NICOLE STAROSIELSKI - Circuits to the Past

Writtten By: Nicole Starosielski

          In the short story “White Noise” a pair of telecommunications engineers travel to an undersea cable landing station on the Red Sea on a routine maintenance trip. Upon their arrival, they see a speaker mysteriously hooked up to the submarine circuits. A live feed is being broadcast from the bottom of the ocean. Animals are silently gathered around, tuned into the subaquatic transmissions—a set of historical vibrations trapped in the ocean’s endlessly circulating cold currents. As the engineers detect human voices through the clash of metal, and rumbling wheels, they realize that they are hearing Moses cross the Red Sea. The undersea cable is not simply a conduit between continents, but a circuit between past and present. In “White Noise,” the undersea cable station is the location of this exchange, a place haunted by its past and a site where connections between technical networks and historical circulations are aurally manifested.

          This photo essay charts the remnants of undersea telegraph stations in the Pacific with the aim of opening a similar conduit between networks past and present. Though we often imagine contemporary media and communication as moving us beyond territorial limits, almost all transoceanic internet traffic currently runs along more than half a million miles of undersea fiber-optic cable. These cables have rarely developed in isolation and are often grounded in existing transportation and resource systems. Internet cables tend to follow the paths of analogue telephone cables from the 1950s, which were in turn layered over telegraph systems from the previous century. Telegraph lines trace the vectors of other historical movements, including mobilizations of bodies, goods, and ships via colonial networks. Between layers of infrastructure development, the cable station has often served as an invisible gateway for exchange, a place where the spatiality of one kind of network is tied into another.  

Figure 1. A watchtower looks over Botany Bay at the site of the La Perouse cable station, a point of Australia’s connection to New Zealand from 1876 to 1917.

          As a result, cable stations play a role in stabilizing networks over time. In Australia, cables were brought ashore at Botany Bay, the site where Captain Cook first staked the British Flag in 1770 and where French explorer La Perouse landed in 1788. Although it was ten kilometers south of Sydney, Botany Bay was selected as a site for a cable station in part due to this proximity to nautical traffic and ship landings, which in turn helped to attract military and defense installations. Even after the telegraph station closed for signal traffic, the building continued to serve surrounding publics – emergent circulations continued to leverage the resources of existing nodes. It was used briefly as quarters for Coast Hospital nurses and subsequently as a women’s refuge operated by the Salvation Army. Traffic was eventually redirected to central Sydney, landing at Bondi Beach, where internet signals continue to enter Australia today. The builders of at least one subsequent cable system, however, still toyed with the idea of returning to La Perouse. The old cable station building (now a museum housing the artifacts of transnational communication), a nearby watchtower originally meant to look out for smugglers, and a monument named for the early French explorer all serve as reminders of the location’s significance in drawing in heterogeneous historical currents. 

Figure 2. A plaque graces the side of the old cable hut at Southport, Australia, where the Pacific Cable Board’s systems operated between 1902 and 1964.

          The cable station is a location where network history materializes and becomes visible, aural, and perceptible. It is the architecture in which history is celebrated and displayed, where generations of communications workers construct a sense of shared tradition, and where major network transitions are experienced. Our treatment of the early cable stations evidences, in part, a cultural relationship to communications past. In Southport, Australia, it is hard to miss where the cable landed, even though the station is no longer there, since a park, a street, and an apartment building have been named after it. The cable hut still stands, and is marked in the Queensland Heritage Register as an important site of cultural history. When the station’s owners sought to tear down the buildings to build a retirement home, residents spearheaded a campaign to transform them into the music complex of the local Southport School. In “Cable Park,” a monument commemorates the Pacific Cable Board telegraph system. A large map, engraved in metal, delineates its colonial routes, extending outward from Southport, connecting to Norfolk Island, branching off to New Zealand and to Fiji, from which it snakes northward to Fanning Island and eventually Bamfield, Canada. A quote from Shakespeare, “I’ll put a girdle round about the earth in forty minutes,” anchors the system in British history. 

Figure 3. The telegraph rooms at the Bamfield cable station, which operated from 1902-1959, have since been turned into science labs

          The first set of British and American colonial stations in the Pacific were typically located in remote environments. Cablemen were a critical part of the circuit and spent long days transmitting and re-transmitting signals. The large and often out-of-place complexes built to house them were later valued as support architectures for local and regional projects. As in Southport, the cable station at Bamfield, Canada was evacuated after telephones replaced telegraphs. The multi-story building, designed by a leading architect in Victoria, had close to fifty rooms, including telegraph offices, accommodations, a billiard room, a music room, and a library with books about the British empire (Scott 1994). In 1972, the cable station buildings were converted to house the Bamfield Marine Sciences Centre. As at La Perouse, references to the history of the area remain part of the landscape. A monument to the original cables stands at the facility’s center. Cable memorabilia remains inside the building. Marine scientists have made use of cable facilities not only at Bamfield, but also across the Pacific. Scientists seeking new species near Wellington, New Zealand briefly utilized the cable house at Titahi Bay and the University of Honolulu leased the Fanning Island station for its oceanographic experiments. 

Figure 4. Part of the cable complex at Doubtless Bay, New Zealand was floated on a barge up a river to i­­­­ts landing spot at Oruru, where it now serves as a local community center and a cinema.

          At the Far North Regional Archives, I sit at a table with residents eager to share the history of the Northland, New Zealand and their encounters at the original telegraph house, now a local cinema theater. Each recounts a movie that they had seen at the “Swamp Palace” and the extensive stories about the films that would be told by its outgoing exhibitionist. The history of the Northland station, which operated for only a decade between 1902 and 1912, isn’t limited to the archives. Images are mounted on the walls at the local “Cable Bay” general store. The landing is commemorated with a stone monument, coordinates emblazoned on its surface. These stories and the visual culture of cable history resonate across the Pacific. In another “Cable Bay” in New Zealand, on the country’s South Island, a local couple has set up Cable Bay Holiday Park, dedicating a room to images of the bay’s history – an amateur archive. The original telegraph building in Fiji has been restored to house FINTEL, Fiji’s international communications company. Even after they ceased to be hubs of communications activity, stations along the original British line have housed other social circulations – of science, of cinema, of culture. The buildings, and the histories they preserve, allude to the colonial past yet simultaneously are woven into the fabric of local networks, serving specific community needs.

Figure 5. Remnants of old telephone cables lay across the beach at Vatuwaqa, Fiji. The original telegraph building has been renovated and now houses Fiji’s international telecommnications company.

          At the Far North Regional Archives, I sit at a table with residents eager to share the history of the Northland, New Zealand and their encounters at the original telegraph house, now a local cinema theater. Each recounts a movie that they had seen at the “Swamp Palace” and the extensive stories about the films that would be told by its outgoing exhibitionist. The history of the Northland station, which operated for only a decade between 1902 and 1912, isn’t limited to the archives. Images are mounted on the walls at the local “Cable Bay” general store. The landing is commemorated with a stone monument, coordinates emblazoned on its surface. These stories and the visual culture of cable history resonate across the Pacific. In another “Cable Bay” in New Zealand, on the country’s South Island, a local couple has set up Cable Bay Holiday Park, dedicating a room to images of the bay’s history – an amateur archive. The original telegraph building in Fiji has been restored to house FINTEL, Fiji’s international communications company. Even after they ceased to be hubs of communications activity, stations along the original British line have housed other social circulations – of science, of cinema, of culture. The buildings, and the histories they preserve, allude to the colonial past yet simultaneously are woven into the fabric of local networks, serving specific community needs.

Figure 6. The ruins at Sumay, Guam remain on the Naval Base and are inaccessible to the public without a pass and an escort.

          The other stations along the American transpacific telegraph line also remain unknown, unexcavated, and insignificant in their surrounding landscapes. At Ocean Beach in San Francisco numerous pictures were taken to document the original landing, but nothing remains of the cable’s infrastructure today. The original cable hut has been demolished and an apartment building has been put up in its place. Like Ocean Beach, Hawai‘i’s Sans Souci Beach is a major tourist attraction in downtown Waikiki. No street signs, monuments, or parks mark its former landing. The only mention of the cable is a brief note at the bottom of the menu of a local restaurant. The ruins at Midway Island cannot be accessed since there are no regular commercial flights to the atoll. Only military groups, research teams, and eco-expeditions that charter flights may visit. Much of Manila’s coastal shoreline has been built out into the bay. The telegraph landing point here is likely submerged beneath roads and shopping malls. Transpacific communication histories live on solely in the historical images of cable landings and commemoration ceremonies, scattered few and far between, and often buried in remote archives.

Figure 7. At the telegraph landing in San Francisco apartment buildings now stand at the location of the original cable hut.

