Page 5 - Demo

3It used to be that whenever you drove past the city limits of any Hoosier town, you expected to see barns%u2014lots of them. Predictably, there they were%u2014big, usually wooden, and standing right behind farmhouses on nearly every county road. They typically came in one of three basic colors%u2014white, rust-red, or weathered gray. They were so common, so expected, most of us paid little attention to them; we simply took their presence for granted. And because they were so numerous, they didn%u2019t seem to merit individual scrutiny. Many of us probably thought, %u201cIf you%u2019ve seen one barn, you%u2019ve seen them all.%u201d To those of us who grew up living in towns and suburbs, barns were more or less a rural clich%u00e9. But the times, they began changing. Traditional family farms started disappearing%u2014slowly at first, then with increasing speed. The consolidating of small acreages into vast tracts meant that hundreds of farmhouses and their accompanying smaller outbuildings were torn down. In their place, corn and soybeans were quickly planted. Many of the barns were subjected to a similar fate. However, being much larger and sturdier, they tended to survive longer. Massive in size for their time, they were designed and built to house animals, bales of hay, and machinery. But the giant farm equipment of today can no longer fit inside an old barn. Because they simply don%u2019t meet the needs of modern agribusiness, there will be fewer old barns standing with each passing year.Even as small farms continue to vanish, some aging barns have lingered on the Hoosier landscape, used by those who raise specialty crops%u2014or the Amish. But most of the survivors have lingered, unused, unkempt, and surrounded by tall weeds, straggly trees, and smothering vines. Isolated and purposeless, they grow more decrepit by the year. Often, the roof is the first to go, followed by rafters and upper beams. After that, the side walls start to lean, then partially collapse. Other forlorn barns suffer quicker deaths%u2014by bulldozer. When John and I first started this project, we told people we were working on a barn book featuring structures, %u201cthat have outlived their usefulness.%u201d Most replies were on the order of, %u201cOh, there are lots of those around.%u201d But we soon learned, that wasn%u2019t the case. The disappearance of old barns is very real, and we quickly understood that we needed to capture them on film right now, because as each day passed, there were fewer and fewer to shoot.The more we explored Indiana%u2019s backroads searching for aged barns, the more it became clear how different each could be. In fact, barns are often as unique as the individuals who designed and built them. Because of this, our admiration for these old structures grew each time we got out of our car and explored them%u2014inside and out. In doing so, we couldn%u2019t help but be impressed by the audacious gung-ho and skill required to erect such huge buildings, the pride they gave generations of farming families, and the vital role they played in our state%u2019s economic past.To John and me, these decaying, obsolete farm buildings became quite special. And in the photographs that follow, I think you%u2019ll agree that John has captured their current state of disrepair and their poignancy with a sincere, artistic sensitivity. While they may be mere relics in their final decline, his images reveal their glorious and dramatic visual appeal. And as relentless decay and gravity continues to distort them in unexpectedly odd and beautiful ways%u2014in tone, texture, and shape%u2014they reveal the truth that they are no clich%u00e9. Lynn Marie BowerForeword