A Ride on the Rochester Subway: An Adventure in Transit

A Ride on the Rochester Subway: An Adventure in Transit

“Because inherent in the artist’s creative inspiration is the process of subliminally sniffing out environmental change. It’s always been the artist who perceives the alterations in man caused by a new medium, who recognizes that the future is the present, and uses his work to prepare the ground for it.” – Marshal McLuhan

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     The tunnel entrance is spacious, slipping away from South Street, careening underneath the public library, and curving west over the Genesee River. The ground beneath our feet is what remains of the Erie Canal bed, used as the foundation for the subway. The space is large and bright. The walls are open arches. Pillars are dressed in radiant colors. I pass out our tickets from the Rochester Transit Corporation, valid for one week in April- they expire in a few days. As we stood on the platform, we could hear the train’s roar approaching the Court Street stop. It’s about a mile to West Main Street- a scant two-minute ride.

     However, it took our group 45 minutes to emerge on the other side of the subway tunnel. Why you wonder? For readers who are familiar with the city of Rochester, you are already aware that the last train car operated on this line in 1956. This year marks the 60th anniversary of that last train’s commute. Most of the subway today is gone- the western section buried, some parts built over, and tracks removed. What remains is a submerged mile, directly beneath Broad Street. The airy section with open arches has become a local hot spot for graffiti artists and urban explorers.

     The “ride” on the Rochester Subway was meant to replicate the experience of a once-elite public transit system. The tickets distributed were copies from April 1950. We “boarded” at the court street stop and exited at W. Main street, following the original pattern of the rails. The sound of our approaching train was prerecorded track of NYC’s subway played back through headphones. The sounds of the subway we listened to were meant to give life back to a now ghostly remembrance of what was once an elite public transportation system.

     We slipped underneath Broad street, leaving the sunlit arched tunnel behind. Darkness welcomed us into a cavern of abandonment illuminated by the electric light of flashlights, headlamps, and cell phones. The train “riders” were mostly quiet, drifting one way and then another, allowing the scene to make an impression on their own silver guts. I encouraged them to adopt the stance of the urban flaneur, french for “stroller, idler, or walker.”  I asked them to “ride with the intention to experience the subway, absorb the sights, sounds, smells and feelings.” Occasionally someone would draw the group’s attention to an interesting graffiti artwork, a sealed off entrance or the remains of the rail tracks.

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     The cars speeding by overhead- thump, thump, thump- created an eerie echo- the percussion of present technology reverberating into a past layer of infrastructure. Our feet kicked up dust that sprinkled white dancing specs of reflected light back to my camera as it flashed. We passed through the silent darkness, ourselves ghosts, a collection of bright orbs idling through the void.  What business did we have down here in the absence of the train cars? We were walking through a space that was never meant to exist as it is, and yet it is. How can walking the path of what once was help us understand what now is?
Transit technology is something most of us experience every day. The majority of people drive cars. Yet attached to this technology is an ecology of infrastructure, embedded in the backdrop of our lives, silent and unnoticed. Roadways, bridges, and parking lots are the obvious components and easily gain opacity when thinking about infrastructure. But the infrastructure of the present is built on the past, creating invisible layers upon layers of filtering and mediation. It becomes troublesome to see the reality of the environment clearly. We are one step behind our own technology, and fail to recognize the new environment  that infrastructure creates. The “ride” on the subway re-contextualized transit, asking the questions we didn’t know needed to be asked.

Walking through the subway on foot was meant to disrupt our usual method of seeing (or not seeing) the infrastructure of transit. To break free temporarily from our blasé attitude as urbanites to adopt the flaneur’s, to really look at one piece of infrastructure and question the use of another. Instead of driving over a dead space in the city, we explored it, questioned its existence, and persistence and reconsidered the perversions of the automobile and its infrastructure into our everyday lives.

