The Fence Around The Front Garden.

The Fence Around The Front Garden.

The fence around the front garden. The wrought iron fence, twisted and bent into a pattern so beautiful and so menacing. Brutal. Hostile.

I like those fences. I like them because they speak of place and time.

They imply an inside and an outside.

A Mine and a Yours.

A separation.

A withholding.

There is a division, which must mean there is a specific place.

Which place? is another question. These kinds of fences are everywhere. At least around here.

They speak of time in their solid materiality. The weight and design of its harsh angles send my mind to another day where products were made with time and care. The overwhelming efficiency of production these days is much less special.

Much less special than a wrought iron fence.

The stuff of magic fairy gardens.

The kind I’d dream about as a kid.

One of the few things from my childhood fantasies that made its way into the real world.