Category: Nature

Some things in life seem quite vast, quite interconnected, and quite hard to pin down. One of those, in my eyes, is the question of art and its relationship to nature or, in a broader sense, to reality itself.

Looking at the origins of the term “aesthetic”, it appears to have arisen out of a sense of ‘the perceptible’ before shifting to a newer meaning of ‘being concerned with beauty’. Which seems interesting: that perception led to a sense of the beautiful.

Because clearly artists, poets and others have been drawn to nature and what it offers us: the truth of light, colour, and form; the added meaning of composition, gesture, balance, and transformation. In many ways, nature can be seen to have given us an understanding and appreciation of beauty through our collective efforts to capture and create meaning out of it. The natural world may indeed be our teacher in that respect.

As humans, it seems we look to our environment to find meaning – meaning, identity, belonging, and a sense of our place in reality. The way art seemingly arose very early on in human society surely suggests our representation of what we saw and what mattered to us has pretty much always been a part of our existence (see Notes One).

Which is what I find intriguing: how culture arose alongside our relationship to the world; the way our mind sought to match and fathom it; the path art walks alongside human civilisations. In recent years our connections to nature may’ve become less tangible, particularly in the West; but historically it’s had a hugely significant influence on our lives. This relationship is, in a way, what life’s all about (Notes Two).

Some of the more poignant examples of that come from the Romantics and the ways they sought to express the path to modernity through art, poetry and related pursuits. The metaphor of nature standing well against the emerging individualism and social progress of the time, as we effectively began distancing ourselves from it in both thought and practice.

And maybe this is why modern life can seem so dark: because we’ve distanced ourselves from our place in nature and lost ourselves in thought. So much of life now seems abstract, detached, the spinning of ideas but the lack of meaning. In life and art we seem to have lost that connection (Notes Three).

It’s fairly easy to take photos, create images and forge a visual brand out of our personal slant on life. The world’s now full of so much that it’s hard to know true beauty within it all. And nature itself seems to be showing us the consequences of our actions, painting quite a bleak picture of where we now find ourselves.

So while nature offers us beauty, maybe it also shows us where it’s lacking. Maybe these things reflect the paths we’ve taken and the risks we’re running. All of which seems fundamentally important in terms of the meaning we’re giving to life.

Notes and References:

Note 1: The value of art in society
Note 1: How well does art relate to life?
Note 2: Natural World
Note 2: Living the dream
Note 2: Gardening as therapy, the light
Note 3: Community – what it was, what we lost
Note 3: What makes a good life

“Ecological Intelligence” picks up many of these ideas around environment, meaning and also poetry.

I wrote recently about the lighter side of gardening: about intentions, vision and perseverance as a metaphor for life (see Note One); tying into a wider discussion around our environments and our inclination to invest in them (Notes Two). And that seems to be the bigger picture: how we live within more or less well-executed ideas and must find ways to deal with that; hopefully creating something better from it all (Notes Three).

In that context, maintenance and problem-solving are almost as essential as vision. We might have our hopes and dreams, plans for what we wish to create; but we must also face up to areas weakened by neglect or threatened by insidious weeds. Whether we talk of opportunities and threats, the good and the bad, dreams and disasters, it’s this sense that challenges must often be overcome.

And maybe that’s where both hard work and satisfaction come in: that, through vigilance and effort, we might eradicate a problem or at least let a plant be reinvigorated by a successful season. And, in doing so, we might inspire others by showing that actions pay off and make a real difference to what’s possible in the world.

Because – in gardens as in life – this more often than not seems to be our situation these days: ideas, visions or intentions slightly lost within reality. Distracted by the countless pressures of modern life, gardens become a place for cars and low-maintenance relaxation; while many become more obvious areas of disengagement or disinterest.