A Mediated Journey Through an Ecology of Infrastructure

“People commonly envision infrastructure as a system of substrates- railroad lines, pipes and plumbing, electrical power plants, and wires.  It is by definition invisible, part of the background for other kinds of work.” Susan Leigh Star

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     Most attendees, myself included, drove to the abandoned subway. I listened to a CD as I traversed the city. My wheels guided by white and yellow lines, my tires gliding over the asphalt and my engine burning the gas I pumped earlier that week. My movements, restricted to the paved roadways, were guided by electric light, mostly green. We arrived after parking on a bridge between two other cars, feeding some coins into the meter, and placing a crinkly parking pass on my windshield. On a four mile journey, it seems outlandish to have interacted with so many technologies. These components of infrastructure usually escape our attention. With so much stimulation in the urban environment, its easy to move about with a blasé attitude, filtering the scene with a blunted perception. (e Silva 33).

     This filtering gives us a weak impression of the city. Infrastructure is more than a flat layer of material construction. It’s “a multidimensional set of relational properties that become an ecology of infrastructure.” Rather than a flat facade dropped over the original landscape it has dimensions- a physical layering upon layers. Nor are these layers uniformly stratified but rather these “spatial arrangements of relationships draw humans, things, words, and non-humans into patterned conjunctures.” (Murphy 104) For the technology of the car, there are also roads, and crews of people and machines to maintain those roads, who also use the cars on the very roads they maintain. There are gas stations for those cars, with pumps designed specifically for adding fuel to cars, and the gas is delivered to the station in trucks. Specialized shops exist solely for the purpose of repairing those cars and trucks. Not to mention the factories used to make those cars. Streetlights guide the drivers and need metal to hold them up, wires to transport electricity, electricity that is generated elsewhere and fed through wires to provide energy to the streetlights and the gas stations, repair shops and factories. It’s intertwined- separating the connections of layers is difficult.

“The future of the future is the present.”- Marshal McLuhan

     IMG_6037      But this ecology is also temporal. It reaches into the past. Broad Street embodies a century of transportation history in the form of layers upon layers of infrastructure. The subway stands on the arches of the Erie canal aqueduct, is below Broadstreet and will soon also be beneath a new promenade complete with apartments. The story of the Rochester subway begins with the shifting of tons of earth to build the Erie canal, linking Lake Erie and the Hudson River, “connect[ing] local agricultural products to distant markets in the U.S. and Europe” according to a historical sign along the river. The canal mobilized commodities and people, doubling the city’s population twice in as many years. This first layer of infrastructure transformed the city from a “wilderness settlement” know as the “lion of the west” into a “prosperous”, “four city.” The canal infrastructure embodies some old views of nature; it tamed a wilderness, and “harnessed” the power of the Genesee.

     The aqueduct was diverted from its original route through the center of the city the bed was untouched until the subway construction began in 1927. Building on the canal’s foundation prevents further shifting of tons of earth retired for a subway. With the light rail came more goods and commodities, fueling corporations like Eastman Kodak, Bausch IMG_5959& Lomb, and General Motors continuing the boomtown trend. The city was “carried along on technology’s currents”  from the canal to the light rail. And we began to move away from a “connection to local places, to the earth itself,”  as the rails transferred us “into a world of places being homogenized… dispelling the independence of wilderness,[and] remoteness.”  The local, the wild nature of the bioregion, the glacial characteristics of the regions and the health of waterways disappeared.  In other words, “it was as though they sacrificed the near to gain the far.” (Solnit 22)

     However, the canal route was less than an ideal path for the urban subway. Its future was underpinned by the past. Additional problems plagued the subway, spelling its decline. The subway itself was constructed in anticipation of rapid urban expansion that was predicted based on past growth. However, Rochester’s Version 2downtown population peaked in 1950, declining as sprawl pushed people into the suburbs, beyond the reach of the subway lines. People used the automobile more than ever and demand the subway dwindled. The power houses of industry also began to crumble.

Home Ecology: A “City of Circulation”

     Today, as the railroad has fallen from the radar of public transit, the “near is still sacrificed to gain the far.” Sixty percent of the land in downtown Rochester is parking lots. More than half of the city is space for cars. And what if we include roads in that figure. What is left? A local environment dominated by dead spaces. The urban flaneur is also extinct, lost alongside the vibrant and busy spaces of the city accessible by foot. Rochester is a city that has favored “mobility over sociability, and homogeneity over heterogeneity.” With globalization, cities became less individualized and more homogenous, and the privatized space of the automobile reigns large. Time is spent “alone and isolated within an iron bubble” that “enables a ‘partial loss of touch with the here and now.’” (e Silva, 31) That “lens through which to read and participate in the city exploring new angles and avenues… [as] a distant critic and immersed specter,” (e Silva 40) donned by the urban flaneur has clouded.