          Several of the American sites are still critical locations for signal exchange. Guam and Hawai’i remain major hubs for transpacific internet traffic. In contrast, many of the early sites along the first British Pacific routes are not close to contemporary cable landings. Just as the cables moved north from La Perouse to Sydney, and later to Sydney’s northern suburbs, cables have been dislocated from Nelson, Northland, Darwin, Bamfield, Norfolk Island and Fanning Island. Canada’s traffic is now routed south through United States cables. New Zealand’s internet leaves the country through Takapuna, north of Auckland, and Muriwai, on its west coast, rather than two original cable landings. The visibility of cable history along the British colonial route – from the museum at La Perouse to the reconstructed walls at Darwin – is accompanied by a shift away from these locations as significant telecommunications hubs. In contrast, the solidification of American telecommunications networks at nodes such as Hawai‘i and Guam is accompanied by a lack of institutional interest in the maintenance of early cable sites.

Figure 8. At Hawai‘i’s Sans Souci Beach (left), the only remnant of the original transpacific cable landing is a mention at the bottom of a restaurant menu. The poles that mark contemporary communications cables (right) blend into the dry landscape of O‘ahu’s west shore.

          There are a number of practical reasons for this divergence, including the increased infrastructural awareness at typically remote British stations, the urban buildup around American stations at San Francisco and Honolulu, and the differing cultural relationships to a colonial past in the United States and in Australia, New Zealand, and Canada. Regardless, our forgetting of cable stations, especially in places that remain network hubs, serves to keep contemporary network infrastructure invisible. It is difficult to think of cable systems when they are spatially or temporally proximate. The nodes of the networks we are hooked into remain the most difficult to grasp. At stake in the forgetting of these systems is our understanding of the historical development of interconnections between places, the ongoing cost of maintenance, and the embodied difficulties of continued operation. Although cablemen are today relegated to oversight of the network, rather than the physical retransmission of messages, cable stations continue to be sites for the active monitoring and maintenance of transoceanic communications. How might we re-cast the global networks of media distribution – from the cable systems through which our internet flows; to the satellites that register the Earth’s surface; to the data centers where our information is stored – as inhabited architectures?

Figure 9. The cable landing at Nelson, New Zealand has been re-purposed as a campground. Inside Cable Bay Holiday Park’s reception area, an amateur archive of collected historical material documents the system’s impact.

           At the climax of “White Noise,” as the engineers are listening to Moses cross the Red Sea, one of the pair suggests that they should tape and analyze the sounds emanating from the depths. The second engineer resists, arguing that if they continue to listen in and happen to overhear the voice of God, this knowledge would destroy them. “We musn’t hear it,” he exclaims, “We would know for sure. It would make a worthless thing of faith” (Kilworth 514). He pulls the plug, cuts the circuit, and fires a gun at the system. Destroying the cable station, he attempts to preserve a continued faith in the world’s mysteries and a belief in the possibility of earthly transcendence. This short story conveys at least one reality about today’s cable stations: they register traces of the past that are difficult to reconcile with the transcendence networks promise to us. As Anna McCarthy and Nick Couldry have argued, “the full recognition of the materiality of space, and spatial relations, does violence to certain visions, themselves perhaps quite comforting, of what media are” (2004: 3). It is only through the symbolic destruction of this material past that we can continue to believe in the immateriality of our communications networks. Counter to this imagination, the images here suggest that by revisiting and recording the history of cable stations, we might open up a circuit of exchange between today’s systems and the colonial infrastructures that constitute their early foundations. 

Figure 10. Bricks from the old Darwin communications complex, destroyed during World War II, are embedded into the walls of the city’s government buildings.

WORKS CITED

1. Couldry, Nick and Anna McCarthy, eds. MediaSpace: Place, Scale and Culture in a Media Age. London and New York: Routledge, 2004.
2. Graham, Stephen and Simon Marvin. Splintering Urbanism: Networked Infrastructures,
3. Technological Mobilities and the Urban Condition. London: Routledge, 2001.
4. Kilworth, Gary. “White Noise.” In Year’s Best Fantasy and Horror Volume 3, Ellen Datlow, ed.. New York: St Martin’s Press, 1990. pp. 508-16.
5. Scott, R. Bruce. Gentlemen on Imperial Service: A Story of the Trans-Pacific Telecommunications Cable told in their own Words by those who Served. Victoria: British Columbia, 1994.

Nicole Starosielski is an Assistant Professor in the Department of Media, Culture, and Communication at New York University. Her forthcoming book project, The Undersea Network, examines the cultural and environmental dimensions of transoceanic cable systems, beginning with the early global telegraph network and extending to the fiber-optic infrastructure that carries almost all international internet traffic.

MARK FRANK - Shin-do-fu-ji; The Practice of No Till Farming

 

Written by: Mark Frank-Echigo Farm

In Japanese Buddhism, there is the expression shin-do-fu-ji, written with the characters for heart, body, not, and two (心体不二).  This means, literally translated, “body and earth are not two.” That is, our human bodies and the land from which we get our food are closely connected. One can also extrapolate from this expression that all living things have a deep connection to the place where they live. Expanding this concept to food and diet we can infer that it is not so much “you are what you eat” as “you are where you eat.”  Thus, there is a unique physical and spiritual connection between your body and the land where you live. On our farm, we have put this philosophy into practice by treating the soil as a living thing, it is deserving of respect and care.

On cool summer mornings, knee deep in daikon, I’ve heard the soil speak.  I walk an average of four miles a day on our little farm, mostly confined to the 2 acres or so of land where we grow our market crops. I have learned a little of the contours and crannies, the perennial and annual weeds, the insect communities and their respective territories, the places where the chickens naturally stray, the delicately layered balance and imbalance of natural cycles that define any farm.

I have only been here five and a half years and I am still learning how to read the land.  Self-admittedly, I still struggle with the homework. We follow Masanobu Fukuoka’s three rules for natural farming; no pesticides, no chemical fertilizers, no tilling.  The first two may seem more explicitly invested in the balance of life and human safety because they remove poisons from the food production equation.  However, I have come to realize in my years of walking and working here that the third, no tilling, is perhaps the most important.

When confronted with a new field or garden spot, our shared human impulse is to till, to turn the soil decisively. Somehow, there is an undeniable visceral satisfaction in breaking ground and running my hands through clear luminous loam that says, “Now I can do something, I am ready to farm.” But, after several years of not tilling and leaving machines shut up in the shed, I enjoy spending seasons going over the same unplowed land and the same beds. Yet, with each season I notice that things are never the same. What I have learned through the years and see in the crops, as well as other living populations, is how fertility builds and seeps into the soil from everywhere all at once to create something new.  It is powerful concept to know that undisturbed earth can be so alive and fertile; this idea seems to encourage and propel my commitment to this way of farming.

Through reflection, I have come to see myself not as a local farmer but as a soil-based farmer. When we sell produce at the farmers market, what we are really offering is our soil. Not the dirt itself, so much as a mirror image of the ground and the energy of its constituents; this shows up in the flavor, shape, color, size and texture of the vegetables. Furthermore, in growing our own produce year round, I have noticed that our farm has a specific flavor. There is a farm taste that transcends variety or skill; this is the soil speaking. Other vegetables at the local market taste like other farms. However, in many big supermarkets, I have come to notice that there are many vegetables that taste like nowhere. Therefore, it matters not so much that my vegetables were grown in Southwest Missouri; geographically speaking, everywhere is local somewhere. But, that they were grown here, on this small piece of land in a specific way that maximizes character and leaves a specific imprint on the produce that is harvested from this soil; this means everything in farming.

Tracing the details of the soil with my feet, I often make notes. This morning, I happen to notice as I kneel in the wet morning grass that a deer has come into the field. It claims membership to this land as the chickens wander out to the edge of the beans just ahead of a light rain.  Admittedly, the soil has become on some days more familiar to me than my own children. Smells and temperatures change throughout the day, water flows throughout the land and some crops grow where others do not.  It feels very reassuring to know that my practice of shin-do-fu-ji continues, whether I am in the field or not.  What is perplexing about this way of farming is that I have also come to realize that I’m not really a farmer and even less a “steward of the land.” I’m just someone who likes to walk the land and observe the cycles of nature and soil at work.  Thus, the only meaningful accomplishment in my short history as a farmer is the relationship I’ve built with the soil; anything I’ve learned starts and ends here.

Reference:

Sadamichi, Kato (2016) Retrieved from:https://www.lang.nagoya-u.ac.jp/proj/genbunronshu/25-1/kato.pdf

ANDREA LOMBARDO - Light Pollution

IMAGES BY: Andrea Lombardo

WRITTEN BY: Ryan Nemeth

What do Thomas Edison, hormones, sleep apnea, astronomy and circadian rhythms have in common? If you guessed that all share some connection to global light pollution, then you are either way too smart for me or you have too much time on your hands. It may be a new concept for some, but you should know that light pollution is a real thing and does exist. Light pollution is defined as an unintended brightening of the night sky that is caused from excessive, misdirected or obtrusive light. This form of pollution distorts colors of the night sky and interferes with our ability to see the stars as a result of sky glow. Furthermore, light pollution disrupts the environment at large by intervening in the natural daylight and night cycles that help to drive many necessary biological functions in nature.  

