Today begins a monthly series (every third Thursday) exploring a new way of experiencing something ordinary or overlooked. Hope you enjoy it. And, if you do, I’d be so grateful if you’d share it with anyone you think would also enjoy seeing the world afresh.
I’ve long been an admirer of the American artist Nina Katchadourian. I discovered her series of smartphone photographs, Seat Assignment, made in flight using found materials. Never have seat belt buckles, straws, in-flight magazines, and paper towels been put to such poetic purpose. A sense of wonder and humor abounds, most evident in her “Lavatory Self-Portraits in the Flemish Style.”
This series was inspired by her Sorted Books project that began in 1993 and is the subject of the 2013 retrospective published by Chronicle Books. Ms. Katchadourian writes that book collections offer a certain portrait of the owner. In that vein, let’s see what my books have to say.
In the more optimistic ‘80s and ‘90s, there emerged a robust industry of books and documentaries that followed a similar pattern. For the bulk of the book or film, they diagnosed and dramatized society’s ills—climate change, ecological devastation, political chaos.
Then, at the very end, they crammed in the solutions, the pep talk, the messages: It’s not too late and We can still turn this around. The net effect of this imbalance of bad news versus good was wearying.
For a long time, I fell into the trap of these books and films. I wanted to know what the problem was, how we got here, and, if possible, how I can help turn things around.
Recent years have felt like much more of a reckoning. We’ve gone from denial to anger, from depression to bargaining. If this model applies (and that’s a big IF), then could acceptance be on the horizon?
I don’t mean acceptance as a passive giving up. It’s the acceptance that Earth is our one and only home. It looks like the climate strikers and the pipeline protestors. It sounds like
and . Following their lead, working together, we can face harsh realities with grace and compassion and, yes, hope.I had fun playing around with my books, finding hidden meanings and clues to my anxieties and aspirations. I’d love to see how your books stack up. Though we can’t (yet?) share photos in the comments, I would love to see them in Notes. Tag me so I don’t miss them.
And here’s a lovely poem to close:
She Told Me the Earth Loves Us She said it softly, without a need for conviction or romance. After everything? I asked, ashamed. That's not the kind of love she meant. She walked through a field of gray beetle-pored pine, snags branching like polished bone. I forget sometimes how trees look at me with the generosity of water. I forget all the other breath I'm breathing in. Today I learned that trees can't sleep with our lights on. That they knit a forest in their language, their feelings. This is not a metaphor. Like seeing a face across a crowd, we are learning all the old things, newly shined and numbered. I'm always looking for a place to lie down and cry. Green, mossed, shaded. Or rock-quiet, empty. Somewhere to hush and start over. I put on my antlers in the sun. I walk through the dark gates of the trees. Grief waters my footsteps, leaving a trail that glistens. Copyright © 2020 by Anne Haven McDonnell. From All We Can Save: Truth, Courage, and Solutions for the Climate Crisis (One World, 2020) edited by Ayana Elizabeth Johnson and Katharine K. Wilkinson.
Fabulous poem! Going to see if we can feature it at Every Day Poems :)
https://everydaypoems.substack.com/
I really like how the books we read reflect times of our lives. I remember late ‘21-2022 as a personal time of trying to extract some meaning about life, and being drawn to all the books with titles like hygge, lykke, kaizen, etc. At some point, I realized what I was trying to do - find a simple one-word solution to life- and took a picture to capture my library check out list. Will tag on notes! Loved this, Julie!