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     Instead, we approach with the blasé attitude. The spaces between our mobilities are invisible, so mediated now we cannot see them. In this way “physical space is mere transit space.” (32) We travel here and there, oblivious to the spaces between our destinations. Rochester is now a “City of Circulation” (e Silva 32) propelled by mobility via the automobile.

     “The “City of Circulation” ultimately contributed to the erosion of urban centers and the justification for their renewal.”(e Silva 32) With downtown declining, the site of the east subway entrance, an apparent dead space to city planners, is the target of a revitalization effort.  A $ 4.7 million project is underway to build the Erie Harbor Park, a public promenade.

     Moving forward with the project entails a permanent closure of the south entrance to the subway, burying a past layer of “defunct” infrastructure while further immortalizing another. There is no direct mention of the underground subway on the cities website despite its claims to “educate the public of the site’s industrial history. To the City of Rochester, this is a story of celebrating local history, the creation ofIMG_6042f new public space, and the beauty of the river. Plans even call for the consideration of once again adding water to the original route of the Erie Canal, through which the subway now stands and supports Broadstreet. This narrative obscures the history of the Rochester subway, overlooks the problems implicated by the need to “educate” the public about their own city space, and overall creates an area of pseudo-functionality.

Environmental Invisibility: The Rear View Mirror

“Most people… still cling to what I call the rearview-mirror view of their world. By this I mean to say that because of the invisibility of any environment during the period of its innovation, man is only consciously aware of the environment that has preceded it; in other words, an environment becomes fully visible only when it has been superseded by a new environment; thus, we are always one step behind in our view of the world. Because we are benumbed by any new technology – which in turn creates a totally new environment – we tend to make the old environment more visible.” -Marshal McLuhan

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All new media and technologies create new environments that change the “scale or pace or pattern [of] human affairs.” But we can’t see these new environments. “The present is always invisible because it’s environmental and saturates the whole field of attention so overwhelmingly.” (McLuhan) The invisibility of infrastructure which has become the landscape of our lives also renders invisible the change that has occurred. We think that cars, roads, media and technology distract us from the environment, the original landscape and from the ecological damage done to these landscapes. But we are living with “an outdated view of the world as ‘natural systems with humans disturbing them’” and  still struggle to see that “’human systems [have] natural ecosystems embedded within them’”(Ellis and Ramankutty qtd in Shock of the Anthropocene). It’s more than being blind or ignoring the environment. Rather, technology has amputated our ability to understand that our environment as we once knew it is gone. The ecology, derived from the greek word meaning home, is of infrastructure and mobility, stitched together by dead transit spaces. We living in a new paradigm and are still thinking in terms of the old, but we are also completely blind to this new environment. It’s as though we are looking in the rearview mirror living by the rules of the last environment, unaware of our current environment.

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Looking Through the Windshield

“We cannot solve our problems with the same thinking we used when we created them.” Albert Einstein

     In our efforts to save the environment, we continue with old ways of thinking. The proposed solutions, especially with the automobile, are disconnected from reality and represent a major failure to act in a way that brings about meaningful change. Using the hybrid car as a solution to climate change is to look at the past to save the future. Today’s efforts in sustainability “work from the presumption that a certain kind of amputation has not already occurred.” The amputation is the numbing of our ability to see how the automobile and its ecology of roadways have taught us to poison our world while imitating superficial solutions. Weston describes this phenomenon as  “rest[ing] [hopes] on supplements and substitutions, rather than a concerted attempt to reorganize a mode of production.” (Weston 449) We’ve extended our bodies and our nervous systems but numbed our ability to recognize our solution “entails no fundamental reorganization of business as usual, no critical perspective on the industrial strategy of profit-driven reinvention, or indeed any deep appreciation of the limits that business as usual has soldered into place.” (Weston 446)

“There is no inevitability as long as there is a willingness to contemplate what is happening.” Marshall McLuhan

In words of one participant, “going down there with the added soundtrack created a more immersive environment to reflect upon the abandonment of the subway. It really made me wonder what it was actually like back then when all those people rode the subway regularly and it was actually in use, especially because the soundtrack was anachronistic — there are electronic sounds that you hear in it that you wouldn’t have heard back then presumably (I’m sure they had some equivalent sounds… or maybe they just had people yelling?). But I suppose the anachronisticness of soundtrack aided you in recontextualizing the subway in today’s world–i.e. this experience begged the question, how would the experience of Rochester be different if there actually were a subway with these sounds? It’d be a totally different city.”

