In addition to the spring leaves that have recently sprouted there, Beech Hill is also sporting a fresh new fence. If you compare the above picture to the one I posted the first time I climbed Beech Hill here in Keene, you’ll see the city is getting serious about deterring graffiti artists and high school hoodlums from hanging out ’round the water tower. As the difference between the two pictures proves, graffiti is perennial around these parts, re-appearing despite repeated attempts to cover it. Now that Keene’s water tower is contained in chainlink, it’s only a matter of time before municipal crews cover it in beige paint, dropping a wet-paint gauntlet for any spraycan-wielding vandal who can climb a fence.
As I’ve commented here before, Robert Frost once wrote “Something there is that doesn’t love a wall.” I guess I feel toward walls the same way I feel toward fences, gates, and locks: I don’t like the sense of exclusion that a barrier introduces into an otherwise inviting scene. As if it isn’t bad enough that they’ve fenced my favorite factory, now there’s a span of chainlink impeding my view of the Beech Hill water tower…in addition to the multi-padlocked gate that already forced weekend walkers (and their dogs) to climb around or under.
Yesterday while walking Reg along the portion of the Ashuelot River that wends through campus, I tried unsuccessfully to take a shortcut from the rear of the Rec Center past Oya Hill and Holloway Hall back to Winchester Street. Due to the construction of a new Dining Commons and the subsequent extension of Appian Way, our way was blocked by seemingly ubiquitous chainlink: to get to Winchester Street and home, the dog and I could have walked through or magically over Holloway Hall, but not around. Normally I love the challenge of a good detour, but by the time the dog and I met yet another fence and yet more caution tape, it had started to rain, and even I quickly tire of fighting a tugging dog with one hand and a wind-blown umbrella with the other.
As much as something inside doesn’t like a wall, there’s another part of me–my aesthetic sensibility, perhaps–that is allured by the lines and recurrent patterns of man-made fences. As perfect as honeycomb cells, the interstices of chainlink add an intriguingly angular regularity to otherwise chaotic, unordered scenes. Nature herself is lovely, but viewed through a geometric grid she is seductive, as simultaneously off-limits and enticing as flesh in fishnet. With such a perverse perspective in mind, I can’t decide which scene I prefer: construction naked
or construction locked up in chains.
-
- Chains, my baby’s got me locked up in chains.
And they ain’t the kind that you can see.
Whoa, oh, these chains of love got a hold on me, yeah.
You might be amused to know that the entire time I’ve been writing this post, I’ve had the Beatles’ tune Chains playing in my head:You can make of this tidbit whatever you will.
May 22, 2005 at 2:26 pm
I understand the desire by some for the illusion of protecting things, or the desire to keep people from harm’s way, but it doesn’t largely soften my view of fences and man made barriers. I like that you can find at least something positive about them (it seems a balanced perspective to do so), and give a glimpse and a reminder of that to folks like me. Thanks.
May 22, 2005 at 5:05 pm
Hell hath no fury like a graffiti artist scorned. I can’t wait to see what re-twisted work of art the chain link morphs into.
May 23, 2005 at 12:25 am
And here I thought it was only So Cal that had graffiti–though I’ve seen it in NYC, too.
May 23, 2005 at 9:21 am
I know *just* what you mean about the aesthetic appeal of fences and scenes viewed through them. My part of London – Victorian suburbs – is full of wrought iron railings. I keep photographing things through them. Then wondering why – a bit worried that I’m acting out subconscious feelings of imprisonment. Maybe, but I think your explanation is also true for me.
May 23, 2005 at 10:42 am
Stormwind, I certainly don’t like the *idea* of fences. But since they seem to be everywhere these days, I guess I’m lucky to find at least something aesthetically interesting about them. Regardless of how I feel about them, they show no indication of going out of style!
Kevin, it will be *very* interesting to see how local kids respond to this new challenge. Maybe some Christo-wannabe will wrap the entire thing in canvas and then spraypaint on *that*!
Fran, I’ve seen graffiti *everywhere* I’ve lived, central Ohio included. Here in Keene, there are many old, abandoned factories that provide a huge brick “canvas” for spraypaint creations.
Jean, I bet a shrink would make something juicy out of our fascination with fences & locks. But in my mind, it’s largely about *framing.* A fence contains space the same way a picture frame contains art. For some odd reason, something inside a fence/frame seems more interesting & valuable than the stuff outside. It’s a combined allure forbidden fruit and the “grass is always greener” cliche!
May 23, 2005 at 11:48 am
These pictures look as though they could have been taken out this way. I hate to see fences and big locks it seems to represent decay.
May 23, 2005 at 1:16 pm
There is a site, Infiltration, about urban exploration and going places that are tacitly off limits. There’s just something about a closed door or a fence that makes the mundane seem new and exciting.
May 23, 2005 at 1:19 pm
Oops, no html. The address is http://www.infiltration.org/journal.html .
May 25, 2005 at 10:15 am
Misanthrope, I guess I’m a curious cat by nature. Whenever I see a locked gate or “Keep Out” sign, I immediately start wondering what’s inside. If it weren’t for the gates and locks, I’d probably not be nearly as interested!
Thanks for the great link, Moira! I’ve heard of urban exploration but wasn’t familiar with that particular site. Since I frequently post photos of abandoned buildings, my blog has occasionally appeared in urban exploration discussion groups where they’ve Googled sites in Keene & have ended up on my blog.
Although I’m too chicken to enter an abandoned building, I can certainly understand the allure.