The story and evolution of light and the unintended consequences of light pollution begin with fire. Historical records reveal that our human preoccupation with carrying and containing sources of fire and light far predate the first civilized societies as both heat and light are vital to our human existence. In fact, Darwin himself considered language and the ability to create fire the two most defining evolutionary qualities of the Homo Sapien species. Thus, it is not too surprising to learn that the earliest known stone lamps have been dated to the Pleistocene epoch and are thought to be approximately 40,000 years old.  The take away: where humans go, light follows.

So you ask, what is light? Visible light is the small range of electromagnetic radiation that is detected by our eyes. This form of light is comprised of photons that are emitted when energy sources release their energy in the form of electromagnetic radiation (EMR).  Not surprisingly, some energy and light emitting sources are more efficient than others in producing light photons.  Subsequently, humans have developed and adopted many combinations and forms of energy and light emitting technology. The abbreviated history of light and the trajectory of its development follows a path akin to this; Wood fire and torches 125,000 B.C., stone lamps 40,000 B.C., oil lamps 4500 B.C., candles 3000 B.C., first crude kerosene lamp 900 A.D., gas lamps 1792, incandescent lamps 1874, the first incandescent lighting system based on AC current 1886, mercury-vapor lamps 1901, neon lamps 1910, fluorescent lamps 1926, and LED lamps 1962.

What might be surprising to many, given the brief timeline of electric lighting, is the fact that electric based derivatives of light did not show up until the late 1800s. Furthermore, it is somewhat startling to think that humans have managed to whitewash much of the globe with artificial light in just a mere 150 years. You should know that both electric lights and gas lamps are products of the industrial revolution and these inventions marked a huge paradigm shift in the way that light was produced, transmitted and consumed. For the first time in history, we (humans) no longer had to tend a fire to light our world.  We had systematically engineered a way to turn a switch and walk away.  The intended consequences were that society could now remain productive 24 hours a day on a diurnal cycle void of sun. Thus, the industrial revolution and the invention of the gas lamp marks the spot in our history where humanity made a considerable lifestyle break from productive work hours that were dependent on the light of the sun. Coincidentally, the development of artificial light also coincides directly with our larger global transition from agricultural to industrialized economies.  Thus, the role that artificial light played in our larger socioeconomic transition and continues to play in defining and shaping our urban existence should not be discounted.

From the dawn of civilization, fire in the home and light were often one and the same. Wolfgang Schivelbusch stated in his book Disenchanted Night, “When the house lost its hearth fire, it lost what since time immemorial had been the focus of its life.'' This paradigm shift marks a rapid progression in the way that society consumed light in their homes as well as their businesses. As one can imagine, families no longer had a need for gathering around a single source of heat and light. The once vital community chores of chopping wood and tending the flame suddenly disappeared. Gas lamps, railroad access and utilities (water and gas) were suddenly available in many homes within a very short span of time.  One can only speculate just how much these inventions changed interpersonal communication, psychology and the overall orientations of the family unit and the broader community as we were suddenly freed from necessary but burdensome chores. If one is inclined to ponder the degradation of family and the loss of community in the modern world, I would suggest that the investigative journey start here. The unintended consequence of artificial light was a large societal shift resulting from newly lite environments that encouraged exploration, access, independence and new forms of community outside of the home. These newfound freedoms propelled individuals to seek out taboo and forbidden dimensions of the night as well as productive nocturnal environments, this lead to a dramatic increase in the hours of lighting (energy) that society consumed.

Paradoxically, something very interesting and troublesome transpired as industrial societies began to free themselves from a dependency on land and agricultural based orientations. This massive industrial transition created an unquenched need and thirst for more energy.  Industrial economies suddenly needed fuel and stores of energy for their factory based infrastructure, machine based productivity, transportation of goods and materials and also for the coinciding urban growth. To this day, progress in the global industrialized economies of the world remains highly dependent on the security of cheap and renewable demand driven energy stores. Furthermore, these same energy requirements hold true for our newer service based economic models. Looking back, what prompted dramatic change in the late 1800s was our ability to create and extract cheap sources of energy (coal, petroleum, natural gas, and hydro-electric power) and to transmit this energy over long distances to those in need. This industrialized shift in the transmission and consumption of energy meant that family units, communities and individuals no longer had to secure their own power. One of the biggest ramifications for life under this new model was that society no longer bore the burden to harvest, maintain and manage personal energy stores.  Due to the gains associated with the specialization of labor, it became more efficient for centralized organizations to secure and manage energy resources for us.  Thus, energy consumption transitioned to a place that was no longer dependent on personal productivity, but a function of market based supply and demand and relevant energy pricing structures. 

The advance of the industrialized market-based energy economy was an amazing breakthrough for society both in the form of productivity and leisure. However, because energy was and still is cheap relative to wages in the developed world, there remains very little downward market price pressure to discourage consumers into actions of energy conservation.  A consequence being that it is cheap to leave the lights on. As a result, many of us in the developed world still continue to do so. Fast-forward one hundred and fifty years and it turns out that wealthy countries with vast energy stores and resources are those that contribute most to global light pollution. Looking at lighting maps of earth from space reveals that the United States, Europe and Japan are some of the worst light pollution offenders on the planet.  The patterns and disbursement of global lighting make it fairly easy to conclude that light pollution is not simply a result of population density, but also a by-product of wealth. Thus, our massive and impersonal energy systems driven by consumer based cultures and failed resource management policies have yielded a modern world begging for improvements in lighting efficiency and the way we light our world. (see maps below)

U.S. LIGHTS

LAS VEGAS LIGHTS

EUROPEAN LIGHTS

MILAN LIGHTS

EUROPEAN LIGHTS 2

TOKYO LIGHTS

GLOBAL LIGHT MAP

Interesting patterns show up in the lighting map of the United States; light pollution is substantially less prevalent West of the Mississippi River. Also, patterns of North-South and East-West are revealed in the Interstate lighting system; uncovering rectangular patterns (grid) found in the design of our transportation corridors.  In Las Vegas, NV, areas of town most likely associated with casino development and newer LED lights emit a much bluer and whiter light into the atmosphere. Images from Milan reveal a city that casts orange hues of light associated with the widespread use of sodium vapor lamps. You will also notice that Tokyo city lights cast a very green hue of light; this is created from the widespread use of Mercury Vapor lamps.

According to a report on global light pollution published in the Monthly Notices of the Royal Astronomical Society, two-thirds of the U.S. population and more than one-half of the European population have already lost the ability to see the Milky Way with the naked eye. Moreover, 63% of the world population and 99% of the population of the European Union and the United States (excluding Alaska and Hawaii) live in areas where the night sky is brighter than the threshold for light-polluted status set by the International Astronomical Union. In translation, the lumen output from artificial light measures greater than 10% of natural sky brightness above 45° of elevation, confirmation that our world is filled with light pollution.

So the question is why care, what are the broader ramifications of light pollution on the environment and society, if any? Astronomical communities and those who care about seeing the stars at night have long been at the forefront of the dark sky movement and other light pollution reduction initiatives.  However, for many, the interfering glow of city light that prevents us from seeing the stars at night remains inconsequential, trivial and seemingly non-necessary for a vibrant and knowledgeable earthly existence. Thus, it is easy to understand why light pollution initiatives might be easily dismissed as unimportant or inconsequential. However, if one is willing to dig, the problem of light pollution remains larger and much more complex than one might first suspect.

For many eons, life has relied on the predictable rhythms of day and night created by earthly interactions with the sun. This 24-hour day and night cycle, known as the circadian cycle, affects physiologic processes in organisms as it is encoded in the DNA of humans, plants and animals. Studies of humans reveal that circadian cycles interact directly with approximately 10-15% of our genes. This interaction shows up in brain wave patterns, hormone production, cell regulation, and other vital human biologic activities.  A few of the documented and associated human disorders linked with disruptions in circadian rhythm cycles include depression, insomnia, cardiovascular disease, and cancer.  Beyond human aspects of light pollution, plants and animals also depend on the earth’s daily cycle of light and dark to govern life-sustaining behaviors such as reproduction, nourishment, sleep and protection from predators. Thus, artificial light in the night sky can have a very disruptive effect on the natural rhythms that help to create cyclical order and biological balance in our world.

Case in point, migrating birds seems to be heavily affected by glare and sky glow associated with artificial lighting in the night’s sky.  In North America alone, about 200 species of birds fly migration patterns during the night.  When inclement weather and low cloud cover is present, birds demonstrate that they are routinely confused in their passage and navigation near brightly lit buildings, communication towers and other pervasive landscape structures.  Each year in New York City alone, about 10,000 migratory birds are injured or killed by crashing into skyscrapers and high-rise buildings. Current estimates for the number of birds that die from collisions across North America range widely from 98 million to close to a billion. However, the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service estimates that 5 to 50 million birds die each year from collisions with communication towers alone.  Expanding and extrapolating from these numbers to our larger global environment yields staggering numbers of loss for migratory birds. Thus, the coinciding death and birth rates as well as natural predator and prey relationships that interact with migratory bird populations have dramatically shifted as a result of artificial light. What humans must comprehend is that light pollution can and does have dramatic implications for the vitality of many species of plants and animals. It should be noted that there are numerous other nocturnal animals such as bats, frogs, turtles, fish, and rodents that also have been directly and adversely affected by light pollution. This negative interaction with nightlight extends even further into insect species as well as plants.  In summary, the effects of light pollution are comprehensive and non-discriminating in the biological world.

