The Uprising
In only a short span of time, the open fields that stretched across this area have now been overtaken.
They rose quickly with a kind of production-line urgency, their repeating patterns pressing upward as though claiming the sky for themselves.
The uprising was not violent, but aggressive and definite nonetheless.
It is an upheaval of landscape; where once the wind swirled and played unbothered, there is now a permanence of strict geometry. The horizon, once wide and far-reaching, has been cluttered in vertical concrete.
These photographs are witness to the transformation that has occurred. It's also a reminder that, the old familiar can vanish without notice and how the new can take root until it seems as though it has always been.
At its heart, The Uprising is not about buildings, but about forced presence and absence. It reflects on the ways the built world asserts itself on the faint but insistent whispers of what came before it.
Walking past these camps of concrete, I can still sense the ghosts of the fields, trees, and farmlands that once were. The birdsongs and open air linger in memory, reminders of a time before the uprising.