Our local art museum held a recent contest called Words on Canvas asking students to submit poetry or prose pieces inspired by certain works in their collection. I used to write poetry as an undergraduate regularly so this was an amazing chance to flex those muscles again and to really reside in the art pieces in an unusual way. I chose to write about Bertram Hartam’s painting City Blocks. The resulting poem is below:
The Place Where We Dwell
The wall-ridden people in the city, they stir,
Their thoughts brazen and free like birds,
Their souls full and mottled
like the high-rise walls,
The insides of their skulls a place for
the graffiti of being
Signs of experience and civilization,
like an oil slick in a harbor, an
oil slick of humanness, beauty and noise
Castoffs and culture, scraps and silver splinters,
rage of steel-laced angles and corners
The thump-thump rise, itch of internal amorphous beat,
The breath of socketed despair
The breath of burning struggle
Of punch-drunk ambition
The breath of disquiet
Of zoetic love
Of thick-skinned passion
All trying to swell, to climb, to rise to heaven in one heaving breath
In a divine line of view
The place where we dwell
I listen to podcasts. Boy, do I ever listen to podcasts. I find these short-form bits of culture the perfect way to multitask, to learn something new while I exercise, drive, unwind from the day. All kinds of podcasts. Science podcasts, tech podcasts, storytelling podcasts. WNCY Studios, NPR, Gimlet Media. They’re the perfect length to invest in during a time in my life where succinct is king.
I’ve also noticed friends will ask for podcast suggestions. Peeps looking for roadtrip fodder will show up occasionally on my facebook feed. However, as an avid listener of the format, I know some episodes are occasionally better than others. I can sometimes recommend the entirety of a podcast series, or sometimes I need to make the age-old plea to stick with something because it “gets better as you go.”
So, it is with that in mind that I thought I would occasionally highlight the odd interesting series or perhaps isolated episode of podcasts that I frequent. There’s so much great content being created, so why not celebrate and share?
So without further delay, here’s suggestion numero uno:
36 Questions: The Podcast Musical is the perfect experimental take on short-form podcast serials. The website connects you to podcast feeds but also links directly to each of three episodes or just the music sans all the narrative bits inbetween.
Jonathan Groff and Jessie Shelton strike a balance create a modern interpretation of a musical by creating a lead female character who records her experience on her cell phone. The plot revolves around a woman who has kept parts of her identity and true self from her husband. With their marriage in shambles, she suggests they try asking one another a list of 36 questions. This list is a very real phenomenon that resulted from a this study and is meant to foster closeness between two people. The idea creates an interesting scaffold for character interaction and development.
Here’s hoping that we see more from Groff and Shelton in the future!
John Wells, quirky off-the-grid homesteader, keeps a blog documenting the goings on around his property and takes footage ranging from skinning a rattlesnake to the blooming of his palo verde tree. One of his more recent experiments came from submerging a camera in a watering bucket and capturing the entrance of various visitors. The result resonated with people and garnered Wells a short burst of internet fame. The result can be seen above. As he notes, the bees were indeed rescued.
Each one of us is as old as the entire biological kingdom, and our bloodstreams are tributaries of the great sea of its total memory. – J.G. Ballard, The Drowned World
Earlier this year, (I am late in finally moving this post from draft to final form), University of Florida held a fascinating plenary session called “Imagining Climate Change: Science and Fiction in Dialogue” as part of their February 2016 Water Institute Symposium. I was lucky enough to attend this along with several other events meant to foster dialogue about water and water resources.Many of these events embraced the intersection between art and science, with an understanding that the former may have a lot to add to the communication of the latter.
The plenary focused on a panel consisting of scientists and science fiction writers, several who dabbled in the blurred lines between those professions. Terry Harpold, Associate Professor of English at UF, moderated the discussion. Scientists included Ellen E. Martin, a paleoclimatology fellow for the Florida Climate Institute and professor of paleoceanography at UF, and Jay Famiglietti, senior water scientist at the NASA Jet Propulsion Laboratory and an earth system sciences professor at UC Irvine. Rounding out the authors were Yann Quero, Jeff VanderMeer, and Tobias Buckell.
The session reminded me of variations of scenario-based planning exercises we practiced in our conflict management course. The participants can embark on a sort of imaginative course of suggesting possible futures or outcomes. As Kahane (2012) describes the method: “The scenario method asks people to talk not about what they predict will happen or what they believe should happen, but only about what they think could happen.” Different versions of the process have wavered on the importance of plausibility versus probability. But regardless, it lets those involved imagine the future and possibly envision solutions to keep negative possibilities from occurring, or identify steps to support positive scenarios.
Harpold directed the panel first to consider water and its influence on them – “the great solvent of our collective imagination” – and the members described often poignant moments where resource coincided with personal memory. One panel participant, Tobias Buckell, described his youth growing up in the Caribbean and living on boats, a unique perspective that colored his responses to later questions. Dr. Famiglietti was also able to re-iterate a point he has made in the documentary Last Call at the Oasis, concerning his findings of extreme water scarcity in the western coast of the US among other regions, and how his interests have continually moved towards how to relay this topic effectively to the public and outside of the constraints of technical writing.