Take for example, the changes in human patterns of sleep that have coincided with the industrial revolution and coinciding lighting boom. The sleep pattern that was the norm before the invention of electric lights is no longer the norm in countries where artificial light extends the day. In the 2005 book At Day’s Close: Night in Times Past, historian Roger Ekirch of Virginia Polytechnic Institute described how before the Industrial Age people slept in two 4-hour shifts (“first sleep” and “second sleep”) separated by a late-night period of quiet wakefulness. Thus, sleep cycles as governed by melatonin cycles that correlate to periods of light and dark were very different in the Pre-Industrial Age. Could the rise of endocrine related disorders, sleep disorders and other human diseases simply be related to the irregular circadian cycles and corollary gene, endocrine and immune responses in the body?

The evidence that indoor artificial light at night influences human health is fairly strong, but how does this relate to light pollution? The work in this area has just begun, two recent studies in Israel have yielded some intriguing findings. Both studies used satellite photos to gauge the level of nighttime artificial light in 147 communities in Israel. The data was collected and researchers then overlaid the photos with a map detailing the distribution of breast cancer cases in these areas. The results yielded a statistically significant correlation between outdoor nighttime artificial light and breast cancer, even when controlling for population density, affluence, and air pollution. Women living in neighborhoods where it was bright enough to read a book outside at midnight had a 73% higher risk of developing breast cancer than those residing in areas with the least amount of artificial lighting outdoors. Clearly this research is eye opening, yet the data merely demonstrates statistical correlation and not causation. In other words, don’t go freaking out just yet. Rest assured that researchers are fast tracking to connect the dots and larger communities of health organizations are starting to ask questions with the intention of seeking answers.

It would be very hard to refute the fact that artificial light has benefited society by extending the length of the productive day while offering more time for recreational activities that require light. However, when artificial outdoor lighting becomes inefficient, annoying and or unnecessary, it is nothing more than a pervasive form of pollution. Many environmentalists, naturalists, and medical researchers consider light pollution to be one of the fastest growing and most intrusive forms of environmental pollution. Furthermore, it should be evident that chronic exposure to this form of pollution can lead to negative and potentially deadly effects for many creatures including amphibians, birds, mammals, insects, plants and humans.  In 2008, the U.S. National Institute of Health (NIH) initiated its first multi-disciplinary research project on light pollution, this was a preliminary step to understand the comprehensive effects of light pollution and to try and corral a problem that is traveling at the speed of light. For some, the NIH’s involvement serves as evidence and acknowledgment of a much larger systemic problem.  This being said, light pollution is still way down the list of important environmental issues needing further research and study.  The use of excessive or unnecessary lighting also constitutes a waste of energy that is contributing directly to the release of carbon dioxide emissions and the warming of our global atmosphere. If you are at all inclined to believe that there are minimal consequences associated with leaving your lights on, think again!

References:

1. Adler, Jerry (2013). Smithsonian Magazine. Reference 1

2. G. A. Davis & J. D. Keller (2014). Reference 2

3. Maddox, B. (1989). Reference 3

4. Henley, J. (2009). Reference 4

5. Chepesiuk, R. (2009). Reference 5

MUKETHE KAWINZI - Poetry

WRITINGS BY: Mukethe Kawinzi

Rio Grande Morning

I muddy bare feet in search of lemon trees among dawn’s forest-music,

breathe the uu uu of truant owls, the pío pío of just-woken baby chicks,

breeze through the compound in a half-asleep haze,

float through the cruá cruá of toads I cannot see,

hungering for the only fruit left to harvest.

Piero claims the best ones have already fallen;

I dart my eyes in the almost dark along damp ground

expecting a burst of saffron-gold to cross my vision,

All anticipation, mouth watering for bitterness.

Nothing. I find no fruit. The rooster clucks ki-kiri-ki.

**

Brilliance

            Luquillo Beach, Sunset

Mi hombre ardiente, he drinks heat everywhere,

collects sun from each place he has loved, fades

from white--winter’s curse,

to red--summer’s scourge,

to beige--tan now, nearly there,

to brown--finally. Color contentment.

In Connecticut’s December he is Irish;

elsewhere emerges Portuguese histories, Cree

ancestries, perhaps a Negro woman in his past,

a maybe-Mestizo medley.

I soak the last warmth of the day into my left arm,

eyeing him in place of dusk-glow.

**

Market Day in the Rain

for Meghan

Lumpy warts 

burst free from

blue-green Kabocha skin,

warm themselves

against smooth Jonagolds;

Pink worms emerge

from late corn, hard ground;

upon opening,

blackberry juice is

gently diluted,

Fresh dirt turns

muddy, slides from

bitter Amaranth,

nimbus clouds

blanket worlds,

vegetal turns bracing--

drenched all.

Raw winds whip.

**

AMELIA MASLEN - Second Mesa: A Reason for Hope

Images By: Amelia Maslen

 

Written By: Ryan Nemeth 

I remember it was bitterly cold that morning.  Almost instantly, my fingers and face began to tingle as I b-lined from the parking lot towards the edge.  After all, it was my wife’s first time and I was overflowing with anticipation for her first glimpse. Frankly, I am not sure who would come out here in the dead of winter, but there we were.  I am frequently reminded that I am a terrible trip planner, but as I recall, maybe that was the intent this time?  I was hoping that this would be something akin to a day at Disneyland when all the kids are in school. Yeah, about that?  Oh, and back to the planning thing, it was just about 3 minutes in before my hands started to go numb. Some very smart person, not sure who, forgot to pack gloves and warm clothes. However, I was with my favorite person, I had my camera in tow and that is all that really mattered. 

As we sat and waited, a small group of people began to gather along the point.  It wasn’t before long that I could see a tour bus pull up and shortly after we were swimming in people. What can I say, there is nothing like taking your loved one to a sacred and mystical place in the world and somehow realizing that you have landed very squarely in a shitty tourist trap. The parking lots, public restrooms, fences and sidewalks should have been a clear indication of what was in store for us. Yet, in all of the excitement, it was all so easily overlooked.  By the way, I am told there is a name for this sense of confusion and it is called destinasia. This phenomenon occurs when you loose track of where you are, where you are going, or what you are doing. Check, check and check. It sounds kind of like amnesia right? Yet, whatever it was, this satisfactorily explains the decision-making or lack thereof that morning. Anyways, the sun had yet to punch through the horizon and I was fighting to hold my coveted spot on the fence line at the edge of the Canyon.

Isn’t it ironic that humans can visit public spaces that are global attractions funded with public money, yet we simply just want the place to our self? Self–righteously, my wife and I had crossed the Southwest desert in record time and endured the 8-hour trip with sustenance from bad coffee, beef jerky and corn nuts. We had really held out for this moment and all I wanted in exchange was a blissful, unobstructed sunrise view of Grand Canyon National Park. Wasn’t it any consolation that we passed through 2nd Mesa on the Hopi reservation and pondered the meaning of life and our meager existence?  In fact, Hopi prophecies signaled that the end of the fourth world was near.  Hopi beliefs tell us that the prior epochs and global destructions were not the result of random earth changes or astrophysical phenomena, but of humankind’s disregard for Mother Earth and the spiritual dictates of the Creator. In other words, cataclysmic events in the natural world have been causally connected to collective transgressions and compounding negative human actions on earth. This all made sense as I stood at the edge of the canyon, brooding over the crowd that had gathered around us, hoping that everyone would just go home so I could have the place to myself. Somehow, maybe I was contributing to this mess after all? Insert spiritual epiphany here. 

I think it was right about then that the Grand Canyon walls started to morph into beautiful hues and tones of lapis and purple.  The inside of the Canyon was slowly coming to life.  Layers and layers of topographical and geographic forms began to appear where the Canyon rim met the sky and suddenly I was peering into what seemed to be an endless sea of colored stone. I could see sheets of rock for miles; each receded from light to dark as it fell away into the next layer and then eventually into nothingness. The view was unrivaled. In my mind, both the depth and scale of the Canyon remain ineffable. Yet, what still persists from this amazing experience is the feeling of being small and inconsequential relative to the rest of the world. So there I was, lost in deep space and time, suddenly enveloped by the Canyon and thrust into consciousness of a much larger reality. 

