https://adjacent-ecoscope.itp.io ADJACENT: Ecoscope | Issue 10 Mon, 13 Mar 2023 02:15:19 +0000 https://adjacent-ecoscope.itp.io en https://adjacent-ecoscope.itp.io/Home Fri, 03 Feb 2023 12:30:01 +0000 ADJACENT: Ecoscope | Issue 10 https://adjacent-ecoscope.itp.io/Home ecoscopeMeditations on nature, technology, and humanity Issue #10March 2023 ESSAYS Leia ChangNoting the Details Shiva ViswanathanPersonal Touch Leslie RuckmanEcoistic Futures through Art Henry Haoyu WangBug Square Tanika WilliamsNesting: A Ritual for Mothers Q GaoSnail Jo SukWearing the Gaze Nikhil KumarMicrobial Archives August LuhrsJoy || Labyrinth TALKS GALLERYZINE ABOUTPAST ISSUES Notes becomes an archive of your lost words, of all the moments you otherwise would leave behind in the recycling bin. In this way, it is more than a scratchpad, it's an archive of you. And unlike a journal or a notebook, you never put it away on a shelf; you carry it with you, indefinitely. When I type on a mechanical keyboard, I can see the key lower, feel the switch actuate, and hear the keycap and switch bottom out on the board. A sentence echoes out into the room like a symphony with each row playing a different harmony in the orchestra. Historically, the human ability to create art, tools, and technology was cited as proof that we are greater than animals and deserve dominion over nature. We used these means to separate ourselves. Now, using the very same tools, we can disarm this damaging attitude. Some things in Bug Square should be wrong. In this world, bugs are celebrated features, not just bugs. Or rather they are bugs, but are also features. Creating Bug Square showed me how errors inspire me in my life, and I hope that highlighting bugs will encourage you to be inspired by the bugs in your life. Nesting. In a broad sense, nesting is an attempt to house, conceal, protect, shelter, and regulate the temperature of newborns. In the most widely understood meaning, animals nest to prepare for the arrival of their offspring. While all animals nest—in broader cultural understandings—the term is usually applied to the nesting of birds and human women. The neighbors are awake now. Today is the day. There is always one day in a year when they will wake up from their naps and find something worth eavesdropping on. They get themselves a glass of water, and listen. Camouflage is an unspoken acknowledgment of the rivalry between the wearer and the watcher. It is an artifact of antagonism itself, embedded into our skin, pelts, and chromatophores. I wonder if, floating in the air and crawling on the surfaces around us, the invisible world of microbes might provide us the information we need to recreate the smells and tastes of our past. Fermentation is as close to alchemy as we’ll get. Throw some milk in a pot, heat it up, let it cool a bit, add a spoon of yogurt, and overnight, you’ll have a new batch of yogurt. Magic. When I think about the times in my life where I felt pure Joy — there’s always other people there. There’s always a sense in those moments that I could do anything — because of the people I was doing it with. It is only within Big We that we become the most fully actualized versions of our individual selves. https://adjacent-ecoscope.itp.io/About Wed, 11 Jan 2023 15:45:13 +0000 ADJACENT: Ecoscope | Issue 10 https://adjacent-ecoscope.itp.io/About Issue #10March / 2023 What lives at the intersection of nature, humanity, and technology? Some might say everything. ‘Ecoscope’ is meant to be a lens for our theme, covering ecologies, ecosystems, economies, and more. This issue explores the fine line between nature and technology, and their intimate relationship with humanity. Each essay takes a close look at one very small piece of this everything-verse we are intimately wedged in, like a scope. The range in topics exhibits the breadth of this tripartite intersection: interspecies art-making, microbial archiving, snails, camouflage, keyboards, nesting, bugs, the notes app, and collective joy. In other words, everything. ADJACENT&nbsp;is an online journal of emerging media published by the Interactive Telecommunications Program of NYU. Our mission is to share research, reflection, analysis, and opinion from and for the diverse creators that are exploring the emerging possibilities of the contemporary moment in media and technology. Adjacent was made possible by a Tisch Faculty Grant. Special thanks to Tisch School of the Arts Dean, Allyson Green, and ITP’s Chair and Associate Dean for Emerging Media, Shawn Van Every, for their ongoing support. EditorsJulia Margaret Lu, Managing Editorshuang caiSarah ElixMax Chu Zichen ‘Oliver’ YuanSite DesignTuan Huang, Lead DesignerNeeti Sivakumar So Yeon KimWeb DevelopmentTuan HuangFaculty AdvisorNancy HechingerResident AdvisorDivya Mehra https://adjacent-ecoscope.itp.io/Zine Fri, 17 Feb 2023 16:56:59 +0000 ADJACENT: Ecoscope | Issue 10 https://adjacent-ecoscope.itp.io/Zine exquisite adjacent fall 2022 <img width="6720" height="4480" width_o="6720" height_o="4480" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/cf804b165fac9994deacb7e704bae1e204a24d5574dcd5cc2a0fe1e23f183b28/2V1A4724.jpg" data-mid="168789437" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/cf804b165fac9994deacb7e704bae1e204a24d5574dcd5cc2a0fe1e23f183b28/2V1A4724.jpg" /> <img width="6720" height="4480" width_o="6720" height_o="4480" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/57914757d4b7e6cff9f75bdf1abcb0f30492507eaa5c03d8a11f9067983b0b81/2V1A4700.jpg" data-mid="168789412" border="0" 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data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/cc76fbfea5ea69f7c6396632510e0b20fc98f092eaf3df49184791838c109460/2V1A4704.jpg" data-mid="168789415" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/cc76fbfea5ea69f7c6396632510e0b20fc98f092eaf3df49184791838c109460/2V1A4704.jpg" /> <img width="6720" height="4480" width_o="6720" height_o="4480" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/8cea54f79fbf25e7be08650b54440ca03a81002b98737dd42ed6247665b79ee4/2V1A4705.jpg" data-mid="168789418" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/8cea54f79fbf25e7be08650b54440ca03a81002b98737dd42ed6247665b79ee4/2V1A4705.jpg" /> <img width="6720" height="4480" width_o="6720" height_o="4480" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/ca6f48c6ab1998d0f195e1d4a246e9a2692c4869787bd5e7857ec554bb2f0b8f/2V1A4708.jpg" data-mid="168789420" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/ca6f48c6ab1998d0f195e1d4a246e9a2692c4869787bd5e7857ec554bb2f0b8f/2V1A4708.jpg" /> <img width="6720" height="4480" width_o="6720" height_o="4480" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/27a357285d4baa30889a331f0be50feb412fdd42a4e2e422270cd767b1fb66b1/2V1A4709.jpg" data-mid="168789421" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/27a357285d4baa30889a331f0be50feb412fdd42a4e2e422270cd767b1fb66b1/2V1A4709.jpg" /> <img width="6720" height="4480" width_o="6720" height_o="4480" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/44450a86feda7c2477a66678f2e0e5d5d0144f1287dd0abd8b21e4437260238a/2V1A4711.jpg" data-mid="168789422" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/44450a86feda7c2477a66678f2e0e5d5d0144f1287dd0abd8b21e4437260238a/2V1A4711.jpg" /> <img width="6720" height="4480" width_o="6720" height_o="4480" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/273bf7a2452920d6521b51f3a012224bed7d3f12162e244ef2a6ffb1679a61ee/2V1A4712.jpg" data-mid="168789423" border="0" 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data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/d31aa2d7357396012039e9aa08562c3a00d5a3de5ca96cc69de14917bc2967aa/2V1A4715.jpg" data-mid="168789428" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/d31aa2d7357396012039e9aa08562c3a00d5a3de5ca96cc69de14917bc2967aa/2V1A4715.jpg" /> <img width="6720" height="4480" width_o="6720" height_o="4480" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/a4df661072d7b2325af32d6692094ca25dc7230df80d9a210f7161abd8e23176/2V1A4717.jpg" data-mid="168789430" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/a4df661072d7b2325af32d6692094ca25dc7230df80d9a210f7161abd8e23176/2V1A4717.jpg" /> <img width="6720" height="4480" width_o="6720" height_o="4480" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/edf3855a93a11692c455fb6a9b385f9df4f2c2a694f565e0f3de631b45783a45/2V1A4718.jpg" data-mid="168789431" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/edf3855a93a11692c455fb6a9b385f9df4f2c2a694f565e0f3de631b45783a45/2V1A4718.jpg" /> <img width="6720" height="4480" width_o="6720" height_o="4480" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/79fd6b05c17b3009bc37f9858381284300bae3da2661ab15823291d09ab94c3b/2V1A4719.jpg" data-mid="168789432" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/79fd6b05c17b3009bc37f9858381284300bae3da2661ab15823291d09ab94c3b/2V1A4719.jpg" /> <img width="6720" height="4480" width_o="6720" height_o="4480" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/976a29069e1c95ea387e29e8aea89c3275deba2620ff18dc0601ffd216e6ddd2/2V1A4720.jpg" data-mid="168789433" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/976a29069e1c95ea387e29e8aea89c3275deba2620ff18dc0601ffd216e6ddd2/2V1A4720.jpg" /> <img width="6720" height="4480" width_o="6720" height_o="4480" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/5eb9bd4bfcc63d2fda017e46db45b7a51080828f9d12a4a2a8d6fe4e4a5b7534/2V1A4721.jpg" data-mid="168789434" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/5eb9bd4bfcc63d2fda017e46db45b7a51080828f9d12a4a2a8d6fe4e4a5b7534/2V1A4721.jpg" /> <img width="6720" height="4480" width_o="6720" height_o="4480" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/78175347b68f7eb8d6b561d55c2216984ecac4b81aebb5c161a322031ed944e7/2V1A4722.jpg" data-mid="168789435" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/78175347b68f7eb8d6b561d55c2216984ecac4b81aebb5c161a322031ed944e7/2V1A4722.jpg" /> The Adjacent zine is a love letter to community on the ITP floor through print and collage. After ITP and the world went hyper-digital in Covid years, we decided to make something more hi-touch than hi-tech. We wanted this issue to reflect the ITP floor coming back to life, so this publication transformed into a medium for gathering. It is 32 pages of generative poetry, friendship, history, workshops, games, and more. The