some missing words

The cur­rent issue of Orion, one of my favorite mag­a­zines, fea­tures “World With­out Vio­lets,” a scary lit­tle essay by Robert Michael Pyle.

A mother in Britain dis­cov­ered that the edi­tors of the cur­rent Oxford Junior Dic­tio­nary, in their zeal to bring this lit­tle dic­tio­nary for chil­dren up to date, had removed a long list of words deal­ing with nature in order to make room for words like “broad­band,” “bungee jump­ing” and “chat room.”

Pyle writes about the uni­verse the edi­tors of the Dic­tio­nary have cre­ated for the cur­rent gen­er­a­tion of chil­dren who would use it:

It is a world with­out vio­lets. Spring comes unan­nounced by catkins and pro­ceeds with­out ben­e­fit of cro­cuses, cowslips, or tulips. Sum­mer brings no laven­der, mel­ons, or nec­tarines, and autumn is absent of acorns, almonds, and hazel­nuts. Win­ter must be endured with­out the holly and the ivy, the wren or the mistletoe.

So, sud­denly bungee jumping–how retro-80s is that concept?–is more impor­tant than tulips, broad­band more nec­es­sary for chil­dren to know about than mel­ons, and chat rooms more of our real world than holly.

If some­one decides that we don’t need a word for some­thing, does that some­thing cease to exist? Not really. But what kind of mind­set decides that chil­dren don’t need to know about their nat­ural world any­more? I was disturbed.

July 13 2009 | Categories: landscapequotes | Tags: | 5 Comments »

domesticated

Amy Stein’s new book of pho­tographs, Domes­ti­cated, sits some­where between the mun­dane and poetic, the beau­ti­ful and the jarring.

Left: Amy Stein. Howl [ source ]

A coy­ote howls at the moon in a snow-covered park­ing lot. A young girl in a bathing suits stands on a swim­ming pool div­ing board to con­front a black bear star­ing at her over the fence. A hunter stands in his back yard as he aims his rifle at a wild turkey pass­ing just a few feet away.

The lit­tle fleet­ing vignettes of life in a small Penn­syl­va­nia town illu­mi­nate life at the bound­aries where the back yard ends and some­thing you might call the nat­ural world begins. Some­times the close prox­im­ity of nature makes things amaz­ingly con­ve­nient (the hunter and the turkey). Other times it comes too close for com­fort (the girl and the bear).

Left: Amy Stein. Back­yard [ source ]

These slices of life at first amaze you with that “Wasn’t it amaz­ing that she was able to be right there at the right time to take that pho­to­graph” reac­tion. But the photographer’s work­ing method tricks you a bit. She col­lected news­pa­per pieces and oral sto­ries of life in and around Mata­moras, a town bor­der­ing state for­est in the north­east part of the state. Next she pro­ceeded to recre­ate the events in the sto­ries using town res­i­dents and what­ever props necessary–including taxi­der­mied animals.

Stein calls her images nat­ural his­tory dio­ra­mas, and that’s exactly how they func­tion. But with these scenes tak­ing place inside the edges of a pho­to­graph, they seem to have a higher sense of real­ity to them than the dust-covered tableaux you’d find at your local museum. Picasso said famously that art is a lie that tells the truth. Even though you know that these images are staged, they speak to a deeper knowl­edge that we know is true.

It’s fas­ci­nat­ing, worth­while work.

Check out Amy Stein’s web­site, port­fo­lio of the other Domes­ti­cated images, or get the book.