When I came to, I remember pondering both how and why it is that humanity has been so successful in disenfranchising itself from nature?  So many questions to answer; were we running from the uncontrollable and unpredictable, chasing immortality, self-absorbed in our ego, or simply just trapped in unsustainable and outdated industrial modes of living? There had to be a rationale answer. Either way, my fabricated urban life felt perverted and fraudulent in contrast to the experience I just ingested and just as fast as the truth rushed in, it rushed out. 

A piercing gravely female voice rang out, “Would it be possible to stand where you are, I would like to get a picture with my family?” Sure thing I replied, I earnestly stepped away from the fence hoping desperately that this family would see what I saw and have a similar experience.  As I retreated, I remember trying to fire one last shot with my camera, this moment was worth savoring, but my fingers were so freaking cold and numb that I simply could not push the trigger. Something about these moments that just makes them impossibly hard to capture and recount, this one remains no different.  But, suddenly there it was, clairvoyance! Maybe if enough of us stood at the edge of the Canyon to seek peace with the world we could turn the tide on the cultural and pathological ills negatively impacting earth? Whatever the reality, it felt good to walk away from the edge of the Canyon with a newfound conviction that human will and ingenuity are powerful agents of change and reason for hope even when we feel lost.

LAUREN MARSOLIER- Reconstructed Landscapes

Images by: Lauren Marsolier

Written by: Ryan Nemeth

French-born Lauren Marsolier lives and works in Los Angeles. She is the recipient of many awards and her images have been published internationally in such magazines as the British Journal of Photography where she was featured as one of ‘20 photographers to watch in 2013’. Her work was included in the ’31 Women in Art Photography’ 2012 selection by the Humble Art Foundation in NYC, 'Looking at the Land' at the RISD Museum of Art and also in the major 2013 London Exhibition 'Landmark: The Fields of Photography', curated by William Ewing at the Somerset House.  Her work is also part of many major collections including the Los Angeles County Museum of Art, the Center for Creative Photography and the Phoenix Art Museum.

Recent exhibitions include solo shows at the Houston Center for Photography, Robert Koch Gallery (San Francisco) and Galerie Richard (NY and Paris). Her first monograph 'Transition' has recently been published by Kerber Verlag. Last November, she was part of a panel discussion about contemporary landscape photography at TATE Modern in London, with fellow artists: Thomas Struth, Penelope Umbrico, Massimo Vitali and Mishka Henner. Lauren’s has a very unique process for producing images as her photographs are composited and fictitious reconstructions of landscape. She kindly accepted my interview request to talk about her work and here is what she had to say:

Ryan: Tell me about your background in photography, how did your current image making technique evolve?

Lauren: I started to develop an interest in photography when I was a teenager, but I really became fascinated by this medium in my early 20s when I learned how to process and print negatives. Printing added a whole new dimension, which became as important to me as taking photographs. I would spend hours in the darkroom reinterpreting my pictures and trying alterations that would make my work more personal. As the advent of editing software extended the field of image making, I naturally felt drawn to exploring the new possibilities they offered. This is how I cultivated my current process, which substantially relies on digital compositing.

Ryan: You have a really unique way of approaching image-making as your photographs are composited photos that are constructed from many sections of various photos taken over a span of time. Why compose and construct images in this manner?

It is like choosing to make a drawing or a painting without reproducing what is in front of your eyes; it is more free. A painter can start with a line and let his subject develop gradually according to their imagination. They can be more focused on something they sense rather than something they see; I work in a similar way.  

Ryan: I am wondering about the conceptualization of your imagery. Do you previsualize your images before they are produced or does the idea for the image unfold in a more spontaneous way?   

Lauren: The idea usually unfolds in a spontaneous way, however, sometimes pre-visualizing helps get me going.  So far, my pictures have never ended up looking like something I anticipated. I think that’s because the most important thing in my images is not so much the visual elements themselves, but what emanates from their slightly off combination. What works best for me is to start with a section of a photograph that inspires me; then I try various alterations and juxtapositions and I am able to gradually shape the visual atmosphere I seek to render.

Ryan: What causes you to stop and make a picture to include in your image reference library? Do you simply photograph anything that catches your eye, or do you scan the environment for objects and elements that fill a particular need for a work in progress?

Lauren: When I first started out, I did not know where I was heading. I would take pictures of anything that would catch my eye. But over time, as my series developed, I have become more selective. I know what types of elements I might use and I just shoot what might work. For example, I know I work with generic elements, so I usually leave out whatever has too much of a distinctive style. I also leave out whatever is not lit in a way that I can use. If an element really interests me and the lighting is not right, I go back at another time and take more pictures until I get the right lighting. I have a very intuitive approach. If I need mountains, I’ll go to a place where I can find some, but I usually don’t look for something very specific. I shoot what feels right for my project, knowing also that I can make all kinds of alterations in post-production.

Ryan: Take me through the process of constructing an image. From start to finish, how much time does a single image take to produce? Do you use Photoshop, CGI (animation technique), manual methods of compositing or a combination of these elements to produce your images?

Lauren: I start by going through my archive of photographs and see what draws me in. When I see a part of a picture that inspires me, I make all kinds of changes to the image to get a better sense of what it is that interests me. Then, I imagine a different context in order to enhance what I am starting to sense. I often juxtapose sections of other pictures to see whether they add to the atmosphere that is starting to take shape. Thus, I do a lot of trial and error until everything feels right. To answer your question, I just work with Photoshop. Some pictures take weeks, others take months, but I work on a few different images at the same time. It usually takes many attempts to find the right pieces to the puzzle and I often have to let a composition rest. I find that when I am stuck, going back to the image with a fresh gaze can help produce a way forward.

Ryan: One of the central themes you explore in your work is the concept of transition.  You describe these transitional events as experiences that shift our perspective in reality. I like to think of this idea as something akin to Déjà vu, which is explained by a strong sensation that a current event or experience has been experienced in the past.  Paradoxically, these experiences can create a sense of familiarity while simultaneously creating confusion and dislocation about what is real and what is artifice. Why choose to explore this concept through landscapes?

Lauren: My images are about our contemporary world, but not so much about how it looks as how it feels. We are subjected to a lot of change at a very fast pace; this results in a common and collective experience and results in feelings of not being at home, adjusted, or grounded in our environment.  Thus, many of us feel an urge to constantly adapt to new environments, to new technologies and to new social interactions… I believe that these compounding and perpetual changes have disturbing effects on our minds; especially as the pace of change accelerates. This constant and unyielding change ultimately throws us into a state of perpetual transition. Changes, good or bad, require time to process and the lack of reflective distance in contemporary society ultimately creates a lot of anxiety and confusion.

The mind and the environment are tightly connected; there is reciprocity as each affects the other. Thus, man-made environments say a lot about our culture and the way we think. I choose to explore my subject through landscapes because there is a natural link between our inner and outer worlds.

Ryan: In your images you often depict houses, cars, parking structures, parking lots, roadways, landscaped places, etc. These are all essential elements of modern infrastructure and also a part of our larger built environment. The subject matter you choose to include in your images could easily be simple depictions of romantic scenery, instead you choose to include elements of urban environments, suburban neighborhoods, parking lots, roadways, etc. The question is why do you choose to include these objects and subjects in your pictures?

Lauren: I choose these elements because the mental experience that informs my images has to do with post-modernity. My pictures show a type of built environment that can now be found on all continents and accurately reflect our time of globalization. Thus, these buildings and objects are familiar to all of us without referring to a specific location.

Ryan: Being that you deconstruct and reconstruct images in a really unique way, you must contemplate or consider key elements of a landscape that seemingly make pictures interesting? What subjects and content do you choose to include or omit in your images and how do you work to achieve both compositional balance and impact in your final image output?

Lauren: I work with very generic modern elements and focus on the atmosphere of the image. What interests me is to create a tension that leads to questions about the image; thereby arousing conflicted feelings. This is what the process of psychological transition feels like; we go back and forth between different perceptions and realities as we are not quite sure where we stand. The tension I build mostly resides in the elements I juxtapose. I aim to create an image where the viewer feels something is off and starts questioning what they are seeing and whether the landscape is as attractive as it might first appear. In order to find the right composition, I try tons of possibilities and follow my intuition!

Ryan: I am curious to know what photographers inspire you, briefly tell me what you see in their work that is motivational?

Lauren: They are many, the first ones to come to mind are Lewis Baltz, Luigi Ghirri, Geert Goiris and Thomas Demand …  I like how their presentation -or construction- of the banal makes you reconsider what you are seeing. I have to say though that I am equally as inspired by painters, possibly even more than photographers!

Ryan: Should the art world take subjective/non-representational photographs seriously? Do you think there is a place for the manipulated image and why?

Lauren: I think art comes in many forms and its category is not an indication of whether or not it is ‘serious’. “Photoshop” and “Digital” were bad words for a long time, but I think photography curators are past this stigma now.  A couple of years ago, the Metropolitan Museum of Art (MOMA) did two great retrospectives on the manipulated image. “Faking It”, was the first part of the show and it was an exploration of Pre-Photoshop manipulated photography. The second half of the show was dedicated to a world Post-Photoshop.