zine was printed for and distributed at the 2022 ITP Winter Show at 370 Jay Street. Special Thanks to: Shawn van Every, George Agudow, Doc Lab Printed by NYU Reprographics for the 2022 ITP Winter Show Special Guests:Molly RitmillerBlair SimmonsContent created by:Christina CappelliLeia ChangMax ChuLily CrandallSarah ElixAngelo Espinosa TiuNancy HechingerTuan HuangTom IgoeDre JacomeJo KimSo Yeon KimYi-Chun LanLong LongJulia Margaret LuDivya MehraLucia MummaFrancisco NavasMega OlonbayarTres PimentelShaurya SethNeeti SivakumarDipika TitusJaxon WangLifei WangKristina YouZichen ‘Oliver’ YuanCass Yao The entire ITP/IMA Student Body ©2022 https://adjacent-ecoscope.itp.io/Talks Mon, 13 Mar 2023 02:15:19 +0000 ADJACENT: Ecoscope | Issue 10 https://adjacent-ecoscope.itp.io/Talks Coming soon... CW&amp;T/ + Justin Morris-MaranoWednesday, March 29th Keller EasterlingThursday, April 13thSam LavigneThursday, April 20th https://adjacent-ecoscope.itp.io/Noting-the-Details Fri, 10 Feb 2023 18:18:35 +0000 ADJACENT: Ecoscope | Issue 10 https://adjacent-ecoscope.itp.io/Noting-the-Details &nbsp; Noting the Details Leia Chang <img width="2560" height="1920" width_o="2560" height_o="1920" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/2dc4431a9c3a76c98d35980145f2b7ce55fa49de278a21adaf6c5b6d0c5825a1/Adjacent_Notes.png" data-mid="171799726" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/2dc4431a9c3a76c98d35980145f2b7ce55fa49de278a21adaf6c5b6d0c5825a1/Adjacent_Notes.png" /> Illustration by Suraj Barthy What’s the most intimate place on your phone? For me, it’s the notes app. It’s my scrap paper, my journal, and my whiteboard. And it serves as a cornerstone of my memory. For 16 years, the Notes app has been living in our pockets. In that time, this mobile writing pad has become a ubiquitous and reliable tool. It’s the non-judgemental blank slate for celebrities to draft apology notes before posting screenshots of them on social media. Its unimposing interface is a&nbsp; perfect informal space to jot down anything from a shopping list, an important email address, or the third draft of your thesis paper. Notes, in its lack of opinion, becomes an extension of you in ways that no other app can. Unlike other digital spaces, it doesn't embody databases, nodes, or trees. Instead, it presents itself like a stack of sticky notes. They can be as long as you need them to be, retrievable when you want them, and will fall into the depths when you don't need them anymore. Its infinite pages become a catch-all for the scraps of your life: the phone number of a dentist you need to call, gift ideas for your mother, a stray quote that caught your eye. In this way, it not only captures your words, but the way you think. Its infinite pages become a catch-all for the scraps of your life: the phone number of a dentist you need to call, gift ideas for your mother, a stray quote that caught your eye. My memory is inconvenient at best. I have a steel trap for remembering how things are done. Show me a process, and I can teach someone tomorrow. But names, faces, and people have always escaped me. Four years ago, I forgot the name of my coworker. We'd been on the same team for over a year, almost but not-quite working together. For 14 months we sat four desks apart from each other in an open-plan office. 14 months of attending the same meetings, eating lunch at the same table, and joking in the same slack channels about code gone wrong. Right in the middle of introducing them to someone, I forgot their name entirely. What an absolute shithead! Who forgets the name of someone they've sat next to for over a year? Good people remember your name after the first time you’ve been introduced. Good people remember that your partner’s name is David, or that you adore that brand of hot chocolate, or that you’re allergic to shrimp. Good people don’t forget the name of their coworkers, or that you were in the same class last semester, or that last year you broke up with your boyfriend and never want him mentioned again. I'm trying to be a good person. In my notes app I have a note titled ‘People.’ It’s my most frequently edited note. At this point, it’s over a hundred lines long, with no particular rhyme or reason to its entries. When I moved to Brooklyn, I was entering a community with a fresh start. I wanted to finally be the good person that people would want to be friends with. Remembering someone is often enough to be worth remembering yourself. So whenever I met a new person, I'd write down their name and a fact to remember. Thus, ‘People’ was born. Jose works at the coffeeshop next door on Tuesdays Zenora's the attendant in the dining car who once got to see an entirely private train car Deana has a nine-year old dog named Fancy These snippets become the anchor of my impression of a person. They're also just a beginning, a silhouette of an individual that takes time to fill in. Some people stick around. For others, these names and words are the only things I have left from meeting them. The list swells at the beginning of a year, right after a move, or when I join a new social circle. Friendships are built of habit more often than happenstance; a practice of noticing people and engaging with them until they become a regular part of my life. Some of these names resurface. I write them over and over, with the things that I hope I'll remember: the names of partners, of pets, where they grew up, what their favorite foods are. In a way, this note becomes a portrait of the kind of friend I'd like to be to them and the relationship I'd like to build. ‘People’ is less data collection, and more ritual. When I write a name and note, I inscribe a wish for remembering them. Each line marks a moment not only worth remembering, but worth trying to remember. And each line is the foundation from which the habit of our friendship might grow. When I write a name and note, I inscribe a wish for remembering them. Each line marks a moment not only worth remembering, but worth trying to remember. My note might say Jinny loves banana milk, but it doesn't say that she grew up with it, or that she's got a tiny charm of it on her keys, or that once we tried a vegan banana milk in class and agreed that this version should not have been my introduction to the drink. The Notes app takes the place of a notebook, but it isn't one. The words you write might otherwise have lived on scrap pieces of paper, a sticky note, or the back of an envelope snagged from the dining table. But what would have happened to them later, when their reminding was done? They would have been thrown away. Notes becomes an archive of your lost words, of all the moments you otherwise would leave behind in the recycling bin. In this way, it is more than a scratchpad, it's an archive of you. And unlike a journal or a notebook, you never put it away on a shelf; you carry it with you, indefinitely. What happens when you always have your history with you, when you can look back at every stray thought you've had? What does it mean that I archive every introduction in my pocket?My notes are a collection of the people I've met and am meeting. It's a diary of my desire to listen and to learn. I carry my close friendships here alongside all the people I’ll never get to know. All the people I meet in passing and all the people I hope to grow closer to. What does yours hold? ABOUT THE AUTHORLeia Chang is a new media artist and creative technologist based in Brooklyn. Currently a student at NYU ITP, they are focused on using both traditional and New media to explore alternative interfaces and interactive entertainment, as well as embodying and investigating the complexities of cultural identities in second-generation immigration. ︎ ︎ NEXT ︎ SHIVA VISWANATHAN: PERSONAL TOUCH https://adjacent-ecoscope.itp.io/Personal-Touch Fri, 10 Feb 2023 18:18:45 +0000 ADJACENT: Ecoscope | Issue 10 https://adjacent-ecoscope.itp.io/Personal-Touch &nbsp; Personal TouchMechanical Keyboards for a Human-Centered Future Shiva Viswanathan <img width="1920" height="1080" width_o="1920" height_o="1080" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/5c5c804035e5e81210dffc645c708cb5fce5f9ab543c271b51764290645a2bb5/Adjacent_Keyboards.png" data-mid="171247537" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/5c5c804035e5e81210dffc645c708cb5fce5f9ab543c271b51764290645a2bb5/Adjacent_Keyboards.png" /> Illustration by Suraj Barthy, ITP ‘23 When I type on a mechanical keyboard, I can see the key lower, feel the switch actuate, and hear the keycap and switch bottom out on the board. A sentence echoes out into the room like a symphony with each row playing a different harmony in the orchestra. I look down and I’m greeted by colorful plastic that has an appealing aesthetic on my desk. I choose all these things for myself. I choose the switches, deciding whether I’ll gently smush the keys or force my entire being into jamming them down. I choose how the keyboard sounds by picking the materials of the case, selecting from heavy aluminum, light polycarbonate, or a dense wood. I choose the colors of the keycaps and cases, letting my mood decide between a sleek black look or a refined white keyboard with purple accents. I built this keyboard to reflect my aesthetic, to be the most satisfying to type on, and to hit those perfect frequency ranges. The mechanical keyboard rekindled my love of computers and all things tactile. The majority of digital communication is made through tiny phones that strain our thumbs, and regular desktop and laptop keyboards are prone to obsolescence. In 2015, Apple released a new line of Macbooks that featured a stunning low profile butterfly switch keyboard. The butterfly switch was so prone to failure that it awoke an entire community of users to the importance of keyboards, forcing Apple to redesign them. The DIY keyboard community reminds us that we are only as skilled as the tools we use. Just like how a sword or a hammer is an extension of our arms, the keyboard is the extension of our voice and ought to be respected as such.Using a computer used to feel soulless to me. Now I'm excited to get back on my desktop for the chance to type something out. This feeling did not exist for me until a few years ago, when I discovered mechanical keyboards as a hobby.