We bury things in order to get rid of them. Tunnels transport things, usually dirty things, away from us. Despite the effort and ingenuity involved in their construction, we don’t celebrate these buried bits of infrastructure and the kilometres of pipelines and cables that bring comfort and convenience to our lives.
Pylons are one of the rare instances when such things break cover and appear before us, in some ways a monstrous representation of our relentless consumption. There is something both bracing and mysterious about them. Their scale is often breathtaking, offering a glimpse of the vast, literal grid of technology that surrounds us. The presence of pylons disturbs the delicate pact we make with the natural world, which we simultaneously exploit mercilessly and sentimentalise.