It was evidenced through hundreds of pictures from the 19th and 20th century that the manipulated image is nothing new. The urge to modify photographic images is as old as the medium itself; only the tools have changed. Not taking this type of image-making seriously would be like rejecting paintings that are not straight representations of the world.

Buy Lauren’s New Book here: TRANSITION

Lauren’s site: http://www.laurenmarsolier.com

KATHLEEN BREWIN LEWIS - Poetry

WRITTEN BY: Kathleen Brewin Lewis

Encounter in a Dry Riverbed

There are stones here--ivory and gray--
rubbed ovoid and smooth
by a vanished river.
Firs stand silent in a pale breeze.

Lone raptor in the sky:
black against blue.
White vapor trail, stunning
as a God-made thing.

A fox appears, red and long-legged,
coal stockings. He stops, stares, 

comes on, passes close enough
to touch. I will never
be the same.

**

Above All Else

The meadow, falling into shade.

A worn path through oat grass, 

thistle, milkweed. The lofty view

from the outcrop: cursive river,

written in graphite. In the draft

of late afternoon, buzzards soar

with such grace, I nearly forget

why they’re here.

**

By June the light

begins to breathe.

Spring rains

have cleared the air

and the year is sure of itself, 

at ease. The corn blades up

through warmed soil.

Tomatoes redden. Trees

hold children in their leafy arms.

The sky is the usual blue, 

ordinary, extraordinary,

quotidian, dear. The bright

hemisphere draws in, blows out, 

like the respiration

of saffron-robed monks.
** 

RYAN NEMETH - Rising Tides

Design by: Ryan Nemeth

 

WRITTEN BY: Ryan Nemeth

Tides are defined by the alternate up and down movement of the water levels in the ocean that usually occur twice a day in a particular place as a result of gravity. These somewhat predictable swells are the result of the gravitational pull and the gravitational interaction between the Sun, the Moon and the Earth’s ocean.  Based on the number of high and low tides and their relative heights each tidal day, tides are described as semi-diurnal, mixed, or diurnal. When the moon is directly over the Earth's equator, its associated tidal bulges are centered on the equator. In theory, all locations on the planet except those at the highest latitudes rotate through the two tidal bulges and experience two equal high tides and two equal low tides per tidal day; this is known as a semi-diurnal tide. Semi-diurnal tides have a period of 12 hrs and 25 min, and theoretically have a wavelength of more than half the circumference of Earth.

Different types of tides occur when the moon is either North or South of the equator.  When the moon is above the Tropic of Cancer or Tropic of Capricorn, the diurnal inequality is at its maximum and the tides are called Tropic Tides. When the moon is above or nearly above the equator, the diurnal inequality is minimum and the tides are known as Equatorial Tides.  Whereas Semidiurnal tides are observed at the equator at all times, most locations North or South of the equator experience two unequal high tides and two unequal low tides per tidal day; this is called a mixed tide and the difference in height between successive high (or low) tides is called the diurnal inequality. Notably, points at high latitudes are often impacted by only one tidal bulge and experience one high tide and one low tide per tidal day. When this occurs, this singular Diurnal tide has a period of 24 hrs and 50 min.

The separate sets of ocean tides related to the moon and sun act at times together and at other times in opposition. About every two weeks, the positions of the Sun, Moon, and Earth form a straight line. This occurs during the New and Full Moon Phases as viewed from Earth (see Full Moon and New Moon positions on the diagram). During this period, the lunar and solar related ocean swells line up and add up to produce tides having the greatest monthly tidal range (that is, the highest high tide and lowest low tide); these are called Spring Tides.

Between spring tides, at the first and third quarter phases of the moon, the sun's pull on Earth is at right angles to the pull of the moon. During this time, tides have their minimum monthly tidal range (that is, unusually low high tide and unusually high low tide); these are called Neap Tides or Fortnightly Tides. Furthermore, the moon orbits Earth in an ellipse (rather than a circle) so that the moon is closest to Earth (stronger tide-generating force) at perigee and farthest from Earth (weaker tide-generating force) at apogee. The moon completes one perigee-apogee-perigee cycle once every 25.5 days.

Tidal Measurement Systems

The methods for the prediction and measurement of tide heights are classified as Harmonic and Non-Harmonic. Via the Harmonic method, all tidal actions exerted on the earth are combined into a composite tide using calculations from planetary (sun, moon, earth, etc.) motions and oscillations. This method is rooted in Exdoxas’s 356 B.C. discovery, which explains irregular motions of the planets mathematically and geometrically through combinations of uniform and succinct circular motions. 

The other method is the Non-Harmonic method of tidal prediction, which is made by applying the moon's transit times to the mean height of the tide. This method of calculation is a summation of average conditions and various inequalities that arise due to changes in the phase of the moon and the declination and parallax of the moon and sun. Notably, this method of measurement is noted as a less complex method for computing tides; but it is also a less accurate method of tidal measurement.

Up to and including the year 1884, all tide predictions for the tide tables were computed by means of auxiliary tables and curves constructed from the composite results of tide observations at different ports. From 1885 to 1911, the predictions were generally made by means of the Ferrel Tide-Predicting machine. From 1912 to 1965, tidal predictions were made by means of the Coast and Geodetic Survey Tide-Predicting Machine No. 2. It should be known that without the use of a tide-predicting machine the Harmonic method of tide computation would involve too much labor to be of practical service. However, with such a machine, the Harmonic method has many advantages over the Non-Harmonic system of measurement.

Predicting machines were superseded in 1966 with the advent of digital electronic computers. Initially these computers were of the large main-frame type. In the late 1980s, mainframes were replaced by the growing sophistication of desktop computers.  Desktop computers are now used exclusively by the National Ocean Service in making tidal predictions for standard ports in the United States.

Problems with Tidal Prediction

As noted, physicists have derived precise mathematical expressions to describe the gravitational effects of the Moon and the Sun on the Earth. In theory, therefore, it should be possible to make very precise predictions of the timing and size of all ocean tides. In fact, absolutely precise predictions are not possible because of the large number of factors that contribute to the tides at any one particular location.  The shapes of various ocean basins are primary among these variables. The ocean floor is so irregular and complex that seawater does not behave in a simple and predictable manner. Other variables also complicate the situation; these include variations in the Earth's axial rotation and variations in Earth-Moon-Sun positioning; including variations in orbital distance and inclination. Estimates of tidal behavior are therefore still based primarily on previous tidal observations, continuous monitoring of coastal water levels and astronomical tables.

Tides Matter

For centuries, people who live in coastal areas or who look to the sea for their livelihood have been observing the tides and tidal currents. They have benefitted from their observations and practical knowledge of tides in a variety of ways. For example, tidal knowledge has improved the safe navigation of ships to and from port.  Prior to the development of motorized vessels, this navigational skill helped fuel exploration, maritime shipping and military activities at sea. However, most of all, tidal knowledge has helped in maintaining aquaculture and fishery related activities in the inter-tidal zones near our shores.  Thus, the vitality of a days catch and the widespread availability of marine based foods has benefited dramatically from our knowledge of tidal patterns.

The Intertidal zone is defined as the area between the high tide and low tide mark. This is the spot where land based habitats and humans often interact with the sea. It is also the place where many integral ocean species such as bi-valves (oysters, mussels, clams, etc.) make their home.  Thus, the health of the ocean is highly dependent on the intertidal zone and consequently human health also fits neatly into this picture. The thing to know is that the intertidal zone is currently being subjected to unprecedented and accelerated ecosystem stressors; such as ocean acidification, temperature changes in the water and overall sea level rise. The latter, has produced a sizable and permanent affect on human populations that reside near shorelines and within intertidal zones.

Core samples, tide gauge readings and most recently, satellite measurements, tell us that over the past century, the Global Mean Sea Level (GMSL) has risen by 4 to 8 inches (10 to 20 centimeters). However, the annual rate of rise over the past 20 years has been 0.13 inches (3.2 millimeters) a year, roughly twice the average speed of the preceding 80 years.  Climate change models project that global sea-level rise will accelerate in the 21st century. Models based on thermal expansion and ice melt estimate that global sea levels will rise approximately 20 to 39 inches by the end of the century. However, due to uncertainties about the response of ice sheets to warmer temperatures and future emissions of greenhouse gases, higher values are possible and cannot be excluded.

When sea levels rise rapidly, small increases in the volume of ocean water can have dramatic and catastrophic effects on coastal habitats. As seawater reaches farther inland, it often causes destructive erosion, flooding of wetlands, contamination of aquifers and agricultural soils and lost habitat for fish, birds, and plants.  Furthermore, when ocean charged storms hit land, heightened sea levels mean larger and more powerful storm surges that become highly destructive to human habitats near the coastline. 

