Crows' Oasts

I just had a short walk in the afternoon, but I drew a picture from my partner's photo of the fields, crows and oasts just outside the urbanised area of our city.

It's not as rural as it looks; the dominant sound is of muffled traffic from the not-so-distant A-road. Similar fields have recently been built on, so I think these ones' days may be numbered. It makes me a little sad, but I'm fairly accepting of the expansion of towns. I'd be in favour of an overall strategy based on quality of life rather than growth by almost any means, but that'd be an aim towards overall sustainability rather than opposing new homes.

It's a pity that attempts to plot a new course can be seen as oppressive and out of touch. I guess that's what happens when we feel disenfranchised and powerless, and lose trust in institutions. But that can easily turn to another kind of manipulation and control by populist leaders.

This isn't a complete tangent from my sketchy crows. I think there's an interesting appeal of folk and natural imagery in times when people feel swept along by things outside their control. Maybe I mean specifically when we can't keep pace with our state-level culture, since I don't think folk art necessarily appeals when we're affected by accidents like illness or extreme weather.

I think "folk" is also open to abuse as a way of rallying nationalist movements against a faceless modernism, towards fear-driven resistance of "outsiders" and enforcement of reactionary traditionalism. It helps the cause that it's easy to invent a new folk narrative, picking out a thin thread or a preferred exemplary moment in time from the abundance of history. I hope that my crows aren't cawing for a return to the '50s billboard kitchen that never was!

Eep, that's my blip ramblerant.

I also used my microwave rice cooker to satisfying effect, and watched "The Talented Mr Ripley".