    Walking through the subway on foot was meant to disrupt our usual method of seeing (or not seeing) the infrastructure of transit. To break free temporarily from our blasé attitude as urbanites to adopt the flaneur’s, to really look at one piece of infrastructure and question the use of another. Instead of driving over a dead space in the city, we explored it, questioned its existence, and persistence and reconsidered the perversions of the automobile and its infrastructure into our everyday lives.

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Sources:

“Abandoned Subway.” Rochester Wiki. Web. 08 May 2016. <http://rocwiki.org/Abandoned_Subway>.

Adey, Peter. “Mobility.” London & New York: Routledge, 2010.267

“Back to the Tribe.” Next Nature Network. 2009. Web. 08 May 2016. <https://www.nextnature.net/2009/12/the-playboy-interview-marshall-mcluhan/>.

“Erie Canal.” Rochester Wiki. Web. 08 May 2016. <http://rocwiki.org/Erie_Canal?action=show&redirect=canal>.

e Silva, Adriana de Souza, and Jordan Frith. Mobile interfaces in public spaces: Locational privacy, control, and urban sociability. Routledge, 2012.

Governale, Mike. “Rochester Subway: MIke Governale at TEDxRochester.” YouTube. YouTube, 2013. Web. 08 May 2016.

Murphy, Michelle. “Chemical Infrastructures of the St. Clair River.” Toxicants, Health and Regulation since 1945 (2013): 103-15.

“The Promenade at Erie Harbor Park.” City of Rochester. Web. 08 May 2016. <http://www.cityofrochester.gov/article.aspx?id=8589947272>.

Star, Susan Leigh. “The ethnography of infrastructure.” American behavioral scientist 43.3 (1999): 377-391.

Solnit, Rebecca. River of shadows: Eadweard Muybridge and the technological wild west. Penguin, 2004.

Weston, Kath. “political ecologies of the precarious.” Anthropological Quarterly 85.2 (2012): 429-455.

Science and Romanticism: The Separation of Ourselves

CHAPTER ONE: A Media Filtered Imagination or Indoctrination of the Nature Farce

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“Sea World, and many similar mass media products advance a vision of nature’s future that is consistent with the interests of corporate America. The green public relations version of nature not only obscures a long history of relationships between humans and nature; it makes democratic pressures for environmental preservation, safety, and health invisible.” -Susan Davis, “Touch the Magic”

My affair with nature began as a child; an innocent wonder found in the natural world. Or did it? Was it really so simple and innocent? I passed the summers of my childhood on cedar stained rivers soaking up some sun and some romantic rhetoric of the great outdoors. I overheard talk of biodiversity, of pollution and other environmental concerns from the NJ outdoor club and Sierra Club members. I was the weird kid on the street who collected bug exoskeletons, animal bones, feathers and rocks. I watched animal planet and discovery channel religiously and leaped around the house rather than walking, imitating the Lemur Zoboomafoo.

I was immersed in Steve Irwin’s animal rescues watching the spectacle of relocation from hot spots of human activity back into the “wild.”

Wild animals didn’t belong in humans worlds, they were separate from us and we were separate from them. Nature was out there beyond the reaches of everyday human life. Even my own enjoyment of nature was found in river trips more often than the backyard. I learned exotic creatures, and exotic places “out there” were the environment and nature needed expert protection from humanities destructive habits. I learned the importance of scientists, conservationists, wildlife preserves, knowledge, data, education and research. I learned these are “critical in managing the co-existence of crocodiles and people.” I easily extrapolated this to all animals, species and ecologies. More information and better dissemination of this information would stop the environmental crisis. Or so I was told by the environmental media most accessible to a child.  This is the politics of representing nature, animals and human relationships to nature.