The conversation turned to examining the role of writers in contrast to those of scientists, as it was noted that sometimes science writing is not enough, the effectiveness of the translation piece is becoming the defining thing. When asked why writers feel compelled to bring in the science, the French author Yann Quero noted that it used to be the job of the writer to make people dream. It appears however, for some writers, that the looming threat of climate change has made some of them feel a personal onus to translate the sometimes labored language of the science into humanized narratives, crafting stories with probable elements. “Let me grab you by the face and show you how tragic this will be on a human scale” added Tobias Buckell.
It was also suggested that this kind of science-driven fiction can make the lives of scientists more relatable by conveying their lives and the constraints they work under. Ideally, this would make the efforts of researchers like Dr. Famglietti and Dr. Martin easier. But it is also clear that scientists are operating under a different set of constraints with regards to communicating the science of climate change, as became very evident when the topic of uncertainty was posed to the panel.
Dr. Martin referred to the perception of there being gatekeepers of scientists and publishing, certain thresholds that needed to be met before scientists were let loose to communicate. Further discussion established that fiction had the luxury of being able to exist within a different convention of reliability. However, when the question was posed about how much uncertainty needed to be minimized before action was taken, Dr. Famiglietti recounted (I saw him in multiple contexts, so this comment may have been made at an earlier event) attending a meeting where Al Gore was speaking and proceeded to lay out a directive for the scientific community to embrace the responsibility of sharing their science, as no one else knew their data with the same intimacy, or perhaps understood with the same gravity, the messages their research was revealing. If there was a preponderance of supportive data, more harm than good could be done waiting to to reach a 98% confidence threshold.
Additionally, scientific jargon and word usage can be misconstrued. The public may hear the word “error” and understand it to mean “wrong”, when in a scientific context, it may in fact refer to the process of getting closer and closer to the correct answer. So there is the challenge of choosing how to effectively relay the larger messages. Alternatively, authors were asked how or if they maintain scientific rigor within their text, while still subscribing to the creative process of writing fiction. One of the more interesting responses came from weird fiction (an actual subgenre of speculative fiction, not my classification) author Jeff Vandermeer who suggested fiction doesn’t need to solve the questions it poses, as we often can’t in real life. He also referenced the writer J.G. Ballard, author of “The Drowned World”, who engages his reader in thought experiments. How is the human mind altered by climate change? Perhaps you don’t need to even characterize the change correctly, the power is more in the act of considering it.
The panel ended by gauging the level of hope panel participants had for the future, as moderator Harpold suggested “hope is a deeply irreducible human thing…” The tone of responses was one of adaptation rather than complete mitigation. There are no absolute solutions, but we would be remiss to do nothing. Dr. Famiglietti recognized the irreversible trend associated with some aspects of climate change but voiced his hope in future communities to develop sustainable ways to manage resources. Vandermeer suggested we not engage in magical thinking and shy away from the complexities of climate change, but may need to instead redefine our vision of utopia. Also acceptance that our current way of life is dead leaves us room to engage in new ways of living, that we we need to become less to become more. From his own experiences, Buckell has been led to believe we are far more likely to come together to rebuild and recover, in contrast to the “rugged individualism” Hollywood has led us to believe characterizes natural disaster.
All in all, the session an intriguing look into the minds of a group of men and women who have devoted a significant part of their lives to considering the implications of climate change. It is certainly a heavy task to engage it, but one they are clearly doing so with thoughtfulness and conviction.
Recently, I had the rare and exhilarating opportunity to spend part of an errant and lazy Wednesday afternoon at the beach.
Anastasia State Park is a striking coastal stretch in the St. Augustine area. You walk a long, angled boardwalk right into these beautiful dunes. Wispy sea grasses dot the sand, and every time the wind blows, the blades cut these little furrows around themselves.
I walked the length of the beach taking photos and was drawn to what seemed like a visually interesting tree. I took a couple angled shots and then noticed what I had originally mistook for some kind of buds on the tree were ornately woven adornments. Some unknown person or persons had up-righted what was a tree weathered and uprooted perhaps by some past storm, and decorated its branches with braids of sea grasses and shells. I watched as passersby casually searched for nearby elements to add.
The most beautiful aspect of this experience for me was both the enigmatic and unknowable origin of the act, and the momentum it took on afterwards. Each person has an intimate connection with this surprising find, but every experience is singular along a continuum of time. Not a shabby way to spend time at the beach.
I love art and every recondite and consuming idea it can encompass. But what really fascinates me is the porous little spaces where we examine or redefine the steady and concrete components of the world through an artistic lens. Also, the scientific world is surprisingly replete with individuals who are well tuned into their right-brain tendencies. The scientific process requires a surprising amount of creative thinking.
So with that introduction, I’d like to occasionally share ideas, art, and artists that strike me as passing back-and-forth through that veil.
One of my favorite places for finding inspiration is the Harn Art Museum at the University of Florida where I go to school. They even regularly host nights specifically to feature scientists who have an artistic bent.
To start off, the following photo was one I took from their 2014 exhibit: RepurposingtheWunderkammer, BuildingANewSpaceforScienceandArt. As they explain here, the Wunderkammer were essentially collections of wonder, comparable to cabinets of curiosity. The specific piece represented below was titled the “Last Whole Earth Cabinet” and as constructed/curated by artist Sean Miller.
What a job to try and catalog the world, with only a few small shelves to fill with its treasures.