When I set foot in the cavernous Georgetown Steam Plant, it was like entering a time machine. The hulking tanks, pipes, and rows of gleaming pressure gauges all seem plucked from a steampunk Tumblr page. “Are these stairs up to code?” I joked to my friend as we ascended rickety wooden steps to the upper level. Dusk light cast the brass railings in shades of gold.

The steam plant is one of Seattle’s best-kept secrets. Built in 1906, just as Seattle’s population was skyrocketing, the plant once powered our electric streetcar system. But as Seattle shifted to hydropower, it soon became obsolete. When the Duwamish River was rerouted in 1911 to allow for larger ships, the plant lost easy access to its water source. It was ultimately decommissioned in 1977, and declared a National Historical Landmark in 1984.

Today, the space is an arts and education hub, with year-round circus, dance, and photography shows. On Saturday, May 13, local photographer and School of Art + Art History + Design professor Eirik Johnson’s show “Leviathan Rising” debuted there. It will be on display through Sunday, May 21, and is free and open to the public.

His exhibition uses the distinct moods of the steam plant to its advantage. The main turbine hall, with its high ceilings and echoey acoustics, is the ideal venue for Johnson’s sound piece. With its rumbling, pulsating tones, his score evokes industrial activity.

Visitors may be surprised, then, to learn that it’s actually composed of recordings from beneath the Duwamish River. Johnson spurs the visitor to step back in time once again and reflect on the river’s original path.

On the plant’s upper level, visitors cross a slender bridge to reach the dark, shadowy boiler room. In this more intimate space, Johnson has projected his gorgeous, beguiling photographs. It’s impossible to resist the urge to stick your head in the coal shoveling holes and shout, “Hello?”

Having read about the project beforehand, I played a game with friends, asking them to guess what the photos depict. Most were totally stumped. With their swirling patterns and hues of burnt orange, cyan, and teal, the photos look more like abstract art than, well, photos. Forgive me for spoiling the answer: These are, in fact, the hulls of boats docked on the shores of the Duwamish. The buildup of rust, salt, and other debris create otherworldly colors and shapes.

One of the joys of “Leviathan Rising” is letting your imagination run wild and spin interpretations. To me, these pools of rust evoke flowers, while deep scratches look like claw marks. Either way, you won’t look at boats the same way after seeing these photos.

The art and steam plant have a symbiotic relationship, each informing the other. One woman wondered, as she poked her head into a dusty office, “Is this part of it?” Indeed, it’s hard to tell what’s art and what isn’t. Johnson’s work thrives off of just this kind of synthesis, marrying the industrial with the graceful. Whether you’re a STEM major or an arts kid, “Leviathan Rising” is a must-see.

More information on the Georgetown Steam Plant and “Leviathan Rising” can be found on their respective websites.

Reach writer Alison Jean Smith at arts@dailyuw.com. Twitter: @AlisonSmith1889

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In the 1960s, Martha Casanave left Southern California and moved to Monterey to study Russian at the Monterey Institute of International Studies. She brought her camera with her.

Nearly 60 years later, Casanave is being interviewed in her Pacific Grove apartment, legs curled up on the chair, windows open for a resort-like ocean view. There’s an oversized, saddled giraffe figure standing at the open window, studying the beach. But it’s not the stuffed animal that surprises in this setting but the colors – deep violet, full turquoise, one wall taken over by a big ceramic lizard. It is clear that this mistress of black-and-white photography enjoys color.

“Black-and-white photography seems more evocative,” she says when asked about photographers’ love of black-and-white. “It’s one more step away from reality,” she tests another answer. Also: “Black-and-white photography makes you pay attention to the light.”

There are currently two opportunities to explore Casanave’s work: First, Carmel’s Center for Photographic Art displays 60 pieces, drawing heavily from the iconic portraits published in book form as Trajectories, A Half Century of Portraits (2014).

“Environmental portraiture,” Casanave labels the work. “People pictured in their own spaces.”

But who are those people? First and foremost there are other artists, and then – since her interest in Russia never ceased – Russian and Jewish emigres in the U.S. There are also local icons – photos of and with Ansel Adams, a portrait of late psychiatrist Lotte Marcus with her husband, and a Hungarian friend from whom Casanave got a recipe for chicken paprikash.

The second exhibit is at the Monterey Museum of Art. When MMA Director Cory Madden heard about the CPA exhibit featuring people, she suggested a concurrent one featuring places: Casanave’s two pinhole photography series called Explorations Along an Imaginary Coastline and Explorations Along an Urban Coastline.

The first is an unforgettable series with a mysterious man in a 19th-century suit, staring at the crashing waves “as if in a storm could be found peace,” Casanave says, quoting the Russian writer Mikhail Lermontov.

MARTHA CASANAVE: EXPLORATIONS runs to Aug. 20 at Monterey Museum of Art, 559 Pacific St., Monterey. 372-5477, montereyart.org.

MARTHA CASANAVE: FICTIONS runs May 20-July 9 at Center for Photographic Art, San Carlos and 9th, Carmel. 625-5181, photography.org

Vase with yellow flowers

In 2021, while passing Riverside Church in San Antonio, Texas, Herman Ellis Dyal noticed an open door and, after not setting foot inside the building for half a century, entered. Over two years, Dyal photographed the interior of this church, which had been at the centre of his family’s life since the 1940s. He began to return regularly, to spend time with congregants, and document the many spaces no longer in use. The resulting photographs form his first monograph book.All colour images by Herman Ellis Dyal. The Things Not Seen Are Eternal, available via GOST