As these industrial abominations roar through idyllic postcard-shaped landscapes like blasphemous snakes or ambulances' evil twins with alienation in the slipstream, you'd expect them to at least disturb the peace of romanticism's wax museum. Strangely, the opposite happens: the sublime is born in the friction between the hideous and the precious. At least till the train exits the frame or a human enters the picture.
The trains that rattle through the almost silent landscapes force us to reorient our perception towards the image we see and the time we experience through Bennings precise staging. And what should have been a violent destabilization of the balance of the image, ends up being incredibly harmoniously experience. There's something warm about it, watching those giants pass and the time they take with them.
trains are iron reptiles burdened by the task of punctuality. compared with the vast savage silence of the landscapes, they look like melancholy caterpillars that have eaten their way through the deeply indented fronds of coastal geography or through the towering babels of hills and mountains, an uneven map looking like a close-up of a horned lizard assaulted by a rapacious overgrowth of conifers. the trains that