&nbsp; When I bought my first keyboard, it opened a whole new world of interaction to me. Feeling each key and hearing their sounds changed my position on the way we use keyboards. I wasn’t as attuned to nuances in audio until I found quirky keyboard videos scattered across the internet and paid attention to the sounds the keys make. All of a sudden, I found joy in this tool that had been overlooked and forgotten. The office and laptop keyboards that I was used to were just a means to an end. Computer keyboards were revolutionary for helping us communicate with the machines that transformed our world. They’ve devolved into cheap and frail interfaces when they should be celebrated as the most important peripheral of a computer. The keyboard is the bond between humans and the digital world and therefore, the rest of the world. With our bodies we are able to use our voices to create different tones, change our rate of speech, and many other factors that define the way we sound. Now that most of our communication is done through some form of typing, we should find ways to customize those tools because not everyone types the same, just like how no one sounds the same. The keyboard is the bond between humans and the digital world and therefore, the rest of the world. A mechanical keyboard is made up of a PCB, a case, and 30+ switches and keycaps, which all come together to create a unique typing experience. Through more design choices and an expanded market (and demand) for a variety of parts, users get to create a personalized tool that they will use every day. A user feels more connected to keys that they’ve tailored for themselves, and the process of writing teases a fruitful flow state. &nbsp; Switches are the highlight of mechanical keyboards and the most sensitive aspect for users. They come in three categories: clicky, tactile, and linear. Tactile switches have a tactile bump that users need to press through; clicky switches feel like tactiles but have a distinct audible click noise for every keystroke; and finally, linears are smooth to press through all the way down. If you want someone to hate a keyboard, give them a clicky switch that echoes a high pitch plastic scratchiness through the room. Within these three categories there are thousands of permutations.&nbsp; Switches are now designed in different plastics with a range of spring weights that determine how heavy a switch is, and so much more. If you want someone to hate a keyboard, give them a clicky switch that echoes a high pitch plastic scratchiness through the room. Keycaps are the showcase aspect of any keyboard and bring all the pieces together. Users choose between font legends and colors for each key, but there’s a whole variety of keycap height profiles that can completely change the way a keyboard feels. Tall keycaps will make a keyboard feel more tactile and sound deeper at the cost of straining your wrist, while flat keycaps make the keyboard sound lighter and feel minimalistic, but can sometimes result in typos. Humans are innately and intimately connected to the tools they use. For a world where 64.4% of the entire population uses the internet, often requiring a keyboard to do so, we pay very little attention to the keyboard. It boggles my mind that for something used by a huge variety of people, the larger interest to invest in keyboards is practically nonexistent. The keyboard has been around for over 150 years and there seems to be no interest in redesigning it. Why not? Mechanical keyboards are the pinnacle of functionality and joy. When tools provide functionality but are difficult to use or do not feel good, users will move away from them. The barrier of entry for mechanical keyboards is a high price tag, but I believe that joy-less keyboards for digital screens will also lead people toward mechanical keyboards. Our tools should serve us, not the other way around. ABOUT THE AUTHORShiva Viswanathan is a 4th-year design student studying Interactive Media Arts at New York University. When not at school, he’s usually home in his Brooklyn apartment eating Oreos, playing video games, or reading manga. He loves all things tactile like keyboards and draws every day. You can find his drawings on Instagram @daysofshiva. ︎ NEXT ︎ LESLIE RUCKMAN: ECOISTIC FUTURES THROUGH ART https://adjacent-ecoscope.itp.io/Ecoistic-Futures-Through-Art Fri, 10 Feb 2023 18:18:19 +0000 ADJACENT: Ecoscope | Issue 10 https://adjacent-ecoscope.itp.io/Ecoistic-Futures-Through-Art &nbsp; Ecoistic Futures Through Art Leslie Ruckman <img width="1788" height="1192" width_o="1788" height_o="1192" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/71144a824485005396d77a52bd80fb37fc854982fa07e535dfc58022704d643e/SurveillAnts_1.jpg" data-mid="169605286" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/71144a824485005396d77a52bd80fb37fc854982fa07e535dfc58022704d643e/SurveillAnts_1.jpg" /> Image by Leslie Ruckman <img width="12000" height="8000" width_o="12000" height_o="8000" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/1f0b2886489572bd52c8e82345378382ad7adeef11c6cc79b72e43d8b06171e9/WhupCall-m4a.svg" data-mid="172434074" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/1f0b2886489572bd52c8e82345378382ad7adeef11c6cc79b72e43d8b06171e9/WhupCall-m4a.svg" /> Visualization of Humpback Whale Whup recording from Dr. Fournet’s sound libraryPlay audio This is how to introduce yourself to a humpback whale, the equivalent of “hello, my name is” in their language. If you’re lucky enough to find yourself floating among these gentle giants, you might play a version of this recording, a unique whale greeting created by AI. It’s quite likely the whales will&nbsp; answer back, introducing you into their social group. This is the work of Dr. Michelle Fournet who has spent over a decade recording and decoding humpback whale songs. Her lab at the Cornell Center for Conservation Bioacoustics has trained a machine learning algorithm on hours of humpback whale recordings. Using&nbsp; AI, they’re able to simulate the songs of humpback whales, a complex language that rivals our own. This project, and others like it, are part of a long history of human attempts to communicate with the creatures sharing our planet. As we invent new methods to converse with the natural world, are we ready to listen? All around us the sights, sounds, and lives of animals are disappearing. In the last 50 years, human activity has extinguished 60% of earth’s&nbsp; wildlife. From tiny insects to enormous elephants, over a million animal and plant species are threatened with extinction, part of the 6th Great Extinction event unfolding on our planet. This loss is devastating for both nature and humanity. Biodiversity is not only core to the health of our planet, it is essential to our own survival. Our challenge exists at the scale of human culture. Can we find ways to live harmoniously with (rather than from) our environment?&nbsp; Art&nbsp; is particularly well poised to reflect and shape culture, to transmit new cultural ideas and identities. In the majority of popular art, animals and nature take the form of subjects or symbols in painting, sculpture, and poetry. It’s common to find art that uses animals as a material– think of Damien Hirst’s butterfly assemblages, his series of animals preserved in formaldehyde, or Wim Delvoye’s tattooed pig “Art Farm”. These treatments in popular culture lend themselves to an image of these creatures as beautiful commodities, generic masses, or passive subjects to bend to our will. Too often, this supports the extractivist mindset that has come to define our relationship to nature. <img width="1024" height="681" width_o="1024" height_o="681" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/4a2726794efa7cb78a8596817ad95bacebc1bed385d927e5eaf5ddc704719f00/GettyImages-91644212-1024x681.jpg" data-mid="171801881" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/4a2726794efa7cb78a8596817ad95bacebc1bed385d927e5eaf5ddc704719f00/GettyImages-91644212-1024x681.jpg" />Damien Hirst’s “Kaleidoscope Paintings” Photo courtesy of Mike Clarke/AFP/Getty Images.<img width="1240" height="1598" width_o="1240" height_o="1598" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/18850a610fbdbc8e05327afde7f76d211c52eabed33f2feda4ffc9e51972b97c/Wim-Delvoye-Untitled-Koi-2008-stuffed-and-tattooed-pig.png" data-mid="171801882" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/18850a610fbdbc8e05327afde7f76d211c52eabed33f2feda4ffc9e51972b97c/Wim-Delvoye-Untitled-Koi-2008-stuffed-and-tattooed-pig.png" />Wim Delvoye – Untitled (Koi), 2008 stuffed and tattooed pig, 68 x 132 x 46 cm. Photo courtesy of Public DeliveryThis is where interspecies co-creation offers a unique approach, equally defined by human and other-than-human artists. Co-created art recognizes the authorship and agency of individual animals. It seeks to involve them as active participants in the creative process. In order to approach collaboration with those who cannot speak, human artists must try to see the world from the creature’s perspective. This endeavor often involves scientific partners and technology tools that enhance human senses and understanding. The result is creative expression that sits in between the human and the animal, opening the door to new perspectives on how we all might coexist. It’s a shift away from anthropocentric thinking (egotistic) towards an inter-species worldview (ecoistic) that recognizes the interdependence and connectedness of all living beings in the natural world. Take beavers, for example. Beavers, like humans, change landscapes to fit their needs. They are ecosystem engineers who build elaborate dams to&nbsp; control the flow of water within their territories. In doing so, they create ponds that are critical habitat for birds, fish, and other creatures. This behavior also gets them labeled as pests in human settlements, where not long ago, they were hunted to near-extinction for their fur. What if we recognized the creative ingenuity of beavers the same way we recognize architects? Would we be more welcoming of their presence if we viewed their work as art? <img width="2000" height="1500" width_o="2000" height_o="1500" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/642ea45c992301c36856761f7dfea85ac66ce075de92111df8dc988a4b15bca5/AkiInomata_HowtoCarveaSculpture_A-beaver-Taiyo--b.2014--Production-Assistance-Nasu-Animal-Kingdom.jpg" data-mid="169608200" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/642ea45c992301c36856761f7dfea85ac66ce075de92111df8dc988a4b15bca5/AkiInomata_HowtoCarveaSculpture_A-beaver-Taiyo--b.2014--Production-Assistance-Nasu-Animal-Kingdom.jpg" />Taiyo