Interview with David Lawlor

Dave is a filmmaker, photographer, and journalist based in Providence, Rhode Island. A New Englander at heart, he documents the stories of forgotten places—blending history, movement, and community. As an immigrant and storyteller, he’s committed to preserving the past while embracing the tools of the future.

1. How did you become interested in storytelling and Rhode Island’s historic treasures?

It might’ve started in second grade at St. Pius [Providence]. I remember standing at the front of the class, making up a story on the spot. I don’t remember what I said—but I remember how fun it was. I always knew I wanted to be some kind of entertainer. I was into breakdancing, tap dance, basketball — anything that involved movement and expression. That naturally led me to documenting things with home movies. I filmed my friends and me doing parkour and b-boying. Then at [La Salle] Academy, I got introduced to narrative filmmaking and experimental work. That’s when things started to click.

My passion for history and documenting Rhode Island’s forgotten places wasn’t part of the original plan. I just wanted to capture things—through photos and moving images. But watching my friend Jason Allard evolve his storytelling style—from simple images to full narratives—pushed me. I realized that if I wanted to make a bigger impact, I had to use my voice too.

At first, I had zero confidence in speaking on camera. But being around other creatives helped me step into that space. At PBS, we’re always brainstorming new story ideas. I’ve found my niche: showcasing history before it disappears. Whether through destruction or revitalization, these places are changing fast. A camera and a narrative can preserve what would otherwise be lost.

Things really took off when I got a drone. That aerial perspective brought the bigger picture into focus. And once I connected with the community, the stories started flowing. Working with PBS gives this work even more credibility—and I love every part of it.

2. How did these interests converge with filmmaking?

Movement and process have always fascinated me. Whether it’s a dancer flowing through a set or a building slowly collapsing over time—there’s a rhythm and story there. From a young age, I needed a camera near me. Filming gave me an excuse to replay, reflect, and improve. That carried into everything — dance, basketball, even documenting random neighborhood adventures. It was always about capturing the moment.

Filmmaking became my outlet. As a documentarian, I’m self-taught. I learned by doing—editing footage of myself, figuring out shots, experimenting with style. It became second nature. For me, film is about movement—whether of people or time.

3. What advice would you give to people interested in exploring the relationship between history and filmmaking?

First: go outside. Walk around. Visit places like Roger Williams National Memorial or Slater Mill. Talk to a ranger Andy . Take it in. Then go do something with that feeling. You don’t need a huge budget or a perfect plan. You just need curiosity and a way to share what you find.

The kind of work I do—urban exploration—sometimes brings you close to the line. But I don’t go looking for trouble. I see myself as a guardian of forgotten architecture. If we don’t document these places, how do we preserve their stories?

I’ve built a network of preservationists, developers, and creatives who care about this stuff. That community is key. Put your work out there. Connect. Listen. You never know what doors will open.

Also: Don’t wait for permission to start. Explore. Experiment. Use your phone if that’s all you’ve got. Every filmmaker starts somewhere.

4. Could you share a story from your adventures filming across the state?

I could talk about a dozen day-long adventures, but here’s one that stuck with me:

I drove out to Ansonia, Connecticut, just exploring abandoned brass factories. I came across boxes and boxes of binders—full of slides from two old manufacturing plants. It felt like a jackpot. A few months later, I heard the building had caught fire. If I hadn’t gone that day, that history might’ve been lost forever.

It reminded me how fleeting these places are. I love driving aimlessly across Rhode Island, finding rivers, ruins, and roads that no one’s talked about in decades. That feeling of discovery — that’s the fuel.

5. What is your favorite historic place to visit during the summer in Rhode Island?

Honestly? Give me nature and some peace. I like the spots that feel forgotten.

There’s a mill ruin in northern Rhode Island, along the Branch River. It once housed a major textile operation in the 1800s. Now, it’s quiet. Overgrown. Beautiful in its decay. It’s my go-to spot year-round, not just in summer. Every time I return, I discover something new — a detail I missed, a new angle to shoot. Lately, I’ve been bringing waders so I can explore the waterlogged parts and get closer to the structure. It feels like walking through history.