A quiet day today, a walk around the block and thoughts about human and more-than human relationships. I've just re-read the essay by Ingrid Horrocks about writing nature called Dissolving Genre: Toward finding new ways to write about the world. Together with a colleague, I've run workshops and talks about writing the environment and the Anthropocene - and it always great to read what other writers have to say about this immersive but elusive practice.
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| The hound and the guardian tree |
In the essay, she writes of meanings and modes of what she calls eco-nonfiction, ways to move beyond human frames of reference ('Is it possible to write or draw a forest?')
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| Velvet Earth Tongue emerging from the Marri litter |
Close observation and attention
This kowphai bloom, that estuary
This possum, that coal fire
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| Hovea elliptica are really popping! |
Ordinary or unpromising locations
Edgelands
The flourishing of motorway burbs
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| A secret pond in the bush near my place |
Avoids idealisation of pristine wilderness
Fewer epiphanies in national parks
Fewer men on mountains
Favours systems that include humans
More suburbs, kitchens, children parents
But also oceans, rivers, oysters
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| Mother Marri |
Observes altered worlds
Eucalypts in San Francisco
Ice melts in Antarctica
Rewildings
And lost worlds
Endlings: an animal that is the last of its species
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| Peppermint paving |
Often draws on memoir
I, sometimes we
Finds continuities between the human and nonhuman
Warm breath misting
Demands we move outside a human frame of reference
“Is it possible to draw or write a forest?”
Struggles with how to do this
signed here.
Searches for organic forms and structures opening out stories of confluence
“What do I know but pieces, all at once?”
Understands that in the 21st century “to write about nature is a political act”
Hopes (within hopes) that a shift in attention
–a yielding of consciousness to a world beyond human–
will give to a shift in action.
Ingrid Horrocks, 'Dissolving Genre: writ with water', in Bending Genre: essays on creative nonfiction, Bloomsbury, 2014.
When I was at art college I decided to draw a tree. For some reason I thought I had to draw every individual leaf. Of course, I gave up. Even botanists only draw a few leaves at a time, but they are not artists. I've always liked the saying, 'can't see the wood for the trees'.
ReplyDeleteI love the saying 'See a tree for its treeness'
DeleteThe forest is a truly sacred place. When taking time to look and listen, there is much to see and hear. Trees carry a unique beauty unto themselves. The forest and trees play a very intimate role in my life.
ReplyDeleteThey are pretty amazing systems, yes
DeleteWonderful. This is my fave: 'Understands that in the 21st century "to write about nature is a political act”'
ReplyDeletePS I remember Barbie Greenshields asking 'how does a rock drown a boy?' (in relation to my thesis about the drowning of Nathan Drew at Salmon Holes). Possibly quite the opposite of what you are talking about here, but I loved it.
ReplyDeleteMy fave was about avoiding idealisation of wilderness, with less men on top of mountains! It reminds me of poet Kathleen Jamie's essay 'The Lone Enraptured Male', where she puts the boots into white privilege and nature writing.
ReplyDeleteAnd yes, I can see the correlation between Barbie's question and how to write a tree. Nature, including rocks, has agency that we forget about sometimes being the anthropocentrists we are.
Hi Sarah, your workshops and talks sound great. Would love to know if any future ones are open to attending?
ReplyDelete