the beaver, b.2014. Production Assistance: Nasu Animal Kingdom,&nbsp; © Aki InomataThis was the perspective of artist Aki Inomata who looked at the remains of chewed wood left by beavers trimming their teeth, and found a kind of Brâncuşi aesthetic. In her piece How to Carve a Sculpture, she focuses on the aesthetic qualities beavers bring to their woodwork — the unique shape of their teeth, the angles at which they chew, the interplay between the growth patterns and grain within the wood and the choices beavers make about where and how to chew it. These nuances become more pronounced as Inomata seeks to recreate the beavers’ work–– first through the hand of a trained human sculptor, and then through the precision work of a CNC machine. Each iteration is an imperfect copy that has obviously been interpreted by human hands and tools. The authorship of the originals are clear: the beavers have their own signature aesthetic. “Can I call this a sculpture?” Inomata asks. <img width="1200" height="600" width_o="1200" height_o="600" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/3d934b7379bb95404b098f16117a7e469610ac7d6e553fbc982836e2b9dbd076/AkiInomata_HowtoCarveaSculpture--carvings-By-Yuzub.2011--By-Komekob.2006--Production-Assistance-Hamura-Zoo--Iida-City-Zoo.jpg" data-mid="169608607" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/3d934b7379bb95404b098f16117a7e469610ac7d6e553fbc982836e2b9dbd076/AkiInomata_HowtoCarveaSculpture--carvings-By-Yuzub.2011--By-Komekob.2006--Production-Assistance-Hamura-Zoo--Iida-City-Zoo.jpg" />Beaver sculptures (left to right) by Yuzu(b.2011), and by Komeko(b.2006), © Aki Inomata Production Assistance: Hamura Zoo, Iida City Zoo <img width="1200" height="904" width_o="1200" height_o="904" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/faf752000a52cc5393d64559d2e6c7376bfd7e69a651c8876f3b9c67433c2514/beaver_sculpture_recreation_by_Yumi_Takeno.jpg" data-mid="169608710" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/faf752000a52cc5393d64559d2e6c7376bfd7e69a651c8876f3b9c67433c2514/beaver_sculpture_recreation_by_Yumi_Takeno.jpg" />Beaver sculptures recreated by human sculptor Yumi Takeno, shown at their studio <img width="1200" height="904" width_o="1200" height_o="904" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/50eb23f8364d5d6293d7b61bdbc0ca72c4df574d2a97c7da9bd7910ad734503f/beaver_sculpture_recreation_by_cnc.jpg" data-mid="169608698" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/50eb23f8364d5d6293d7b61bdbc0ca72c4df574d2a97c7da9bd7910ad734503f/beaver_sculpture_recreation_by_cnc.jpg" />Beaver sculptures recreated by a CNC machineInomata works collaboratively with other species ranging from bagworms to octopus, hermit crabs, beavers and dogs. Her art practice focuses on the creativity of animals, highlighting that the act of “making” is not exclusive to human beings. Her work challenges notions of human exceptionalism as Inomata entangles her own artistic process with that of another. Through co-creating her art with animals, she invites us to reconsider how we’ve understood these creatures in the past and how we might value them in the future. Shifting perspectives about our fellow creatures is challenging, even when they are cute and cuddly. It becomes even harder when our society considers them pests to be exterminated. In SurveillAnts, my (human) collaborator Gal Nissim and I wanted to challenge our audience’s view of ants, asking them to find relatable parallels between ant societies and our own. Ants go to war, enslave others, and farm food to eat. They build and repair intricate nests, distribute food amongst their colony, and have designated nurseries, cemeteries, and trash heaps. They do all of this without any sort of centralized hierarchy. <img width="2761" height="1726" width_o="2761" height_o="1726" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/6605b4d0165be04f2b212ef033b2798d8084f48f28a62cc76caa764a9d73843d/SurveillAnts_2.jpg" data-mid="169609097" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/6605b4d0165be04f2b212ef033b2798d8084f48f28a62cc76caa764a9d73843d/SurveillAnts_2.jpg" />SurveillAnts installation for Hustle a show at Science Gallery Lab, Detroit 2018 <img width="2873" height="1589" width_o="2873" height_o="1589" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/a78c66072cf827449331c4720e46159e3053159185d5f4ae7132f5286efc01d5/SurveillAnts_3.jpg" data-mid="169609139" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/a78c66072cf827449331c4720e46159e3053159185d5f4ae7132f5286efc01d5/SurveillAnts_3.jpg" /><img width="1280" height="853" width_o="1280" height_o="853" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/7434482fd2d0112baf02478a1251fccfc1497438cb4b468fc27652a5a0d444e3/SurveillAnts_4.jpeg" data-mid="169609140" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/7434482fd2d0112baf02478a1251fccfc1497438cb4b468fc27652a5a0d444e3/SurveillAnts_4.jpeg" />SurveillAnts solo show at ChaShaMa arts space in the West Village, NYC 2019SurveillAnts is a bioart installation that uses computer vision to track the behaviors of individual Red Harvester Ants. Their movements are visualized as colorful lines projection-mapped in real time back onto their environment. This path data is recorded and can be explored by visitors, redrawn to reveal overlapping patterns. The result is a kind of drawing created by the ant colony, a visual exploration of emergent intelligence. SurveillAnts solo show at ChaShaMa arts space in the West Village, NYC 2019Although SurveillAnts borrows methods and materials from scientific research, its goal is to facilitate personal discoveries in the minds of visitors. For some, it evoked childhood memories of playing in the dirt where small creatures were noticed with curiosity. For others, the colorful patterned paths were reminiscent of neurons and galaxies, other self-organizing systems that have a shared pattern language. For Gal and I, we tunneled deep into the world as ants’ smell it, our admiration growing the longer we spent with them. Fascinated by their use of scent pheromones to operate such complex societies, we were led to wonder what biological algorithms compel our human behaviors? For the general audience, SurveillAnts was a way to safely approach creatures perceived as scary or gross. The bright colors and contained environments allowed folks to suspend negative feelings and get close to the ants whose displays brought them to eye level. From this vantage point it became easier to appreciate their aliveness, their individuality, and their sophistication. Without insects, global ecosystems would collapse. They are essential to the reproduction of plants, the breakdown of organic material, and the food chain of countless species of fish, birds, and animals. They are also disappearing at alarming rates. Mourning this loss, the artist Alexandra Daisy Ginsberg created an artwork for the insects themselves. Pollinator Pathmaker, is an AI that generates “unlimited Edition Gardens”, each designed to maximize the number of different pollinating species supported by the garden. <img width="1200" height="660" width_o="1200" height_o="660" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/f59b8e85c39119a9ce1a1b123e30902f6a01bb2eede8ef0a120234eec61d0c0e/PollinatorPathmaker_Seasons_AlgoGarden.gif" data-mid="169609547" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/f59b8e85c39119a9ce1a1b123e30902f6a01bb2eede8ef0a120234eec61d0c0e/PollinatorPathmaker_Seasons_AlgoGarden.gif" />Algorithmically generated pollinator garden changing over the seasons, © Pollinator Pathmaker by Alexandra Daisy Ginsburg <img width="1280" height="800" width_o="1280" height_o="800" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/33ec6bbe769238fab76225a47e29434ac26ed1de8c986f4da65d6544d78363ae/alexandra-daisy-ginsberg-pollinator-pathmaker-photography-steve-tanner.jpeg" data-mid="169609577" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/33ec6bbe769238fab76225a47e29434ac26ed1de8c986f4da65d6544d78363ae/alexandra-daisy-ginsberg-pollinator-pathmaker-photography-steve-tanner.jpeg" />Alexandra Daisy Ginsburg at Eden Project where the first algorithmically derived, non-human centric garden is being installed, photography by Steve TannerGinsburg’s goal is to transform how we see and create gardens, using&nbsp; technology to drive non-human centric environmental change. Working collaboratively with a team of scientists, she created an algorithm that takes the perspective of pollinating insects, choosing and arranging specific plants into a garden design to satisfy their taste. These gardens must be planted and actively tended to by humans on behalf of the insects––a complete reversal of roles. Ginsburg’s ultimate goal is to create the largest climate-positive artwork by seeding a network of pollinator gardens around the world. To participate, visit Pollinator Pathmaker and design your own garden, view it from the insect’s perspective, and learn more about the supportive plant species. Historically, the human ability to create art, tools, and technology was cited as proof that we are greater than animals and deserve dominion over nature. We used these means to separate ourselves.