If we don’t have a vision, does neglect matter? It almost inevitably makes it more difficult to cultivate that space in the future: soil is deprived of nutrients, weeds settle in, and wildlife tends to depart. And, once that becomes the norm, whole areas can fall into this feeling that appearances and actions don’t really matter; often a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Which is where I find nature to be such an interesting metaphor for life: whatever our intentions, our understanding and engagement are what shape reality. The strength of our vision must surely guide our actions, attitudes and commitment toward everyday life. Those things we tend and nurture are what grow most strongly; while those problems we chip away at and replace with better options become weaker by the day.

Really I see fewer metaphors offering greater resonance with human existence. And the idea that we live by stories we tell ourselves is fascinating, whether we talk in terms of films and fiction or more linguistically (see below); that sense that we’re naturally imaginative thinkers and motivated by compelling imagery about life.

For me, nature and particularly gardening are powerful in that way: the ideas and habits we plant and subconsciously tend; the signs of neglect or misunderstanding that take time to redress; the daily effort and vigilance required to make a lasting impact; the living resilience and optimism of nature itself; and the intrinsic reward of seeing life and beauty emerge. Surely there’s hope there, and faith for the future.

Notes and References:

“Metaphors We Live By” by George Lakoff and Mark Johnson, (University of Chicago, USA), 2003 (originally 1980)

Note 1: Gardening as therapy, the light
Note 2: Nature tells a story, about society
Note 2: Real estate, rental and human nature
Note 3: Writings on Education
Note 3: Living the dream

What makes a good life also spoke more generally about finding paths between the light and dark in life.

It’s been a while now since I wrote of nature (see Notes One), so here I want to look again at what it offers us.

Occasionally, reports crop up articulating nature’s value for managing our inner lives (example below); suggesting that our disconnection from the natural world might be contributing to other mental, physical or social ills. And, while it’s interesting to see such ‘ancient wisdom’ re-emerging through the scientific lens, I wonder if there’s more to it than just the soothing experience of natural scenery: whether therapeutic value arises more from its inner truths.

With gardening, in a really practical sense, what we do matters: within the walls of a garden, our intentions can be nursed to fruition. Whatever we want to achieve, if we know the environment and the plants we wish to bring into it then we can create something and that something will create ripples into the world that surrounds us.

There’s truth to the climate, the seasons, and the positioning that allows or blocks light to certain areas. Also to the soil and whether it’s rich with potential, or more exhausted of that which might give rise to life. Then the wisdom of our choices and the consistency with which we tend them: if we plant the wrong thing, it may never grow or thrive; if we misunderstand its needs, it’s probably not going to work as we’d hoped.

In doing this, we place ourselves within our environment with our vision, our knowledge and our actions. We have to understand what we’re trying to achieve and that understanding should filter into what we do. We need to be responsive to changes in the weather and the seasons, as well as to threats within the ecosystem.

There’s real beauty to all of that: the vision, the presence of mind, the purposeful application of knowledge, the alertness to signs within the environment, the tuning into natural rhythms. And it’s an intensely personal creative endeavour: you imagine what you want there to be; you make it happen; and, when it does, you know it was your cooperation with nature that brought it about.

On a vast scale that becomes truly impressive. That people had the vision, foresight, commitment, and patience to plant saplings that would one day become a varied and stately parkland amazes me. Many people must have never lived to see what they imagined to be worthwhile, which is surely testament to their faith in its ultimate value.

And, taking therapy as the relieving or healing of disorder, all that must trickle down to our feeling of engagement with life: that seasons come and go, intentions may be realised or prove themselves mistaken, but behind it all there’s this truth and beauty to what’s been possible. That’s often immensely valuable and heart-warming to those involved; but also for those who take in the results, aware as they may or may not be of the thought, hope and perseverance that went into it all behind the scenes.

Notes and References:

Guardian article on links between nature, depression and overall health

Note 1: Natural World
Note 1: Living the dream
Note 1: Nature tells a story, about society

Leading on from this, there’s Gardening as therapy, the dark

My starting point for today is the enclosure of agricultural land in England in and around the eighteenth century. Not a topic that usually springs into my mind, but having studied it in some depth it’s clearly nestled someplace in there. It was quite dry as history goes, but actually pretty interesting now I come to think of it again: these decisions shaped our notions of ownership, social structure, and economic reasoning; leading towards the ways we live now and ideas we may no longer question.