I never learned of the ecological damage done to the gravel quarry just down the street nor was I ever told about the EPA superfund site less than a mile from my house and the contamination of our drinking water with radon- which I now question the government policy in this risk society. These were not environmental issues, my neighborhood wasn’t the environment- That was found in the distant edges of the exotic, in the Galapagos, the coral reefs, and the antarctic.

“It was as though they sacrificed the near to gain the far.” -Rebecca Solnit, The Annihilation of Time and Space

The media content shaped my imagination of nature and the TV stirred in me a desire to visit the lush habitats that demanded conservation. They connected me to faraway places and simultaneously disconnected me from the local. But this extends beyond physical places to the imagination. The media imparted me with a connection to past and current constructs of nature, to a global cultural imagination, while simultaneously disconnecting me from ideas of local environment.

CHAPTER TWO: Romantic vs Scientific

“In a sense, the scientific version of nature gave rise to the romantic version: to supply what was missing. Since sensations and emotions had been banished by science from nature, dismissed as subjective, the romantics expressed their alienation by constructing an account of nature that overflowed with emotions and moral feelings. They tried to preface the precision of science with a sense of mystery and infinity.” -Mick Gold, History of Nature

I sought out nature as a pining romantic, finding deep spirituality, emotions and energy in the woods. I still do today, for nature holds the past, is a caretaker of memory, and operates on a different time- slow time. My feelings seem to find an ever deeper clarity, a richer meaning and a more vivid expression in the wilderness. These passions were influenced by written word rather than television, one of the technological game changers. In high school, I was exposed to Emerson, Thoreau, Coleridge, Wordsworth, Blake, Hawthorne, Whitman, etc. and was particularity influenced by the writings of John Muir. A man I would never have heard of if I hadn’t had the opportunity to travel to Muir Woods in California; ironically, it was mobility unsettled by the media’s calling to pursue scientific knowledge.

Screen Shot 2016-03-25 at 12.04.53 PMI also sought nature as a pragmatic scientist, attempting to break it down into its simplest component pieces using rigorous analysis. In college, my desire to save nature became ever more distorted and mutated academically. I was drawn further and further into the world of molecules, genes, genomics, publications and data. The current state of the field of biology is one of data overload. With the rise of genetics and molecular techniques, there is currently more data then researchers have the capacity or infrastructure to analyze. Ironically, biology’s pursuit of information has given researchers more data than they could ever make sense of. Technology has advanced biological science to a much faster time scale.

“Ambitious attempts to study complex systems like the human microbiome mark biology’s arrival in the world of big data. The life sciences have long been considered a descriptive science — 10 years ago, the field was relatively data poor, and scientists could easily keep up with the data they generated. But with advances in genomics, imaging and other technologies, biologists are now generating data at crushing speeds.” – Emily Singer, Biology’s Big Problem: There’s Too Much Data To Handle

I found myself contributing to molecular genetics research though I worked in the lab studying parasitoid wasps. I spent 10-15 hours a week in lab for an academic year and 4o hours a week this summer, equating to just under 800 hours.  Eight hundred hours of stillness in front of not one but two computer screens, pushing data around on the monitor, my mind leaving my body behind. My professor told me genetics was still a study of natural history, we’re just walking through the genetic makeup and molecular history rather than through an ecosystem. This obviously struck a chord with me, making me feel as though I wasn’t so far off the mark. After all, genes can help us infer evolutionary history, which can help us with conservation efforts.

“And yet the industrial world is simply based upon another model of nature which enables the resources of the world to be analyzed and broken down and re-shaped by human hands.” – Mick Gold, History of Nature

On a fundamental level, the romantic and scientific view of nature I clung to sharply conflicted.  Romanticism arose as a reaction to industrialization and scientific abandonment of emotions and morals. Yet the wilderness and the laboratory are based on principles of the same nature and both appear to be blind to the true environment.

CHAPTER THREE: Artist in Me

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I’ve failed to mention earlier, but I was also an artist. I say was because I’ve only sketched/painted a handful times since arriving in Rochester. I spent 10 years painting, sketching, moving colors and textures to create new representations of the world. But this faded as science invaded.

