Since moving to Finland I’ve been enamoured with the accessibility of nature, the ease at which one can slip into it, unnoticed, and become fully immersed – and in my experience easily lost. The forests here are quiet, less occupied by wildlife compared to the forests of my home in Canada. They are largely uncluttered, both visually and audibly. It’s as if they are just forests, and not home to an entire ecosystem of organisms and communities. The trees, flora, and fauna are all seemingly neutral to their surroundings. On the surface, they are passive observers, the ‘historical actors’ of modern forestry (Tsing, 2017, p. 202). But below the soil is an active network of communication, much like our own human data infrastructures. As Susan Simard, a Candian scientist and forest ecologist, in reference to her collaborative work with biologist Kevin Beiler, suggests that “subterranean connections form a mycorrhizal network, now known colloquially as the “Wood Wide Web,” with a topology similar to that of neural networks, stream networks in watersheds, and the internet.” (Simard, 2021).   

Source: Suzanne Simard, Finding the Mother Tree: Discovering the Wisdom of the Forest

     With this in mind, I walked through Nuuskio National Forest with classmates on a mushrooming excursion and I thought a lot about the trails and the pathways – the networks on the surface. We started on a paved path, clearly marked and designated, engineered by and for human passage. But as we delved deeper into the forest our paths became progressively less trodden, and naturally, we also made our own paths – surely any mushrooms that bloomed near paths would be picked already. What drew my curiosity were the paths-to-be; the paths that weren’t yet established but you could tell that a human, if not a few, had trodden before. Is it by chance that I chose to follow this near-invisible line through the forest? Like a hunter tracking an animal, only this time I’m following the hints of a human before me. I consider what the tipping point is for a path to become established – how many times does this sequence of steps need to be made before it becomes separated from its natural distribution? Trails and paths change and flow over time, nudged one way or the other by obstacles in the terrain or altered by changing weather conditions. I wonder what patterns of paths will emerge between now and my next visit – will this near-path be here next year? This effect of human visitors in the forest, the fanning out and trampling of ground reminds me of the technological imperative of humans to mark their territory, lay down lines of communication, forever searching for the path of least resistance in their domination of nature.  

     What started out as an innocent excursion into the woods has affirmed my individual responsibility to hasten what I believe will be the cultural reckoning of my generation. The importance of acknowledging the magnitude of human impact by way of the Anthropocene and our problematic consumption habits needs to be addressed on both individual and institutional scales. Tobias Brosch outlines in their study on emotional drivers of climate change that if we consider ‘the mechanisms by which emotions influence decisions and actions may help design more efficient interventions” in relation to perceptions about climate change (Brosch,2021).  Further, John Thøgersen outlines in their paper “Consumer Behavior and Climate Change” that individual consumption habits have a significant role to play in reducing impact, especially when paired with governments and companies making “climate-friendly behavior the ‘easy’ behavior” (Thøgersen, 2021).  

    What if the creation of artworks combines this knowledge of emotional drivers and consumer behavior? Perhaps we can forge a new way forward that is holistic and self-aware of the extractive impact our consumer behavior has on our surroundings both immediate and far-flung. My path has formed a loop, a complete circuit, where humans are both the vector and the virus. As a visual artist, I see my role as one that distributes the vaccine – one that works towards individual and collective change through cultural and societal awareness through immersive experiences.  

Sources 

Brosch, T. (2021). Affect and emotions as drivers of climate change perception and action: a review. Current Opinion in Behavioral Sciences, 42, 15–21. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.cobeha.2021.02.001 

Simard, S. (2021). Finding the Mother Tree: Discovering the Wisdom of the Forest. Knopf. 

Thøgersen, J. (2021). Consumer behavior and climate change: consumers need considerable assistance. Current Opinion in Behavioral Sciences, 42, 9–14. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.cobeha.2021.02.008 

Tsing, A. L. (2017). The Mushroom at the End of the World: On the Possibility of Life in Capitalist Ruins (Reprint ed.). Princeton University Press. 

I came here to fight fire with fire, or so I thought.

The most basic function of an artist is to engage in the act of creation, to visualize, make, materialize. To bring something into being – a physical or digital something – that previously didn’t exist. Being an artist is predicated on the idea of bringing forth form using raw materials. Further, there is a society obligation to try and create something new amongst a sea of recycled, yet, unrecyclable ideas.   

I have long grappled with the materiality of my practice as an artist. I have moved away from using petroleum based products by looking for naturally derived alternatives. I have sought out sustainable options and smaller, local producers and even made some of my own products. I have slowly shifted my practice to become less reliant on consuming physical materials. It was largely a practical decision, but in effect it was a way to reduce my impact, take up less space, be more efficient, all the while potentially reaching a larger audience. Choosing to create digitally, to not use ‘new’ resources seemed like a good first step – a streamlined approach I could feel good about, or so I thought.

 There are many things I miss about my material practice, a brush brush meeting canvas, the tactile nature of building and putting my hands to work – there is a physical immediacy that is sorely lacking in the analogues of a digital practice. When one works with raw, unprocessed materials it is easier to make a connection between their earthly sources – their physical existence and potential environmental impact. Eventually, making the choice to consume those materials for something like my art practice became a hard pill to swallow. Creating digitally meant I could do more by using less, right?

In reality the calculus for my decision to reducing my material impact should be the same regardless of the medium. There is a material cost to all products, even if the materials themselves aren’t actively extractive or consumptive. When I made this decision for myself, the environmental cost of using technology instead of traditional materials didn’t really cross my mind.

Why is it that we are so fooled by the slick chrome and black allure of technology that we forget that it is composed of earthly elements? The components that make up our devices are not alien ingredients, they are Earth-borne and bound. The form they take is arguably increasingly alien – highly processed and refined to the point where they become impenetrable (but fragile, and expensive) blocks. We are so far removed from the destructive extractive processes used to facilitate our addiction to communication and consumption of content through technology. Much less do the smooth refined edges of our devices tell us of the inequity, racism and mass exploitation of people, plants, animals and environments everywhere. But this disguise is a well-planned, well-oiled capitalist marketing machine that a majority of us choose to pretend doesn’t exist. 

It has been a bit of a moral reckoning to go down the path of learning the true cost of our technological tools – both in my art practice, but also as a human person with a poor sense of direction who needs a GPS. Knowing that we have broached a technological rubicon and have a serious substance/resource abuse issue is a heavy burden to carry alone. Individually I know that my personal choices are a drop in the contaminated pond, but I also have to believe that there is a way for media art to be the added fuel we need in this firefight of overconsumption.