&nbsp; Now, using the very same tools, we can disarm this damaging attitude. Technology allows us to experience the world far outside our inborn capabilities. Art can give us empathy and agency to care. This is the joy and hope that I find in interspecies co-creation. It is work born from an endless curiosity about how we live with and amongst the more-than-human world. For the artists and scientists undertaking this work, it is an intimate process of discovery and connection. The attempt to converse, collaborate, or otherwise share in lives so unlike our own shows us that what it means to be human is to be capable of great care and understanding. ABOUT THE AUTHORLeslie Ruckman is a multidisciplinary designer and researcher living in the Catskill Mountains of New York. She works at the intersection of social-impact, science, and art to create experiences that inspire unexpected connections with the natural world. Leslie is currently an Innovator in Residence at Rutgers University, adjunct faculty at NYU’s Tisch School of the Arts, and a member of NEW INC's Creative Science community. At home she keeps bees, chickens, and native plant gardens for pollinating insects, while wondering how biodiverse a human habitat can become. NEXT ︎ HENRY HAOYU WANG: BUG SQUARE https://adjacent-ecoscope.itp.io/Bug-Square Fri, 10 Feb 2023 18:18:02 +0000 ADJACENT: Ecoscope | Issue 10 https://adjacent-ecoscope.itp.io/Bug-Square &nbsp; Bug Square Henry Haoyu Wang <img width="4187" height="2734" width_o="4187" height_o="2734" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/849a8a16806a1e4cbe300589d39125e79fa80188ac09284d5e1b6b9af3068672/bugs.png" data-mid="171422801" border="0" alt="illustration by Priyanka Makin" data-caption="illustration by Priyanka Makin" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/849a8a16806a1e4cbe300589d39125e79fa80188ac09284d5e1b6b9af3068672/bugs.png" /> Illustration by Priyanka Makin The project "Bug Square" started in three days. Day one. It was summer break after my first year of ITP and I was learning Three.js1 for the first time. After hours of setup and debugging, I finally made it work and created a rotating cube. Day two. I woke up in the afternoon, and my roommates asked me to go upstairs to deal with a lot of real bugs they found in their kitchen. Day three. I was chatting with my friend Song and coincidentally while I was debugging, my roommates asked me to go upstairs again to capture real bugs. We were both thinking about our ITP thesis at the time, and I mentioned to Song that I wanted mine to be about bugs. "Bugs have two meanings: biological bugs and programming bugs. I want to explore the relationship between them." As more and more of these microbial archives of different kitchens, and different environments more broadly, were recorded we might be able to start understanding more of the links between the microbial world and our human-scale world. Why are programming bugs called “bugs”? “On September 9, 1947, a team of computer scientists and engineers reported the world's first computer bug. This bug, however, was literally a bug. One of the team members wrote in the logbook, ‘First actual case of a bug being found.’ The team at Harvard University in Cambridge, Massachusetts found that their computer, the Mark II, was delivering consistent errors. When they opened the computer's hardware, they found...a moth. The trapped insect had disrupted the electronics of the computer.”2The research process for Bug Square started with “bug collections.” Over the course of two years, I used photography and video to capture both biological bugs and insects and computer/machine bugs I encountered in my life. To help me keep track of my progress and issues, I started a “bug report” that recorded what went wrong in my daily life. Additionally, I recorded 300 audio files as a form of personal documentation and added them randomly into the virtual world. In the early stages of development for Bug Square, I took a trip to the Monarch Butterfly Biosphere Reserve in Mexico to see the butterflies. Surrounded by the puffy breezes coming from the large shining wings, I could not interact with the butterflies out of fear that I would harm them. This respect for bugs and insects inspired me to make Bug Square a world where viewers should simply watch the simulated world. In order to represent abstract computer bugs, I used glitches as a metaphor. Glitches and glitch effects indicate that something has gone wrong in a computer system. In Bug Square, the glitch was anthropomorphized as a creature that intended to cause no harm to the overall computer system, allowing programs to continue to run, with only small, buggy errors. But what does that world look like? How are the insects placed in the project? What kind of computer bugs do I want to point out here? My questions about Bug Square’s world brought me to Ian Cheng’s Emissaries Guide To Worlding. Cheng defines worldbuilding in the first paragraph: “A World incentivizes its members to keep it alive. A World is a container for stories of itself. A World expresses itself in many forms, but is always something more.” I thought I would need to find a place for both biological bugs and computer bugs in this world. However, on the contrary, I found a reference that would be harmful to both of them in real life. A reference that makes my Bug Square “express itself in its form and something more”. One day, I was dazzled by the flowing Hudson River. It hits me that most insects can’t live under the river and computers will die underwater too. The river is a common adversary for both. I also observed that people sometimes use containers to host insects they find. As a result, I created Bug Square inside a box for viewers to observe, and the cube became the form for Bug Square. The river also creates a perfect spot to conceal the “bug reports” in Bug Square as I hide the sound objects under the water. <img width="3024" height="4032" width_o="3024" height_o="4032" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/90c42ff83647f1841e1b1ca4332017deb411d026713de86382d17de6bc89812c/bug_incap.JPG" data-mid="171804229" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/90c42ff83647f1841e1b1ca4332017deb411d026713de86382d17de6bc89812c/bug_incap.JPG" /> <img width="4032" height="3024" width_o="4032" height_o="3024" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/b5ce2880bd9a7a209d17df413b005cf51e17aeb48f7ad552b4ad587fe508ede8/view_river2.JPG" data-mid="171804235" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/b5ce2880bd9a7a209d17df413b005cf51e17aeb48f7ad552b4ad587fe508ede8/view_river2.JPG" /> The process of building the world was very free-flowing, using cubes, pyramids, and cylinders as insects, to create the first prototype. I had the insects move around a container and above a river. I was aware of the bugs’ movements and the sounds their wings made. The world-building here was not so much about recreating nature from reality, but about simulating the motion and movement of nature in the digital world. This approach was inspired by Dan Schiffman’s The Nature of Code3 and Gary William Flake's The Computational Beauty of Nature4. Flake mentions in the first chapter,“Of all the possible rules that could govern the interactions among agents, scientists find that nature often uses the simplest. The same rules are repeatedly used in different places. To understand why, consider the three attributes that describe the interactions of agents: 1) Collections, Multiplicity, and Parallelism; 2) Iteration, Recursion, and Feedback; 3) Adaptation, Learning, and Evolution.”&nbsp;Using the simplest rules derived from nature, I applied a flocking algorithm to the code. ‘Flocking’ is a group animal behavior that is characteristic of many living creatures, such as birds, fish, and insects. In 1986, Craig Reynolds created a computer simulation of flocking behavior5. With these methods, I had the basic structure of Bug Square. <img width="1909" height="1054" width_o="1909" height_o="1054" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/f7301ae9daabaabf2dcae277c0f54aadb604e51cb7fde643db76dff4c39e1e47/project_cap.PNG" data-mid="171804236" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/f7301ae9daabaabf2dcae277c0f54aadb604e51cb7fde643db76dff4c39e1e47/project_cap.PNG" /> <img width="1926" height="1063" width_o="1926" height_o="1063" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/d7b23818ea6f4a6232996c27ab821b7607bbe0b37bfc20cadfde0fc780960ef2/project_cap1.PNG" data-mid="171804238" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/d7b23818ea6f4a6232996c27ab821b7607bbe0b37bfc20cadfde0fc780960ef2/project_cap1.PNG" /> During the process, my attitude toward insects changed dramatically. I used to kill them without hesitation, but later, I began observing their actions. I used to get many mosquito bites, but I stopped trying to capture them. When I initially tried to kill or capture them, it was not just because of the bites, but also because I wanted to protect my territory. Now I don’t feel I own the land, so it's okay to share it with insects. With computer/machine bugs, I often find them in public spaces, and it is enjoyable to discover them. During the process, my attitude toward insects changed dramatically. I used to kill them without hesitation, but later, I began observing their actions. I do not aim to create a perfect virtual representation of nature. Some things in Bug Square should be wrong. In this world, bugs are celebrated features, not just bugs. Or rather they are bugs, but are also features. Creating Bug Square showed me how errors inspire me in my life, and I hope that highlighting bugs will encourage you to be inspired by the bugs in your life. While I can proudly tell you that the final Bug Square is probably bugless from a programming perspective, it is also a product of all the problems I encountered in the development process. I still want to maintain a distance from real-life biological bugs, but creating a virtual Bug Square allows me to appreciate them. This space is dedicated solely to them. While I dislike the process of debugging, I enjoy the moment that follows. Errors and mistakes are acceptable here, because they lead to change. I may not enjoy sharing my debugging stories with others, but here in Bug Square, if you listen carefully, you will hear 300 of my stories hidden within the virtual world. 1 https://threejs.org/ 2 “World's First Computer Bug.” World's First Computer Bug, https://education.nationalgeographic.org/resource/worlds-first-computer-bug/3 Shiffman, Daniel. The Nature of Code. S.n., 2012. 4 Flake, William. Computational Beauty of Nature. MIT Press, 2000. 