Looking back to one summer at the Huyck Preserve, I learned something seemingly trivial then while conversing with a scientific illustrator. To draw a specimen, you have to sit with it, really look at it, see it, know it well;  follow its curves and lines, its shadows and imperfections. It’s a way of seeing that a camera can never replicate. The act of taking a picture lasts only seconds and the memory is digital but not actual.

“But there is another kind of seeing that involves a letting go. When I see this way I sway transfixed and emptied. The difference between the two ways of seeing is the difference between walking with and with out a camera. When I walk with a camera I walk shot to shot, reading the light on a calibrated meter. When I walk without a camera, my own shutter opens, and the moment’s light prints on my own silver gut. When I see this second way I am above all an unscrupulous observer.” -Annie Dillard, Pilgrim at Tinker Creek

When you look in this way you learn something more from imprints on your “own silver gut.”  It’s the difference between a red pine and a hemlock, a male and female box turtle, the Egg Harbor River in NJ and the Genesee of Rochester. Looking in this way enhances perception. It’s a window into the nuances of life, the undoing of the homogenization and globalization in a way, and the recognition of the local or the specifics of a place, creature, or person.  It’s a glimpse into the subtitles of raw emotion and pure energy (Or maybe that’s just the romantic in me).  It’s a moment of seeing into the real, behind the mediation and filters of technology.

ps. Photography is one of my favorite hobbies and I often take my camera with me into “nature”.  But my point above is not to attack the camera or any specific type of technology but rather its effects on our ways of seeing the world, the effects of media rather than its content.

CHAPTER FOUR: Human Pursuits

EJ,

I’ve been changing even more this semester, the humanities courses are awakening a new world for me!!  Saving me in a way from what had become a nightmare of cold scientific calculation, of benefit and cost, of a binary analysis of data and information. (They’re also significantly helping me through my grieving journey)  I’m seeing new wonder and enchantment in the world and in my life, the romantic in me is no longer reserved for the woods. I feel the artist awakening! My immediate emotional reaction is to shun the world of science, realizing that its not addressing big picture important questions!  I feel simultaneously disillusion with the realm of science and enlightened by the humanities.  So how does one reconcile this? I’m wondering how you’ve managed to seemingly combine both of these worlds?  How does your English background help you as a scientist?  How does your art fit into this picture?

-Rose

The medium is the message. The media filters and colors my imagination of nature, my sense of place, my understanding of the environment and myself, and my ability to make sense of the world. There is an effect beyond the immediate content- Its the way the content affects and informs the user. An effect related to observing unscrupulously compared to snapping a picture or living shot to shot. Humanities and sciences share a relationship analogous to the relationship between drawing and photography.

Like my 800 research hours, I’ve spent countless more passively listening to professors profess in the sciences.  The smallest of my science courses has been about 25 students, too large to be discussion driven. Even so, what would we discuss?  It’s hard to imagine. While there are hypotheses with room for interpretation and disagreements in the field, there is usually one or a handful of established ways of doing something. And even so, undergraduate biology mostly is about sharing information already well established within consensuses of the scientific community.

But perhaps the teaching method itself, one of passive information gathering, lends the student, me, to adopt this very way of thinking. To not question the efforts to cut carbon emission, to find better solar technology or to develop better climate modeling systems, but to think within this rhetoric. These are established solutions that make sense based on the information provided.

“Arts and humanities ask the questions you didn’t know needed to be asked.”

During my brief experience in the humanities, I’ve thought in ways science can’t, thoughts that are much more nuanced, less exact, less rooted in certainty. But these thoughts have substance, they are solid despite their sometimes ethereal nature. There is also space for recognizing emotions in the humanities. How a text made me feel is just as important as content. The emotions are not banished as they are in science.

Rose,

I am happy to reconcile your dilemma. Of course, it is a journey,and you will need to go it alone but with help. My life has always been balanced by science and writing. Sometimes “just” sequentially. I let it take turns and I was ok with that. By the time I started paintings, I merged the two. It wasn’t easy, but I let the art take over.

