What do carps in the Japanese Garden in Buenos Aires, a bench on Lafayette Square in front of the White House in Washington, a pile of rocks in somebody’s garden in Unětice, a little village in the Czech Republic, and a small country cemetery near the Texas bordertown of Presidio have in common?
Many photographers are attracted to certain subjects without even realizing it. That includes me. My subjects are chain link fences — which also happens to be the answer to the question above.
For years, I have been taking pictures of chain link fences. Many times, I was not even aware they were my subjects. They just happened to be part of the scenery that attracted me, or they were “supporting actors.” But after editing these photographs, I realized that these fences tend to be both supporting and leading actors, not unlike the Rubin Vase (which is the familiar drawing that can be perceived as a vase or as two faces), and that all of these photos with chain link fences have something in common. Apart from the obvious — the utilitarian diamond-shaped pattern of the wire — most of them can be viewed as something that dominates and separates those of us who are “here” (in the world accessible to us) from what is “there” (in the other world, where we are not allowed). The division is not necessarily only a physical one. It may also symbolize a barrier that separates us from what we are searching for.
Many times, the users of chain link fences cover them with a translucent material, apparently to make them blend better with their surroundings or to prevent the overly curious from peering into what is going on behind them. Sometimes, these sheets are painted with idealized renditions of the construction project they are obscuring. Since one can simultaneously see both these protective veils and their backgrounds, these sheets can transform an otherwise boring view into a multilayered scene, in which the “there” becomes confusing and even mysterious.
However, in other cases, the fences have large holes in them or are otherwise damaged or gaping open. Some even seem to be erected on only one side of the “there.” They still feel menacing, and it’s clear that one should not go “there.” But nevertheless, getting “there” suddenly seems achievable by simply walking around them or passing through their opening. As if there were no “here” or “there,” and the separation has become a harmless and imaginary construct. A revelation not unlike the one that dawned on Dorothy and her friends — who realized, when Toto tore down the curtain, that the Wizard of Oz was only a pathetic little man who had tricked them into thinking that he was all-powerful.
Not all the fences are like these, though. Perhaps the photo of the tree growing through the chain link fence sums it up. There might have been an easy way to get behind that particular fence. But the tree did not find it. And even if it somehow had been able to do so, it would not have been able to use that path, because its roots hold it back. Still, the tree seems to be very gradually getting from “here” to “there,” but it is not clear whether it will make it. That process is plainly very slow, takes patience and pain, and the result is far from certain.