Renaissance in Straw

In 1986 i flew to Thailand, travelled up North and hired a motor bike and explored.

The trip has left me with images that are as intense as they are disconnected; a Bangkok of river and golden temple, a raucous dusty evening at a kick-boxing event with a female journalist I hardly knew and never saw again and a sleep-dazed all night careering and suicidal bus journey watching the on-board erotic vampire ghost films in a language that was as incomprehensible and distant for me as the driver’s control of the vehicle appeared to be for him.

Oh, and rounding a corner on the bike to find a secluded Buddhist Monastery with a perfect saffron robed scarecrow protecting the fruit and vegetables of the monk’s kitchen garden – orange etched against jungle green.

It was the first time that I realised that scarecrows could be culturally distinct- though obvious when you think about it.

The scarecrow is iconic in my imagination, growing up as I did with stories of Wurzel Gummidge and spending Sunday afternoon’s on the family allotment. Everyone had a scarecrow not far away.

I resolved to start a photographic collection of scarecrows from around the world, a decision slightly hampered at the time by the fact that I was camera-less in Southern Asia.

The years passed and so it seemed did the scarecrows, replaced in many fields by automatic noise cannon and in gardens by hanging CDs.

I never saw another scarecrow – until today, when I saw three. Yes, you can wait for ever, then three come along at once.

Ok, they are not brilliant – neither high art or dedicated craft – but maybe, just maybe it is the start of a renaissance in straw.