As a landscape photographer I always wished that modern technology didn't interfere with the beauty of our natural world. I always tried to avoid including any signs of human intervention in my photographs. Power lines and telephone lines running through a pristine countryside are a classic example. They are our life lines and still the only solution in areas where hiding them underground is either not feasible or too expensive. However they spoil many a view. At least that is what I thought, until one day I decided to look beyond the necessary evil and see how these lines can blend into the landscape we live in.
The secret of these hills was stone, and cottages Of that stone made, And crumbling roads That turned on sudden hidden villages
Now over these small hills, they have built the concrete That trails black wire Pylons, those pillars Bare like nude giant girls that have no secret.
The valley with its gilt and evening look And the green chestnut Of customary root, Are mocked dry like the parched bed of a brook.
But far above and far as sight endures Like whips of anger With lightning's danger There runs the quick perspective of the future.
This dwarfs our emerald country by its trek So tall with prophecy Dreaming of cities Where often clouds shall lean their swan-white neck.
Over the tree’d upland evenly striding, One after one they lift their serious shapes That ring with light. The statement of their steel Contradicts Nature’s softer architecture. Earth will not accept them as it accepts A wall, a plough, a church so coloured of earth It might be some experiment of the soil’s. Yet are they outposts of the trekking future. Into the thatch-hung consciousness of hamlets They blaze new thoughts, new habits. Traditions Are being trod down like flowers dropped by children. Already that farm-boy striding and throwing seed In the shoulder-hinged half-circle Millet knew, Looks grey with antiquity as his dead forbears, A half familiar figure out of the Georgics, Unheeded by these new-world, rational towers.