The fact of the matter is that hundreds of millions of global residents currently reside in areas that will become increasingly vulnerable to flooding. In some cases, higher sea levels will force residents to abandon their homes and relocate.  Based on modeling and some predications, many low-lying islands could be submerged completely in the very near future. This is an interesting thing to ponder given the fact that so many global residents live near the ocean. In the United States, counties directly on the shoreline constitute less than 10 percent of the total land area (not including Alaska), but account for 39 percent of the total population. From 1970 to 2010, the population of these counties increased by almost 40% and they are projected to increase by an additional 10 million people or 8% by 2020. Currently, the population density of U.S. coastal shoreline counties is over six times greater than the corresponding inland counties. Could it be that the current trends of coastal settlement and the relevant coastal migration patterns will be challenged as we head into a new millennium of unpredictable and rising seas?

References:

1. Reference 1
2. Reference 2
3. Reference 3
4. Reference 4
5. Reference 5
6. Reference 6
7. Reference 7
8. Reference 8
9. Reference 9
10. Reference 10

PETROS KOUBLIS-Chasing Spirit

Images By: Petros Koublis

 

Written By: Ryan Nemeth  

Between 1826 and 1850, the rapid progression and development of photography positioned photographs as the ideal medium for capturing America’s rapid westward expansion. During this time, the advance of the wet collodion photography process coincided with an intense public interest in nature as well as an enormous production of art and literature dealing with natural themes. Notably, both Thoreau and Emerson published their seminal works in this window of time and many new progressive ideas and concepts surrounding nature and landscape were explored. The first industrial revolution was in full swing, the Gold Rush was on and by 1869 the Transcontinental Railroad provided new access to our Western shores. Many American photographers were concerned with defining the vast and uncharted landscape of the West and the means to do so had arrived on all fronts.

By 1860, the accessibility of ferrotypes and cyanotypes granted Eastern spectators their first look at many of the Nation’s awe inspiring landforms such as the Grand Canyon, the Rockies, the Tetons, the Sierra Nevadas and the Columbia River Gorge. What was revealed to viewers was both sublime and mystical. The beauty, scale and complexity of our Western scenery simply overwhelmed many into a newfound inspiration for these natural environments. This first wave of objective photographs enlivened dreams by revealing opportunities for prospect, escape, rest, commune and hope in our land. Irrelevant of style or form, it is important to note that photography has always held the potential to inspire viewers beyond the immediate and or mere sensory.  History demonstrates that the earliest of photographs had the capacity to transport viewers into new realizations and realities. In fact, some would argue that this is exactly how the spirit moves and the mystical takes shape. However, the medium was new and photographers had yet to articulate on this observation.

So you ask, what is a mystical experience anyways? A mystical experience is defined as one with spiritual meaning that is difficult to see or understand. During mystical experiences, extrasensory phenomena are said to be directly perceived by the soul, the mind, the imagination or some other faculty. This definition suggests that an open, receptive and aware cognitive state may in fact be requisite for the experience. For mystics, the spiritual is not something merely to think about, but also something to be encountered and to experience. To elaborate, a walk through a barren desert may in some moments be perceived as beautiful and spirit filled and in other moments feel uninspiring or even threatening. Irrelevant of our capacity to comprehend and connect to underlying truth, the transcendent possibilities of the desert landscape exist whether or not they are appreciated or even recognized by us the viewer.

Mysticism is a vast subject driven by cultural belief and seemingly articulated in an infinite number of ways. One powerful concept asserted by great the British mystic Colin Wilson is that the mystical lives in the ordinary. Thus, in Wilson’s view, mystical experiences are not removed from common experiences found in everyday life. In a New York lecture, Wilson was asked to respond to his viewpoint on the origins of mysticism. He stated, “I am unsure, however, if the subject is too earnest or intent on the mystical experience, it will probably not happen. On the other hand, if one is too laissez faire and without a disciplined concentration, the likelihood of having a heightened cognitive realization will diminish in equal proportion.”  According to Wilson, “To be receptive to mysticism is to focus on the unexpected, to feel the hidden energy within the human encounter and to thereby discover meaning of a larger reality within the temporal routines that we normally take for granted.”

Thinking more deeply about this statement, isn’t this precisely what photographers aim to capture and record via the act of photography? Aren’t we attempting to document the unexpected human experience or event at just the right moment, in just the right light, in order to discover or preserve a larger reality or hidden truth?  By the way, it is worth mentioning that Colin Wilson’s ideas about mystical revelation seem to heavily compliment Cartier-Bresson’s concept of the “decisive moment”. In fact, maybe there is an exact moment when the camera frame is in balance and impartial truth is revealed on film? I do not know about you, but this is precisely when I would like my shutter to close with the right camera settings dialed in! If anything, at the very least, I find it easy to acknowledge that the medium holds the potential to act as a contemplative tool for experiencing reality. The simplest form of evidence for the assertion is that photographs have always demonstrated the capacity to help us resolve discrepancies between perception and reality. For some, this simple act of reconciliation can lead to startling and profound truths, dare I call them “spiritual” or “mystical” experiences.

Although this concept may seem profound, it should be known that the path to the realization that photography could function as a spiritual and contemplative instrument developed slowly. The forces of culture, religion, sociology and economics have always proved significant barriers to non-traditional thought forms throughout the evolution of the medium; make no exception here. In many ways, the progression of the early photographic medium was most limited by the fact that photos were viewed almost exclusively as documents of objective reality. Notably, this objectivity preference continued to dominate the scene until the Pictoral movement began in the late 19th century.  Thus, the medium served as an objective observation tool and good photography was largely measured by the photographer’s capacity to remain impartial and neutral in documenting their subject. In many ways, this inclination severely limited early photographic considerations of style, form and function.

As mentioned, objectivity was increasingly challenged with the acceptance of Pictoralism and even more so around the turn of the 20th century via Alfred Stieglitz’s Photo Succession movement. Both helped transform popular opinions enough to propel photography into a new expressive phase. Stieglitz was the first to formally acknowledged the photographic medium as both subjective and artistic by showing photography alongside fine art.  This shift heightened the medium’s potential for exploring and communicating the non-literal and he coined the term “The Equivalent” to describe this exchange. In doing so, photographic subject matter quickly evolved into the realm of both the abstract and conceptual. The image maker was liberated to explore the medium as subjective and free to work as both interpreter and witness. It was through this transition that prominent photographers first began overtly utilizing photography as a means to communicate the spiritual and psychological while in pursuit of the poetic.

The great landscape photographer Minor White was one of many that expanded on Stieglitz’s concept of “The Equivalent”. Minor stated, “When any photograph functions for a given person as an Equivalent, we can say that at that moment and for that person the photograph acts as a symbol or plays the role of a metaphor for something that is beyond the subject photographed. Said in another way; when a photograph functions as an Equivalent, the photograph is at once a record of something in front of the camera and simultaneously a spontaneous symbol.” It is through this very concept that White began to record the landscape as well as commonplace subject matter.  Similar to the views of Colin Wilson, Minor White also believed that everyday objects and scenes held the potential to mirror and transcend our reality into the realm of spiritual. He summed up this view concisely when he stated, “It is regrettable that people walk in miracle constantly, but live isolated in apathy and unawareness.’’ Post Stieglitz and Minor White, we now know a medium where practitioners freely acknowledge concepts of the psychological and spiritual in their work.

In their book, the Tao of photography, Phillipe Gross and S.I. Shapiro continued their exploration of this subject, they stated, “Photography now shares the capacity to evoke a transpersonal dimension of a larger universe, by such means as grasping the constructive nature of reality, generating a breathless moment of eternity, inducing a deep state of mindfulness, and sweeping away the self through a sense of awe.” Thus, the art of photography in its ultimate form is a vehicle to express personal vision while generating awareness that there is a deeper meaning to our reality. The good word is that photography can be a tool for seeing the world (rather than looking at it), while acting as a conduit for intuitive understanding and interactions with the unknown or imperceptible.  Minor White reassures us that, ‘‘No matter how slow the film, spirit always stands still long enough for the photographer it has chosen.’’  

References:

1. Encyclopedia Britannica (2015). Mysticism. Reference 1
2. Fraenkel Gallery (2015). American Landscape Photographs of the Nineteenth Century. Retrieved from: Reference 2
3. Merriam-Webster (2015). Mystical definition. Retrieved from: Reference 3
4. Morgan, R. (2005). The Interior Landscape and the value of Mysticism. Retrieved from:  Reference 4
5. Ryan, J. (2009). Photography as a Tool of Awareness. Reference 5
6. White, Minor. (1963) Equivalence: The Perennial Trend. PSA Journal, Vol. 29, No. 7, pp. 17-21. Retrieved from: Reference 6 

DON THOMPSON - Poetry

WRITTEN BY: Don E. Thompson

North of Goyenetche Dairy

Tule reeds at the end of the last season

allotted to them, long dormant,

lie in a heap as if shredded:

Maybe a Yokut ghost,

musty with bad memories

and without much to look forward to

except spring,

who spent the winter

picking all of her baskets to pieces,

has given up and moved on,

just a week or so too soon.

**

Seventh Standard Road

These dormant pistachio saplings

no thicker than my little finger

haven’t yet put on

their second coat of leaves.