Getting back to the point, what struck me most was how this visually altered the landscape: that these social decisions changed the face of nature; and how the arrangement of the arable and urban environment displays our thinking, values, and priorities (linking into Values and the economic).

Stepping away from the relative obscurity of agricultural history, the same also applies within the local environment. As mentioned in Natural World and Living the dream, I tend to look to nature in its capacity to offer wisdom about how we live. It seems to me that the image of nature can be read in terms of intentions, forethought, neglect, patience, timeliness, perseverance, and faith in the future.

On a simple level, front gardens describe our priorities: do we value convenience, low costs and little maintenance; or do we look to the value these spaces offer natural ecosystems or local environment, and the aesthetic joy they contain? Do we keep a beautiful old tree because it offers a sign of longevity and an intriguing form, while depicting the passing seasons; or do we grow tired of the burden of sweeping its falling leaves?

Many gardens and public spaces tell a tale of neglect, of spaces once held with clear intentions that are no longer present. I wonder at times if there are people able to ‘read’ these spaces and discern at what point an older person was no longer able to tend it; the number of seasons that had passed under the dubious custodianship of a rental agreement; or the degree of horticultural foresight applied to the establishment of newly built shared accommodation.

I find that becoming custodian of a neglected space can be demoralising: an often thankless task of redressing and eradicating past oversights to restore a clearer vision. For me, there’s true value in it though; in reclaiming land through intention and effort, recreating something that can speak volumes and provide a breath of fresh air in its testament to humanity.

Coming back to enclosures and social change, this reminds me of Community – what it was, what we lost in that how we organise and relate to the space around us may belie our attitudes to life and one another. Historical events, be they large or small, shape our ideas as well as our realities (something explored within Writings on Education). For me, this highlights the importance of knowing our path, reading our environment, and being able to respond purposefully to what we find there.

It seems to me that we’ve been placed in, or exist within, quite an incredibly harmonious set of self-regulating relationships. These often beautiful landscapes of rolling hills, dramatic mountains, exquisite lakes, dense forest ecosystems, or vast expanses of wilderness. All spun round in these gentle rhythms of night and day, winter and summer, warm and cold, and the varying climates that embrace the globe. All of which brings forth this abundance of plant life that sustains us with nutrients, shelter, clothing, air, and beauty. Then the intriguing variety of animals that seem to work together to regulate these environments, co-existing creatively and wisely in the balance of the natural world.

Within all this, humanity appears as this strangely independent creature who is nevertheless quite dependent upon it all. I suppose it’s hard to receive something so beautiful and complex that you have not earned and cannot claim to control – hence perhaps our desire to master it, to assert our independence and understanding.

So far the natural world seems to have been fairly resilient in the face of our actions, although we are seeming quite out of balance compared with the example set by nature itself. It’s fair enough I think to seek to understand, to try to get involved and maybe tweak things a bit. Hopefully that’s done with a sense of balance, reflection, and duty of care.

I mean, we could take what we’ve found, run it into the ground for the sake of displaying our capacity and freedom, cash it all in for one big party while we’re here. I just feel there’s greater wisdom, greater strength in self-restraint; in knowing that we could do that, but deciding not to. For me, “because we can” was never a compelling reason; although it seems to be one that holds sway in many quarters.

It’d be nice if humanity could open its eyes just a little more to the amazing gift we have in life and the immense responsibility and beauty of learning to work together in overcoming this desire to dominate purely for the sake of it. The sense of logic and power may be prevailing at times, but I feel that in the human heart the inclination towards greater harmony and collective restraint could still win out.

