“It is the Late city that first defies the land, contradicts Nature in the lines of its silhouette, denies all Nature. It wants to be something different from and higher than Nature. These high-pitched gables, these Baroque cupolas, spires, and pinnacles, neither are, nor desire to be, related with anything in Nature. And then begins the gigantic megalopolis, the city-as-world, which suffers nothing beside itself and sets about annihilating the country picture.”
Though opinion differs on exact first dates for Indo-Germanic settlement, it is an undisputed fact that the West Australian ‘Wheatbelt’ remains a bastion of this unique and perplexing culture. Even to the untrained eye, what might otherwise constitute a scene of agrarian tranquillity may suddenly burst violently into bloom, laden with the heavy fruits of this strange and warlike race.
Though many have attempted to surmise, no-one truly knows precisely whence they came, or why. Their ultimate origin remains forever shrouded in mystery.
Perhaps it is therefore unsurprising that the inexorable, Faustian tensions that plague this bucolic people tend to resolve themselves by… complex means.
‘In tragic natures, art is the remedy that liberates them from knowledge. Such a person finds life disturbing; it immediately retreats from him like an image, and he finds this disturbed life worth depicting.’
What immense, what protean force could possibly account for the raw vigour, the dangerous audacity of these pastoral Parsifals, who so doggedly pursue their manifest destiny?
“There is nothing worse than aggressive stupidity.”
Truly, this is a culture steeped in riches of every kind, a capitol bedecked with all the lavish bounty of its tributaries…
… But, at what cost?
Won’t somebody think of the children?