Nevertheless, one of them

has snagged a tumbleweed

twice its size, ending

an uninhibited cross-country jaunt…

I identify with rooted things

but admit that must be

disconcerting to anyone

who shares its wanderlust.

**

Stockdale Horse Ranch

After mildly acidic rain

last night with pumice gray

clouds tumbling by,

the sky’s clear. Though faded,

frayed at the edges

where it snagged the ridgeline,

and stained by haze,

it’s somehow comforting—

comfortable: like a worn-out

stone-washed denim shirt

you know you ought to toss,

but keep wearing anyway.

**

Ecological Reserve, Brandt Road

The brittle, dead scrub’s scattered seed

will take root and wait

patiently until the rain comes.

No matter how late or how sparse,

it’s always enough

for plants with such low expectations.

They’ll make the most,

as we will, of an uncertain,

fly-by-night spring

before they all turn gray

and die, slowly loosening

their death grip on their own seed.

**

SADIE WECHSLER - ON PROCESS

Works in Progress by: Sadie Wechsler

 

Written by: Ryan Nemeth

Sadie Wechsler received her BA from Bard College and her MFA in photography from the Yale School of Art. Her photographs have been exhibited across the United States, including at Aperture Gallery, New York; Johalla Projects, Chicago; and Green Hall, New Haven, Connecticut. In 2006, she was a recipient of Bard College’s Delavan Grant. Recently, she was the recipient of the 2014 Aperture Portfolio Prize and last year she was awarded and participated in the 2015 Arctic Circle residency.

Sadie was born and raised in Seattle, Washington, where she currently resides. In responding to a general question about what inspires her, Sadie tells me that she is heavily influenced by the volcanic landscapes and shifting tectonic plates that encompass the Northwest of America and the rest of the Pacific Rim.  Many themes found in her work explore unreliable, shifting and extreme environments in different forms and iterations.  You will see these themes in Sadie’s most recent work as she has graciously agreed to share her works in progress from her recent Arctic Circle residency trip.  Additionally, I had the chance to catch up with Sadie for an interview and this is what she had to say:   

Ryan: You completed your BFA from Bard, where Stephen Shore has long been at the helm of the photography program. In addition, you finished an MFA at Yale, where Gregory Crewdson chairs the program. These are arguably two of the best photography programs in the country. Tell me more about your experience in academia. Could you briefly sum up how these programs shaped and molded your understanding of photography?

Sadie: In the end, school and education are amazing privileges but become things to forget about. They are in you and the experience stays, but it also becomes something to work against. In school things are absolutes, things have guidelines and forms that need to be met in making work. I have found life and enjoyment in breaking this need for certainty. The most important thing I received from my education was the idea of the critique, the ability to question and frame my thinking about work, specifically my own work. For a long time, it was very hard for me to know how to respond to what I made. This is still and will always be a challenge, but I have a better awareness for it now and this feels very powerful. The other powerful thing I gained from my education is an amazing group of friends whose opinions I can rely on. These people are the other most viable tool which my education afforded me. Sometimes, I think about what Zen Master Linji said, “If you meet the Buddha, kill him.” To me, this means if things start to feel resolved, understood and familiar, it is time to push hard in the opposite direction.

Ryan: In viewing your work, you depart from the traditional photographic practice of working within the confines of a tightly themed series of work. Thus, you give much more weight and consideration to individual photos that work tangentially around larger themes. How did this practice evolve, was this a conscious break from the norm or just a function of the way that you naturally work?

Sadie: I think this practice came from a desire for each decision to fulfill the need of each individual image, not the needs of a larger body of work. To clarify, I think of each image as an equation to solve and each equation will have its own unique answer. The answer may not be related to the way the last problem was solved. Each image should be resolved for itself and then, once done, can enter a group of other work. This practice started as a way to make better photographs. I was struggling and was not interested in anything I was making and finally I realized that I need to abandon the dignity of composure and accept a chaotic search for the perfect image. This has to do with trying to release all of my brain’s filters and barriers in making and creating each work as a testament to the equity of thought.

Ryan: As you know, there is an old and seemingly never ending conversation about manipulated and composited images in photography. It is interesting that this conversation still exists as we know that the first manipulated negative came about in 1846, just five years after Talbot patented the Calotype negative. I believe that image manipulation can be a very powerful tool in conveying metaphor and developing psychological weight in a photograph. Your images seem to hold form somewhere between reality and intentional contrived fakery. Thus, you are utilizing image manipulation as an expressive tool, why produce images of landscape in this manner?

Sadie: First I would say that the landscape has always been very fertile ground for fakery. The framing out of undesirable elements to present a land desirable for development. Also the earth itself is a manipulator of landscape. Lava flows cover old ones, burn fields, houses and force a changed ecosystem. We also live in a place of earthquakes and tsunamis. These are some of the most fundamental shapers of the land with their forceful touch. From this perspective, the most honest way of addressing the land is to embody its most elemental force of manipulation. It is easy to slip into a way of thinking that sees humans as the main force changing our land, but that would be to forget and underestimate the acts of total transformation which are native to the planet.

Ryan: You recently took part in a 2015 Arctic Circle residency program where you explored the arctic via a ship that departed from Svalbard, Norway. What did you see and what did you take away from this experience?

Sadie: I am still trying to figure this out. It is hard to really see when your eyes are so bombarded with constant newness. It felt like a dream, a place where I was just trying to be a receptacle, taking in all of the stimuli.  Svalbard is a magical place, a place sought after, pillaged and pillaged again. Unlike most of the arctic, it rests the closest to the north pole and it does not have a native population. This is a place people went to die and kill and they sought greatness and fame; some even achieved it. This is also a place where some of the most amazing people I have ever met live today. They treasure the dark winter as it is a unique resource. I would say the best thing this opportunity gave me is the curiosity to learn more. It also gave me the first question to ask and the beginning of a strategy to enact when I go back.

Ryan: I catch overtones of environmental messaging in your work, should we be concerned about the state of our environment and do you think visual art can be used as a tool to change the situation?

Sadie: Of course we should be concerned! It was in the 70’s on Christmas on the East Coast, this is alarming! We have been in luck here this winter in the Northwest as things are pretty normal relative to the rest of the country; lots of snow in the mountains, in the 40’s, but heavier rain… The subject of environment is something I often think about. However, people don't want to sacrifice their lifestyle for the survival of the species; just think about Easter Island. I do think it is important for art to deal in the topics of the time, to raise them in ways the newspapers miss. This is where my world begins; It is not a logical or analytical world and everything may be lost and yet joy can be found.

Ryan: How do your compositions develop? Do you start with an idea or memory and do your images take time to piece together?

Sadie: Yes to all. I start with ideas that mutate over time as memories arise and as they begin to take physical form. Lately, the work has been taking a lot of time, or a lot of revisiting. Creating, moving on to something else, then coming back and seeing where the original piece can move to next. This has been one of the most exciting things about making without deadlines. It feels more natural. Each piece has a slow breath of life as it emerges.

Ryan: Tell me about the use of stock imagery in your photographs, do you use stock photos in all of your work or just some of your work and why?

Sadie: I don’t use stock imagery, but I do take inspiration from it. I feel like sock imagery has become a dictionary of our day. We understand visually now and so it makes perfect sense that we can find an image to represent any experience or how we are supposed act in any situation.

Ryan: Is gear important to you? What kind of gear and camera(s) do you travel with when you are out doing personal work?

Sadie: Yes, but only in the way that I need to know how my camera will function. I have been using a Phase One p45+ with a Phase body for 5 or 6 years now. I also just got a Sony a7rii and I am trying to figure out how to use it and how it captures… I feel like the Phase One is so big and bulky and I would love to replace it but the files and the way it captures landscape and color are so luscious it is hard to give up. None of this matters so much to the end product. These are just the tools I have chosen and know how to use to capture imagery.

Ryan: Do you tend to shoot, store and catalogue lots of images for potential and future use or are you more targeted in the way that you approach your production process?

Sadie: I do a very unorganized version of a catalogue and pull from it constantly for completing work or finding pieces I need. Mostly, I create work from specific groups of images that are made within the same trip or time period. But every once in awhile, I am looking for a specific color, texture, or vista and I will dig through older catalogs. I reuse the same images in different ways throughout time. They feel familiar, like I can use them more adeptly.

Ryan: Name a couple of contemporary landscape photographers that are interesting to you and why do you find their work interesting?

Sadie: I am interested in postcards, I collect beautiful landscape postcards. I especially love the lenticular lenses and the ones with glitter on them. There are not so many good ones out there, so when you find one it is a real treat and honor. These to me are a reaffirming mode of seeing the world and a tried and true way for photographers to alter and exaggerate the land around them as well as for people to consume it. This feels very natural to the way we have been visualizing the west and other mythological places for a long time.

Ryan: Thanks so much for taking the time Sadie, I have learned a bunch!

You can find Sadie Wechler’s work here:  http://www.sadiewechsler.com