Often in life I look to the natural world as a metaphor of sorts to understand the way things are and how they relate. This is the inclination behind much of the photography that’s accompanied my posts so far: the beauty of forms and colours, the processes of growth, the wisdom behind the seasons and relationships of nature. So I’ve planned a few posts to address this more directly, for those so inclined to join me.

To me, there’s an inherent power and truth in nature – the consistency of the days, the seasons, the years; the honesty and beauty of the markers of time, be that cherry blossom, falling leaves, or holly; the social rhythms and cultural traditions accompanying the changes in nature; the amazing truth that our day-to-day realities are as they are because of the movements of an almost unimaginable planetary reality. We might complain about the weather or the seasons, but we exist within this incredibly complex system of warmth and cold, light and dark that shapes our daily lives and the nature we see around us.

Equally how we look at that, how we talk about it, the extent to which we acknowledge and tend it interests me greatly. Often I find people dismissive of my wonder at nature – “it’s just the position of the sun when it rains”. I’m not sure where that arises, maybe because we can understand things on a material level we then tend to reduce phenomena entirely to that knowledge? Maybe there is little place for wonder and beauty in a rational society, or more that we struggle to reconcile the two perspectives.

It’s funny how we complain about weather on a pretty personal, short-term basis – as if the winter were here merely for our inconvenience and discomfort, and the British summer mainly to exercise our capacity for disappointment. But surely the life of the planet depends upon this alternation of seasons and the ways in which that supports and manages ecosystems. And psychologically, if we weren’t cold would we appreciate warmth so much? The processes of alternation and change seem fundamental to human nature in a way.

As mentioned in Animals in human society, I wonder at the full degree to which our ways of living are built upon the assistance of animals and also of plants – the natural world as a whole. In some way we’ve risen above nature and maybe because of it, yet we’ve become somewhat dismissive of that because we understand it and we seem to view it as a resource, an inconvenience or a pretty backdrop.

So much in life seems to echo this experience of rhythms, transformation, and the tension and balance of opposites. Later I’ll look more at the place of nature within society, so this simply sets the scene for now.

While I’m not writing anything really seasonal this year, it seems a reasonable opportunity to think about the position of animals within our society – not in a dietary way, but looking at the roles we give them, what they offer us, and the relationships we create.

It’s fascinating in a way how different cultures and societies form different connections with animals – traditional or sacred relationships, closer or more remote bonds. We could say in the West it boils down to “are you a dog person or a cat person”; the persistent cultural stereotypes over mice, foxes, sheep, donkeys; or the instinctive reverence and mystery of the whale, the elephant, the lion.

Clearly many animals represent or embody various qualities and traits – the majesty and power of the horse; the innocence and hope of the lamb; the playful wisdom of the dolphin. I guess that’s also true of nature more broadly, but it seems many people are drawn to certain animals and the qualities they express.

More practically, it seems there’s always been a history of assigning certain roles and tasks to different animals; for example transportation, scientific discovery, medical assistance, land management and agriculture, or as sheer power in manual labour. I wonder at times at the extent to which modern society is in fact built upon the assistance afforded us by the animal kingdom, as it seems they played a part in many historical breakthroughs and phenomena.

Then there’s the more recent “employment” of animals as domestic companions, in a way more as a lifestyle choice and for social or emotional support. Dogs that encourage us to walk in nature more and initiate countless social encounters with strangers. Cats offering us their independent presence, their grace and playfulness. Birds, rabbits, iguanas or other creatures that fascinate, amuse and soothe us. Plus the roles these domestic creatures cast us in to take proper care of their needs, to train them to fit our lifestyle and within society at large, to understand them better. It seems in all this that animals are still woven closely into human living.

This post seems to have less of a point than most so far, but it’s hard to grasp what this human/animal bond is – there’s clearly an ongoing connection as our existences are so intertwined, but we often seem largely dismissive or sentimental over their significance. To me, there’s a mystery to it all and maybe that’s part of the reason we struggle to understand our responsibilities and entitlements when it comes to how we treat them.