There is no doubt, in my mind anyway, that if you have camera in hand and come upon a fence, you'll take a photo. Whether you're a serious photographer or not, you'll make an image. The draw of the fence line is immediate and compelling. A long wavy thread making its way through an otherwise empty landscape or a straight and simple line cutting across a farmer's field will hook you. That eye-catching pattern is rooted in our psyche somewhere and we're urged to make some effort to explore. Whether it's decaying and irregular or as regimented as a military parade, we stop and look, perhaps study.
Some of us seek them out, line them up, adjust our perspectives and make image after image. For me they're purely aesthetic. I have no knowledge or what constitutes a good fence, nor the correct components of a respectable one. Many times I cannot tell what purpose the fence serves. In wide-open spaces I'll drive for miles and right along side me is a fence running unbroken for just as many miles. Is it holding something in or keeping something out?
In the west we have mostly fences of barbed wire, not altogether attractive unless they're falling apart and the broken posts dip left and right or fall down entirely and lie wasting away in a field. Then, what was once serious and uncompromising, becomes softer, timeworn and venerable; much more photographic and the reason we stop.
San Diego's East County
Corn field kept safe behind a split rail fence