.

Steinbrecher had asked Craig Golden, founder of Blue Star Properties, which owns Salt Shed, if she could walk through with her cameras right at the start of renovations, as crews were just beginning to dismantle the structure. She had no idea at the time what, if anything, she would do with the photos she would take, but she was quickly impressed by how significant the Salt Shed project would be.

She returned to the site again and again, and the dramatic change she documented was recently published as a 144-page book by Trope Publishing. The salt shed.

Steinbrecher says the decision to reinvent the facility with the iconic “Morton Salt Girl” on the roof shows how we can care for our shared memories and cultural landmarks.

“When you draw attention to something or shine a light on something, you're sort of saying, 'Look at what's here, look at what we've done,'” says Steinbrecher. “This building was a classic 1920s industrial production shed, but the design, integrity and materials were all worth saving – and it's about more than the materials, it's the memories.” People of all generations and from different backgrounds can appreciate this place.”

Steinbrecher photographed the structure from as many angles as she could capture: under the exposed steel beams, from the roofs of neighboring buildings, under the floors, and on the roof. She often arrived early to capture not only the workers in action but also the morning light. “It was visually very exciting,” she says.

The people who worked on the site were one of the most invigorating parts of the project for Steinbrecher. She devotes a chapter to them, but they are present in images throughout the book.

“Over time, I developed a great appreciation for the fusion of these worlds: architecture and engineering and history and then the craftsmanship and the workers,” she says. “Everyone needs everyone, right?”

When the workers had downtime, Steinbrecher chatted with them, appreciating the pride they took in their work and watching as bits of their personal lives leaked out. One day, a pipe fitter might pull a piece of paper out of his 10-year-old daughter's pocket on his sandwich. Steinbrecher learned that the master plumber called his father – himself a retired plumber – almost every evening to discuss what was happening on site that day.

She had expected to see the machines, but she hadn't expected how much hands-on work was involved. By photographing the activities of workers—a young woman repainting the towering Morton Salt Girl, the choreographed dance leveling cement floors—she wanted to draw readers' eyes to people's literal connection to their built environment.

The depiction of people throughout the construction process of the salt shed also provided insight into the size of the structure. In the book, Steinbrecher shows workers fitting tightly into manholes and sitting on steel in front of the city skyline. As the story nears completion of the venue, we also begin to see the shift in energy: workers hammering during the day give way to electricians knitting together cables later in the day.

Finally we see the tone of the room completely change. The book ends with the current state of the Salt Shed as a cultural venue, with images of artists and their audiences both inside the Shed and outside the fairgrounds. Here too, Steinbrecher shows the depth of the building: people are milling about in the complex, skyscrapers and the river rise directly behind them.

In the book's foreword, author Heidi Stevens says that with this reimagined space, people now have the opportunity to connect with the past. Instead of demolishing a structure that thousands of people marked their journey through the city every day, it was converted into a destination itself.

“One thing I was hoping to do with this photography and stories is that it would make historic preservation come alive for people, so that it feels like something you could do or would do,” says Steinbrecher. Rather than saving buildings because they were designed by a famous architect or because they were great public spaces, she hopes the book will remind people to develop an appreciation for these equally important industrial buildings. And they don't have to become museums either.

“This is also a living breathing space,” she says. “Now it’s a living landmark. It feels very alive and full of life.”