5 “Flocks, Herds, and Schools: A Distributed Behavioral Model.” There are three types of flocking: “Separation: steer to avoid crowding local flockmates; Alignment: steer towards the average heading of local flockmates; Cohesion: steer to move toward the average position of local flockmates.” ABOUT THE AUTHORHenry Haoyu Wang is an artist and a technologist based in Denver, USA. He holds a BA in art and technology from Allegheny College, and graduated from ITP in 2022. His artistic practice involves exploring the relationship between human and environment under technology-affected scenarios. His work has been exhibited and screened in Austria, China, South Korea, Portugal, Mexico, Germany, and the United States. His current focuses are data and bioethics, critical and speculative design, and mixed reality and visual storytelling. NEXT ︎ TANIKA WILLIAMS: NESTING: A RITUAL FOR MOTHERS https://adjacent-ecoscope.itp.io/Nesting-A-Ritual-for-Mothers Fri, 10 Feb 2023 18:17:49 +0000 ADJACENT: Ecoscope | Issue 10 https://adjacent-ecoscope.itp.io/Nesting-A-Ritual-for-Mothers &nbsp; Nesting: A Ritual for Mothers Tanika Williams <img width="7180" height="4786" width_o="7180" height_o="4786" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/e0475604c385de6ff973846674aed94d1b842d8dfc89cc76ed77cb6dcc3842e4/Winslow_12.jpg" data-mid="169604277" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/e0475604c385de6ff973846674aed94d1b842d8dfc89cc76ed77cb6dcc3842e4/Winslow_12.jpg" /> Image by Alan Winslow Nesting. In a broad sense, nesting is an attempt to house, conceal, protect, shelter, and regulate the temperature of newborns. In the most widely understood meaning, animals nest to prepare for the arrival of their offspring. While all animals nest—in broader cultural understandings—the term is usually applied to the nesting of birds and human women. Here, I recall my journey through nesting—particularly of birds, specifically of my own. My memories of plant walks and the writings of Stephen Harrod Buhner, Robin Wall Kimmerer, and Malidoma Patrice Somé help to imagine nesting as physical and psychic ritual medicine for mothers. I still struggle to find logical answers for the transcendent experiences of the pregnancy, labor, and delivery that produced my daughter. One moment, in particular, dissolved the imaginary wall between my sense of self and other sentient life. I became enmeshed in nesting and underwent my transformation four weeks before my May 9th due date. I stacked the living room with everything my mom made sure I had when she was expecting me–dozens of stiff cloth diapers, piles of onesies, muslin blankets, and tiny socks. I called my mom and collected recipes for the foods she ate when she was pregnant with me. The apartment smelled like a terrible concoction of gelatin made from cow's hooves, sea moss boiled to gel, mackerel, and every type of Jamaican herb to build stamina. Finally, after weeks of scarfing down big scoops of strawberry-flavored cow jello and mentally preparing to handwash cloth diapers and muslin burp cloths, I was ready to deliver this baby the way my mother delivered me. I rolled my huge stomach into a nearby Nigerian restaurant and asked them for their spiciest dish because I needed to start my labor. Everyone in the 20-seat restaurant turned and watched as the cautious staff brought a goat pepper soup. I was two weeks away from my due date and done with being pregnant. I was sure that the soup would induce my labor and prayed that the fire lining my mouth and throat would yield the desired result. The staff wished me good luck with wide eyes as I hobbled from my seat to the door. The following day I was rolling in the deep of a heartburn and indigestionI didn't know humanly possible. Finally, I felt like the soup did its thing, and it was time for me to do mine. Crouched on the floor, wailing, I called my doula when I saw the mucous plug. A sign that labor is near but not quite ready. Hormonal, hot, and hangry, I cried to her about feeling like something wasn't right, like I wasn't ready. Searching frantically for the missing piece, I finally realized that it was the pile of cloth diapers I still hadn't prepped. Thankfully, I had a community that did not minimize my requests. My doula understood that I could not go into labor until my nesting was complete. She picked up my diapers and began washing and drying each diaper three times with special soap. She delivered enough prepped diapers to fill a large black garbage bag when she finished. After preparing my diapers, my nest was finally ready. I went into labor two days later. Nesting made my labor and delivery possible. It was the space I carved out to unpack the physical and psychological impact of the transformation that was underway. Nesting was a therapeutic endeavor that empowered me with the necessary tools to wade into the uncertainty of birthing and motherhood. In addition, the process of my nesting helped me to connect nesting in the broader sense as a physical and psychic ritual medicine for mothers. I nested for hours in the company of my mother's stories of her pregnancy with me. In my solitude, I folded each baby item and heard her talk about holding each dress, diaper, and sock with joy. The peace I felt looking at each item, lovingly sourced and carefully selected, reminded me of the peace I often saw when she talked about her experience of expecting for the first time. The sweetness we shared was bound up in the rounded edges of tiny socks and the gentle waves of muslin weave. I recalled the stories of my grandmother traveling to other Caribbean Islands to source my clothes and infant formula and my first set of earrings made of precious stones. Walking in the way of my mother, I procured clothes and accessories from across the globe and worked with numerous artists to make their heirlooms. The small acts of love spread across the repeated action of counting diaper pins, smoothing fluffy blankets, and carefully registering every bottle became my entry into a secret world. Even though I've bird watched since childhood, motherhood placed a new filter on my sensory preceptors and opened a new dimension to my engagement with the world around me. I used to walk my daughter to nursery school. We would go on long adventures, watching fall turn to winter, spring, and summer. We used to name the colors of the flowers as they shifted across seasons, hug the trees, and call out the names of the birds. She was late every day. Back then, she was so small she used to wrap all five of the fingers on her right hand across my sole left index finger. We used to look for bird nests in London Planes and Sycamores during afternoon walks after school. I still remember her curiosity,&nbsp; wanting to see inside the nests. I realized then that I had looked at nests but still needed to study them. My daughter's curiosity led me to deconstruct and plot them visually. Soon, I discovered that birds build their nests with intentionality that I had overlooked. The nests dotting our neighborhood formed a grid. As I watched the nests from year to year, I realized they were built on specific branches and at particular heights. Birds favor some trees more than others and return to them to construct new nests yearly. I've even witnessed birds reconstructing nests disrupted by other animals or the weather. One spring, I watched a Starling pick over and through Morningside Park plant material. She picked up single strands of brush, slowly and methodically inspecting them and putting them down before swift flight with her choice selection. The Starling sighting called forth memories of my nesting. I imagine she poured over plant material much like I poured over baby items. At that moment, I was grateful for the equalizing force I found in the nest building. Watching her warned me that mothers of all forms have the same primary care and concerns for their offspring. Later that spring, I participated in a group for natural medicine enthusiasts. We would meet at various parks for an herbalist-led plant walk to identify local herbs and learn of their applications. We read the writings of Stephen Harrod Buhner, Robin Wall Kimmerer, and Malidoma Patrice Somé. Sometimes my daughter would come along too. She was always excited when she met plants from gardening class or our neighborhood growing freely in the recesses of large parks. I would often bend down to bring her in, and inadvertently, constantly meeting her at her level changed my line of sight for the better. I developed a curiosity about the birds I saw flitting about and filtering through the medicinal plants in the park. “Plants are, in essence, ecological medicines.” In The Lost Language of Plants, Stephen Buhner points to indigenous wisdom that recognizes “plants heal the animals, plants, and other living organisms in their communities.” He bridges a gap to western thought by offering that “plant chemistries are used not only for the plants themselves but are created and released to heal disease throughout the ecosystems in which they grow.” To illustrate his point, he writes that birds sift through plant materials and weave medicinal plants into their nests—selecting plants to prevent pest infestation, boost the immunity of their young, and prevent infections.&nbsp; Buhner cites Starling's wisdom, sharing that she seeks plants with volatile oils and terpenes (aromatic chemical compounds) to construct her small fortress for her young. I often think of the first Starling I noticed, intentionally inspecting plants on the ground. I would love to know what she was looking for and what kind of medicine she found. As I took more notice of the abundant healing medicines populating parklands around me, I began to notice patterns in the locations where certain plants grow. I grew curious about the physical interconnectedness of plants and places. “Every tree, plant, hill, mountain, rock, and each thing before us emanates or vibrates at a subtle energy that has healing power whether we know it or not,” Malidoma Patrice Somé calls us back to the land. He directs our attention to the animate and inanimate objects that populate our environs and charges us to find the spirit in them. Deeply aware of the connection between a person and their place of birth, he maintains that “we are more or less the function of the part of the earth we are born into.” Somé declares that places heal, much like Buhner states that plants heal. &nbsp; As I took more notice of the abundant healing medicines populating parklands around me, I began to notice patterns in the locations where certain plants grow. I grew curious about the physical interconnectedness of plants and places. I encountered nests high in trees, above my head, and on a power pole. As I mentally mapped the many nests I saw on my regular walks, I became more aware of the ideal linear placement of nests. An aerial graph of my neighborhood nests would reveal the coordinate geometry of a chessboard. Suddenly, I understood that the birds nested in selective proximity. Furthermore, I finally understood the many Starling sightings on my nursery school walks. Sycamore trees fill the streets of my Flatbush neighborhood, providing a home for the Starling community. Together, the Starlings and Sycamores found themselves in a symbiotic relationship. “I wanted to be a good mother, that is all.” Robin Kimmerer's introspective opening to her chapter on mothering gives us insight into the physical embodiment of a mother's work. She takes us through her journey of making a home for her kids through her journey to make their backyard pond more livable. She begins to notice the relationship of parent to offspring, mother to child, in everything from single-celled protozoa to ducks. Cleaning up the pond disrupted the existing life forms, causing casualties in the process. Her actions brought her to a crossroads, in which other life lay in the balance. The pond restoration allowed her to recognize ways she disrupted and dominated the mothering relationships of other beings.