In a way I’ve never encountered in science, my personal experiences let me interpret so very uniquely and simultaneously universally. I’m dialoguing with the author, I’m reading their ideas and I’m continuing the discussion and adding another perspective. Compare this to lab classes, where I’ve repeated experiments done hundreds of time with known predictable outcomes. Follow the procedure. Conform to scientific standards. Analyze, analyze, analyze. None of my personal strengths, weaknesses, fears, experiences contribute in this setting. The humanities appear more holistic in my eyes.  Rather than isolating a piece of nature to study, we’ve thought about people, the thoughts of those people, the thoughts of people watching those people, how media constructs these thoughts, how these thoughts mediate interactions with the environment and the world and on and on.

I have always kept myself in check by recalling an artist’s statement I wrote for an art show. I compared art to science: “Both science and art are investigations based in personal and natural exploration in combination with experimental techniques.

The material is of a more personal nature. Or rather, I relate to the material on a much more personal level.  In thinking about societies constructions of nature, environmental injustice, globalization, mobilization, contextualization,  etc.  I’m learning about the world and in a way am learning about my bio-region and sense of place.  Perhaps not in Gary Snyder’s interpretation of sense of place, but rather one more akin to McLuhan’s ideas of living in a “global village”.  The Humanities have informed me in a way that technology and science have not. I’m not passively taking in information, adopting a CNN syndrome stance, but rather thinking critically, articulating my thoughts, and questioning.

Don’t make it more complicated than it needs to be. Don’t be disillusioned or impressed by either [science or art]. Both are human pursuits.

EJ

CHAPTER FIVE: Connecting the Disconnection

Perhaps the environmental humanities allowed me to connect the disconnect between my romantic views and my knowledge of biology. As a romantic, I wanted nature to remain constant and as a scientist, I knew this to be impossible.  In fact, the entire underlying basis of biology is evolution or change over time.

“Nothing makes sense in biology except in the light of evolution” – Theodosius Dobzhanasky

Nature, biology, and life adapt to changing environments as new selective pressures are applied. Why then do we as scientists work so hard to preserve pure nature and untouched wildness.  Is is our mode of operation as scientists, to always compartmentalize? Remove emotions and subjectivity, remove additional variables, and remove even ourselves. Estrange the individual, body and spirit, from the logical mind, banish emotions to the woods and critical thinking to the lab. With such a disjointed representation of self, is it easier than ever to act without reacting? To quietly gather information about the changing climate without taking radical action? do radical solutions only come from emotion?

“There have never been unmediated interactions with others or with the spaces that surround us. But the relationship between us, the world around us, and what makes this relationship possible have been far from constant. As social norms and social spaces change, we have developed new types of devices to interact with other and our environment.” 

– Adriana de Souza e Silva + Jordan Frith,
Mobile Interfaces in Public Spaces

Is this a symptom of a larger problem? is the separation of the real from reality a universal in the wake of the mass mediated culture? Perhaps this separation from the real is partly an adaptation to survive in a changing world. We numb and even amputate our feelings, shut down parts of ourselves, compartmentalize to adapt this the rapidly changing society driven my technology. Although our interactions with our environment have always been mediated they haven’t been so drastically mediated, filtered, unsettled, and altered by media and technology at any other point in history.

 

Incorporated Topics:

  1. How do media shape human relationships to, and perception and understanding of nature and environment?
  2. Nature as scientifically verifiable
  3. Romanticism/Industrialization: Nature as romantic wilderness (with sacred meaning, spirituality, ecological balance and wisdom; emotional, discovered with childlike wonder; systems of signs and meanings)
  4. Death of Nature / Rise of Scientific Worldview / Exploitation of Nature
  5. Media shapes perceptions of the environment, telling us what to see and what to not see.
  6. Media represents the environment.
  7. Is perception of nature separable from historical and cultural developments?
  8. What is wrong with losing our sense of place?
  9. “Sacrificing the near to gain the far”
  10. “We have extended our nervous system in a global embrace, abolishing both space and time.”
  11. Effects of railroad, telegraph, photograph, film on human perception of space and time
  12. Desert of the real
  13. “The content of any medium blinds us to the character of the medium.”
  14. Technology and media as prostheses and amputations