December 07 2008 | Categories: artphotographyplaces | Tags: | 1 Comment »

niagaras of the east and west

Ear­lier I posted a cou­ple of my tourist pic­tures of Idaho’s Shoshone Falls, the “Nia­gara of the West.” I’ve just begun to scan and print the neg­a­tives of the large-format work from the trip. Here are three from the falls:

View­point at Shoshone Falls, Snake River, Idaho:Viewpoint, Shoshone Falls, Idaho

Shoshone Falls Park:Shoshone Falls Park, Snake RIver, Idaho

Park­ing Lot at Shoshone Falls Park:Parking Lot, Shoshone Falls Park, Idaho

Inter­est­ingly, in the pile of news­pa­pers John had saved for me from while I was away, was a book review in the L.A. Times of Gin­ger Strand’s Invent­ing Nia­gara. Inter­est­ingly too, in brows­ing for the book on the web I noticed that it has two dif­fer­ent sub­ti­tles: “Beauty, Power and Lies,” as well as the more provoca­tive “How Indus­try, Com­merce and Art Con­spire to Sell (Out) a Nat­ural Wonder.”

I’d lamented that the Nia­gara of the West had been despoiled and exploited to an unseemly theme-parkness, and in this long quote in the review Strand has sim­i­lar things to say about the Nia­gara of the East:

Man­i­cured, repaired, land­scaped and arti­fi­cailly lit, dan­ger­ous over­hangs dyna­mited off and water flow man­aged to suit the tourist sched­ule, the Falls are more a mon­u­ment to man’s med­dling than to nature’s strength. In fact, they are a study in self-delusion: we visit them to encounter some­thing real, then observe them through fake Indian tales, audio tours and IMAX films… We hold them up as an exam­ple of uncon­quer­able nature even as we applaud the daredevil’s and power-brokers who con­quer them. And we con­grat­u­late our­selves for pre­serv­ing nature’s beauty in an ecosys­tem that, beneath its shim­mer­ing emer­ald sur­face, reflects our own ugly abil­ity to destroy. On every level, Nia­gara Falls is a mon­u­ment to the ways Amer­ica fal­si­fies its rela­tion­ship to nature, reshap­ing its con­tours, redi­rect­ing its force, claim­ing to sub­mit to its will while impos­ing our own on it.

Reviewer Tim Rut­ter, as much as he likes a lot of what Strand has to say, ends up find­ing the writ­ing of the book to be tir­ing and frus­trat­ing. In that most post-modern tech­nique now turn­ing into cliche, the author’s process of writ­ing the book plays a star­ring role in the book. When well done it can still be inter­est­ing, but in this exam­ple Rut­ter didn’t think that it was. Take that pro­nounce­ment under advise­ment, but it still sounds like the book is a worth­while read.

June 16 2008 | Categories: artlandscapeplacesquotesrambles | Tags: | 2 Comments »

those arrogant humans…

Are gar­den­ers more hum­ble peo­ple? Do we know things a lot of oth­ers don’t or believe in things oth­ers choose not to believe? Here are a cou­ple thoughts for Earth Day, the first one a soft feather bed of a quote, the sec­ond one a bed of nails.

Human beings–any one of us, and our species as a whole–are not all-important, not at the cen­ter of the world. That is the one essen­tial piece of infor­ma­tion, the one great secret, offered by any encounter with the woods or the moun­tains or the ocean or any wilder­ness or chunk of nature or patch of night sky.–Bill McK­ibben in an inter­view with Susan Salter Reynolds, in the Los Ange­les Times Book Review, April 13.

If wildlife species are to become extinct, that will be regret­table. But any lit­er­ate per­son knows that extinc­tion is the way of evo­lu­tion, and is in the fun­da­men­tal flow of life. How­ever, man is dif­fer­ent. If man is not immor­tal, then there is no pur­pose or mean­ing in his exis­tence. Which in turn would mean no pur­pose or mean­ing in the uni­verse. The human immor­tal­ity imper­a­tive is absolute and rad­i­cal. That is why wildlife con­ser­va­tion has never been per­mit­ted to move to the ques­tions of ulti­mate value. There is no place for an ulti­mate non­hu­man value in our west­ern meta­physics, because of neces­sity, the human inter­est is the cos­mic inter­est. That is what it is all about. Wildlife is an “exter­nal­ity.” — John. A. Liv­ingston in The Fal­lacy of Wildlife Con­ser­va­tion, in The John A. Liv­ingston Reader (2007: 101).

April 22 2008 | Categories: gardeningquotesrambles | Tags: | 1 Comment »