&nbsp; As I took more notice of the abundant healing medicines populating parklands around me, I began to notice patterns in the locations where certain plants grow. I grew curious about the physical interconnectedness of plants and places. I realized the ways my daughter benefitted by counting nests. Her phenomenal posture grew out of walking in the world with eyes directed upwards, and a chin pointed to the sky. Searching for nests lifted her chest and projected her heart center forward, aligning her spine. Her sense of direction has evolved into a layered biological geotagging in which she mind-maps street signs and trees. Her awareness of being surrounded by plant protection in the form of green medicine for bruises and emergency food sources masked as bushes. Buhner extolled the medicinal virtues of the yarrow plant in his book. He even went as far as listing the 80 phytochemical compounds found in a single yarrow. Like Kimmerer, I wanted to be a good mother. So, I planted yarrows in my garden as a gift to the Starling mothers who helped me learn how to make the earth my nest. Each year I add more medicines to the garden. I let the chickweed and wild violets come and thrive at early signs of spring, then watch them give way to the motherwort, valerian, goldenseal, echinacea, lovage, various sages, rosemary, and thymes. Each new herb I add brings a new type of bird. Jays, Woodpeckers, Hummingbirds, and Finches now join the Starlings and Sparrows. The Swallowtail Butterflies have come to enjoy the carrots and parsley tucked away and thriving in sheltered spaces. The yarrow grew out of control. The neighborhood cats have overtaken it. They come and rub their bodies through the long, serrated leaf clusters. I look out the window and find their kittens resting amid the dense overgrowth, bathing in the medicine there. A world of inquiry, awe, and wonder has replaced my world of fleeting observation. First, I grew a garden to thank the Starling mothers who taught me how to be. Now I watch sentient life negotiate to the nest to nurture that which they love. I see them find their balance from my kitchen window. The first year the squirrels destroyed the vegetables grown in the garden in search of what they had buried the previous fall. Then next year, I watched them bring their babies from the den high up in my neighbor's Catalpa Tree to enjoy the young winter squash. The trio of Blue Jay brothers now return each year for a short time, scaring away all the other birds with their aggressive triangular flight pattern and sharp dives. In its way, my garden has found its way onto the maps of my neighborhood’s conscious life. It is now a significant place of memory, filled with markers and signifiers for insect and animal mothers looking for nesting places or materials. My daughter and I still walk, talk, and look for nests. Season to season, we count the nests and dream of the stories of the birds that built them as we walk the earth, this phenomena-filled place we call home. Bibliography Buhner, Stephen Harrod. The Lost Language of Plants: The Ecological Importance of Plant Medicines for Life on Earth. Hartford, VT: Chelsea Green, 2002. Kimmerer, Robin Wall. Braiding Sweetgrass: Indigenous Wisdom, Scientific Knowledge and the Teachings of Plants. Minneapolis, MN: Milkweed Editions, 2015. Somé, Malidoma Patrice. The Healing Wisdom of Africa: Finding Life Purpose Through Nature, Ritual and Community. London: Harper Collins, 1990 ABOUT THE AUTHOR Tanika I. Williams (b. St. Andrew, Jamaica; lives and works in Brooklyn, NY) is an award-winning filmmaker and performance artist. She investigates women's use of movement, mothering, and medicine to produce and pass on ancestral wisdom of ecology, spirituality, and liberation. Williams holds a BA from Eugene Lang College, New School, and an MDiv from Union Theological Seminary. Her films have been screened in national and international festivals and broadcast on American television. Williams has been awarded fellowships and residencies at NYU Tisch School, New York Foundation for the Arts, Hi-ARTS, Cow House Studios, MORE Art, and BRIC.&nbsp; ︎ ︎ ︎ NEXT ︎ Q GAO: SNAIL https://adjacent-ecoscope.itp.io/Snail Fri, 24 Feb 2023 23:34:02 +0000 ADJACENT: Ecoscope | Issue 10 https://adjacent-ecoscope.itp.io/Snail &nbsp; Snail Q Gao <img width="3479" height="2658" width_o="3479" height_o="2658" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/477120fe6aefc558661dd19934ad10e493388a5ff56dcc9764fc36d9fbf23010/SnailsIllustration.jpg" data-mid="170885797" border="0" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/477120fe6aefc558661dd19934ad10e493388a5ff56dcc9764fc36d9fbf23010/SnailsIllustration.jpg" /> Illustration by Kevin Lee It is after lunch. In this town, every family has lunch at the same time, goes to their afternoon naps at the same time. Listen, you can hear snores undulating from neighbor to neighbor. Breathe in, you can catch the lingering smell of white rice and cooked fish. The daughter, who has refused to take a nap, is now sitting in the backyard next to a plum tree. The sun gently touches her back. She yawns. What a nice day. What a nice afternoon. It almost feels so nice that it irritates her. Mr. Snail, do you honestly enjoy your life in this town? Shhh! What a stupid question. A pause. I guess where you live, it doesn’t matter that much. You seem happy just hanging out here in this small bottle. Lifting it to the level of her eyes, the daughter studies the world through its translucent body. This must be what the snails are seeing right now: golden sunlight shining through the purple leaves, moist soil filled with clover, a patch of red peeking out from the back door. A patch of red? She quickly puts down the bottle and finds her mom entering the yard. Startled, she kicks the bottle behind her back. “What are you doing here?” the mom asks. “I thought…I thought you'd gone to bed already,” she answers. Looking at the door entrance, she is surprised to find a pile of dried chili peppers lying there on the stairs. “I’m too old for this afternoon nap thing.” Her mom turns to the door. She sighs with relief. The handle turns and she picks up the bottle again. Mr. Snail, this is my mom. She can be annoying at times. Hope you don’t mind. Why would I? She looks so caring. You are lucky to have her. Suddenly, the sound of the handle stops. The mom turns back. “What about you?” The mom asks. The daughter hears the chirpings of cicadas. “Why didn’t you take a nap? I remember you telling me on the phone that you need some rest. That’s the reason why you are here right?” The song of cicadas becomes louder and louder, reaching the chorus. “I am resting.” “With your snails?”&nbsp; Oh shit! How did she know? “I picked them up today, no, yesterday," she said. "In the morning, after the hard rain. They looked so joyful and their shells shined so delicately with the dew, so I just… I wanted to give them a home!” “Can you give yourself a home first?” She opens her mouth, waits for a second, but nothing comes out. She is tired of people asking the same question over and over again. What can she say? Hair down, no make up, bare feet sitting on a folding stool her dad bought her when she was six. In the eyes of her mom, she is still that little girl. But Mr. Snail, will you believe me if I say that I tried? “I tried hard.” She seems to be speaking to the snails. For the past six years, she has squeezed herself in a shoebox, turned her body into a lifeless vending machine, left her friends from home and threw away her heart. All she wishes is to have a small room of her own to write in a city colorful with neon lights and lively with sirens and people talking. She has always been fascinated by people’s stories. That’s her source of inspiration. However, they have become so loud and so harsh in the city that they have started to bite her. She got swallowed by the countless sleepless nights and awakened almost daily with the fears of failure and time passing by. Mr. Snail knows nothing about her struggles. In his little mind, she must be no different from hundreds of other girls in this town: seemingly satisfied with her life. “I just wanted you to have someone to lean on,” says the mom, breaking the silence. “Well…I have snails. They can be my family members now!” This makes them both chuckle. The mom tucks her hair and stares at the ground. It is no longer soggy like yesterday. Remnants of the storm scatter around the tree, occasionally poking through the earth. “You must have at least met some new people, made some friends, right?” Had she? The daughter lifts her head and stares past her mom’s dress into the chili peppers behind. “Making friends must come easy for you," the daughter says.