Demarcations can be beautiful when overtaken by revolutionary intent.
How ludicrous you are. How pretty. How vile.
And how exquisite as your peacock is cast down and trodden upon.
These little, inadvertent, victories.
You know that you are winning and I like to think: for now. With your stakes and bolts and plastics and bulldozers and dump trucks and excavators carving up mountains with million dollar views.
Even though you are pink and blow so prettily in the breeze, how I loathe you.
As you grapple with blackberrie vines. A neon serpent portentending the wail of chainsaws. I wish you didn't belong here.
Do we calm ourselves with aesthetics? The rule of thirds. So pleasing to the eye. Rhythms of lines. Colour theory. The spatial dynamics of depth of field. Juxtapositions attempt to stir up complacency as this photograph narrates the arrival of a garish ribbon that couldn't have chosen a better angle to dance for us.
I must admit, it does make me feel a bit better to create ironic beauty out of impending devastation. But, fortunately, not enough.