&nbsp; "Always surrounded by people who adore you. Growing up, they always tell me how beautiful you are and how grateful I should be to have you as my mom.” A gust of wind wakes up the tabby cat that has been lying on the fence since lunchtime, and pushes it to jump to the neighbor’s yard. The snails slowly work their way towards the cap. Which one is Mr. Snail? “The only wish I have is for you to be happy.” The mom sighs. “That’s a lot to ask.” “I don’t understand.” “Well, things are different there ” “I was born in that city. Did you forget? I lived there for twenty years before you were even born.” “Then why did you leave it?” The daughter says it with her eyes fixated on the ground. Hearing no answer from her mom, she starts searching for her camera, a second-hand old model she got from the flea market. Nowadays the only thing that interests her is taking pictures of snails. She is enamored by them. Since her mom first pointed out a snail to her, it has always been her dream to capture their beauty, that spiral shell like a maze she can never escape. It was a rainy night draped in fog. She was dancing on a bench, with her skirt still wet, and her mom was complaining about the moistness to her dad, while her dad was reciting a poem about storms. “Be careful,” she remembers her mom saying. “There are snails on the bench.” She has dreamed about that night many years later, when she was on the train to school, in the elevator to work, and at the dinner table with her date at that time. While he was staring into her eyes thinking about what would happen later at night, she was staring at his handlebar mustache thinking about how it resembled snails in her hometown.&nbsp; “I got the news that our local newspaper is hiring editors,” the mom breaks in. “I won’t stay long.” She has to leave. There is no use for her to stay here too long. She is afraid that once she takes too long a rest, she will be stuck here forever like everyone else in this town. “The salary is decent. They have two months off every summer. You can go back to the city if you want during the break.” She is on the verge of saying “Yes, let me do it” but something holds her back. What do you think about this job? Mr. Snail? If I were you I would say yes without any hesitation. But I can’t. I really can’t. It is not about the money—she earns even less in that city—but is it about her future? Does she still care about it at this point? Then what is it that makes her so scared? Pointing her camera at the bottle, she takes a snapshot. The photo turns out to be overexposed again. She frowns. Her mom, still standing next to her, frowns too. “Can I see?” The mom takes over the camera, looks at it for a while, and turns a few knobs. The daughter finds her mom grinning with satisfaction, and without realizing it, a photo of her unkempt hair is taken. “What are you doing?” She grabs back the camera from her mom, and right before reaching out for the delete button, she stops. “How did you do that?” “What do you mean?” “Did you change the setting?” She scrutinizes the photo. “You must have.” She takes another photo of the snails. This time, she can clearly see their spiral shells and their soft bodies pressing against the plastic bottle. There are six of them. Mr. Snail, suddenly you look so beautiful. The mom, now staring at the knobs on the camera, stands silently. The sun is slowly being covered by a passing cloud. “Where did you learn that?” She asks her mom. “In college.” “There was a photography class?” “No, a film class.” “Film?” She jumps up. “I…" the mother hesitates. "Never mind. Let’s talk about your job.” “Wait…Didn’t you go to college for accounting? That was why they hired you for that job, right?” “Yeah, I studied accounting. Maybe you should also look for something like being an accountant, not too stressful, not too…” The daughter interrupts. “Then what about this film stuff?” Memory of those endless summer days comes back to her: she would take her nap with the rest of the town, dreaming about a life in the city, while her parents took the train to that same city to watch movies. They would come back right before dinner. “It was just a class I took,” the mom adds. “I knew it. I always knew it! That explains the hundreds of discs in the basement. I remember rummaging through them one day, when you forgot to lock the door. Then suddenly they were all gone, and the door has never been locked since.” “I met your dad at film school.” “Film school? Why were you two at film school?” Her dad has always been working in the office ever since she was a kid. She has secretly looked down on that. They did boring stuff they don’t like. That’s why she went to the city all by herself. She wanted change. She wanted to step out of the loop of her parents. She wants a life with dreams, but she didn’t know that her parents were once like her. “It was just a night school.” The mom turns away to the door. “I wanted to be a director.” The daughter stands up. The stool falls down, barely missing the bottle with the snails. All these years she thought she was running away from her parents, walking her own path, but it turned out that her steps fell exactly the same as her parents. Her mom gave up on her dream and came to this town, just like her. “Then why do you get to comment on my life? How stupid I was to let someone who gave up on her dream teach me how to lead a happy life!” “You are overreacting.” The mom pulls open the door. “Let’s take our nap now.” “You don’t know how many times I’ve asked the universe what I did wrong? Why is everyone moving forward without me? Why am I abandoned by time?” The daughter's voice is shivering. The cat jumps back on top of the fence, curious about others’ gossip.&nbsp; “You are still living in a dream, aren’t you? It’s time to open your eyes.” “I will go back tomorrow,” the daughter shouts. “Enough rest for me.” She breathes heavily; this is not like her at all. She walks towards the stool and without sitting on it, she picks up the bottle beside it and starts to observe the crawling of the snails. They always leave a brown trace wherever they go. Mr. Snail, did you know all this time? Now she knows what is so scary about this town, about staying here. It’s the never moving clock hands. Everyone here is abandoned by the time. They’ve drowned in their own happiness. Just like the snails in the bottle. They don’t know how slow they crawl. They move relentlessly and pretend that they will get out of the bottle some day. They need this lie. They need this lie to feel a twisted happiness . “Are you still wearing the ring dad gave you?” Now is the time to expose this lie. “Why don't you take it off already? Why are you still making those dried peppers? None of us like spicy food. Who is living in a dream? How long has it been since you guys last talked?” “I am just giving him time to figure things out.” “Ha! Figure things out. Do you still believe dad will come back after ten fucking years?” “Watch your mouth!” “Who are you fooling?” she cries, and her eyes are puffy now. She gets up from the snails and walks towards her mom. “Are you happy? Trying so hard to pretend like nothing has happened. Trying so hard to lie to yourself. Trying so hard to live a happy life like everyone else.” The mom stumbles back and steps on the peppers. Seeds sprout out to her heels. “I can't let him break my life.” “Can you even call this a life? Are you satisfied with a life without a dream?” “Are you satisfied with a life with a dream!” the mom shouts. “Look at yourself! A 26-year-old adult living under her mom. Where did all these years go? Chasing your dream? Tell me, when was the last time you picked up a pen from the bag? And when is the last time you pick up a snail from the bench? How dare you comment on my relationship when you have never, for all twenty-six years of your life, been with someone before?” The cat folds back its ears. This is too much. The daughter finds herself scuffing her feet like a kid. She looks at the bottle lying beside her right foot. The snails, ignorant of their surroundings, slowly drag their bodies towards the cap. There are a few holes on the cap to let in some fresh air, but, oh, our stupid snails, they can never get out. Mr. Snail, why don’t you question? Why don’t you find this town as strange as I do? Won’t you ever get tired? Why do you keep moving? A sudden urge comes to her. With the strength of her whole body, she stomps on the bottle. One time, two times, three times…she can’t stop. She has dimly heard the crack of the shells, but she just doesn’t care. The plastic bottle turns flat. Four times, five times, six times…She can no longer tell if she is doing so to vent her emotions or if her body just moves on its own. The only thing she does know is that she feels good, but the fact that she is happy makes her want to cry. Her blood flows and she feels like she is being swallowed by the world, but also far away from everything. Seven times, eight times, nine times…the tiny snails grow bigger, bigger than her body, bigger than her mom, bigger than this town and even bigger than her dad. Why would anyone create snails? They are useless, sluggish. Why would anyone create her? She is no different from the snails. She cries and thanks the universe for bringing snails to earth. “But you could have done better!” she yells at the cloudy sky. “You could just leave me there!” The neighbors are awake now. Today is the day. There is always one day in a year when they will wake up from their naps and find something worth eavesdropping on. They get themselves a glass of water, and listen. However, nothing else comes. The sun appears from the clouds. They wait for another few minutes, but only the cicadas care to give them a response. They shake their heads. It is time to resume their afternoon chores. “You are not following me,” the mom whispers, cupping the face of the daughter. “I was born in that city, but I know I don’t belong there. But you do.” She looks down at the bottle, and a tear drops from her face. The crushed bottle lays on the ground, reflecting the golden sunlight of an autumn afternoon. Some noise. The cat walks toward you with its tiny white boots and tiger stripe cape. So close you can hear the purring sound she makes. Both of you find each other exceptionally nosy that day. From the bottle, you can see remnants of the storm, but if you care to take a longer look, you will know that over the debris, there are bare feet and heels. The mom and the daughter. They hug. ABOUT THE AUTHORQ Mao is a second year IMA student with a passion for storytelling and live performances. Her love of art, writing and building meaningful connections with people from different backgrounds has inspired her to pursue a career that plays at the intersection of art, humanities and technology. NEXT ︎ JO SUK: WEARING THE GAZE