“The goal of the special issue is to share the ideas, outcomes, and lessons of arts-based environmental sustainability practices and projects that collaborate with nature in an attempt to find solutions for environmental sustainability. This special issue is one of the very first attempts by a science journal to bring together exemplary ideas, activities, and case studies by internationally recognized eco-artists … seeking nature-based solutions.”

excerpt from the issue introduction / Changwoo Ahn, editor

How Art Helps us Ask Questions of Nature

City as Nature’s director authored the paper Asking Questions of Nature: Art as a Catalyst for Ecological Consciousness. From the paper’s abstract:

“The challenge of breaking through preconceived societal norms and narratives is a common hurdle in advocating for transformative ideas. Cultural conditioning and the expectations placed on individuals and institutions are powerful forces, and they often keep new ways of seeing — and ideas like Nature-Based Solutions (NBS) — trapped in conventional patterns of thought and behavior. This paper suggests alternatives for connecting to these ways of seeing through artist-led exhibitions and interventions that not only ask questions of nature, but also allow nature to ask questions of us.”

The paper looks at five projects by City as Nature studio, including Forest is the Artist an exhibition which gives agency to a Korean forest, and a concept restaurant World’s Slowest Restaurant where the artist makes customers wait for 6–8 weeks for their meal to be grown. Common to all of the artworks explored in this paper, is the view of nature as a partner.

Publishing Details

Asking questions of nature: Art as a catalyst for ecological consciousness
Author: Patrick M. Lydon
Publication: Nature-Based Solutions
Publisher: Elsevier
Date: December 2024
DOI: 10.1016/j.nbsj.2024.100138

in the Journal:
Sculpting Solutions: art-science collaborations for environmental sustainability
edited by Changwoo Anh
Professor of wetland ecology at George Mason University
Director of the Wetland Ecosystems Lab
Read the Full Special Issue

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“Lydon and colleagues discuss how art and creative practices can inspire new ways of knowing and approaches to nature-based solutions. The authors present a three-step process, 1. Awareness, 2. Radical Imagination, and 3. Becoming Storytellers, which they argue can be central to enacting nature-based solutions (NBS) and improving human relationships with urban nature. They draw from a series of case studies that highlight participative practices that meld ecological and social perspectives in the United States, Brazil, Italy, Cuba, Korea, and Japan. The authors explore how these practices enable new paths to realizing NBS in cities by re-discovering relationships with urban nature and each other.”

excerpt from the book introduction

Excerpt: Art as a Way of Knowing

Like science, art is also its own way of knowing. In Ancient Greece, the arts were said to be rooted in the act of mimesis, a term that relates to the imitation of nature and to the experience of coming to know oneself as nature, and nature as oneself (Taussig 1993, McGinnis 1999). A human being engaged in the creation or experience of art is entering into a way of seeing that challenges our contemporary society’s common relationship to nature—one of domination and extraction. The view of art as a fundamental human capacity to connect with nature is one that has seen striking consistency across time and culture for thousands of years (Kelly 1998, Fuentes 2017), and mainstreaming human-nature connections must be central to an expanded use of NBS in societies.

Is such a concept of art completely unrelated to other disciplines? Hardly. Think of a world-renowned chef, or figure skater, or urban planner. These occupations may seem to be distinct from art—and from each other—yet, when they are done with excellence we commonly assign the word art to them. The art of cooking, the art of figure skating, the art of urban planning all sound like natural statements. Indeed, when we witness any of these jobs being performed as an art, we call the practitioner a natural at their job.

This is not mere wordplay: the words artist and natural are both rooted in the acknowledgment of human beings acting in accordance with nature (Haley 2011). At its most radically essential definition therefore, art might be best distinguished as the pure act of giving form to our relationship with nature (Lydon 2020). Biomimicry and biophilia are logical expressions of this relationship.

The artists and practitioners in this chapter share the view that the core value of art to the NBS movement is that art itself is an ecologically connected way of doing: both a way of knowing and mode of action. Though art may not always carry explicitly ecological messages, it is always a collaboration between human beings and the environment.

Throughout the chapter, we dance with the idea of art as a nature-based solution in theory and in practice with statements from individuals who are working within various contemporary cultures and mediums in the urban landscape. These statements are woven together with contextual writings, tying individual artistic practices to potential actions, municipal musings, and social movements for NBS in our cities.

We explore these ways of knowing, being, and doing in three stages, each connected to a mode or philosophy of engagement that helps connect ideas to artistic and transdisciplinary expression:

1) Awareness with artist and professor Robin Lasser from the United States.

2) Radical Imagination with curator Baixo Ribeiro from Brazil.

3) Becoming Storytellers with actress and author Carla Vitantonio from Italy.

Publishing Details

Nature-based Solutions for Cities
2023, Edward Elgar Publishing, UK
Editors: Timon McPhearson, Nadja Kabisch and Niki Frantzeskaki

Print ISBN: 9781800376755
eISBN: 9781800376762
DOI: https://doi.org/10.4337/9781800376762 Pages: 408

Chapter Authors: Patrick M. Lydon, David Maddox, Robin Lasser, Carla Vitantonio, Baixo Ribeiro

Read the Full Book (open access)
Read the Chapter

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In the financial district, or beside a new rash of apartment towers, there may be some rule of truth to this. It is a rule however, that clearly asks to be broken, and in the comfortable places where one would like to spend hours just existing, you could say it is a rule to break this rule.

In Kokura, the windows of glossy office buildings send a shimmering light from one side of the city to the other, where tired old factories with tall smokestacks puff like dragons over the seaside. Between the offices and factories is a park where one can sit and watch this shimmering and puffing, and on this day along the grass and fountain of the park are two young girls practicing kick flips, and three young men playing guitar, and two foreigners under a tree with cans of beer in hand. Though at this moment it is not on the minds of the kick-flipping girls, nor the guitar players nor the foreigners, their skateboards and guitars and beers came from one of the factories puffing clouds, if not here, than in another Kokura, somewhere else. For this, they joyfully play some part in that factory, too.

If one walks further away from the coastline with the dragons and shimmers and the kick-flippers, they will shortly reach the new Kokura train station. Sleek, shiny, and flanked by shopping malls, this new station is a remodeled version of the old station, and parts of the old one still stick out here and there. Depending on the angle one looks from, you could be standing in 1975, or in 2023, or else, in some otherwise undetermined time and space. Through its platforms and staircases and escalators of varying vintage, passengers rush out of ticket gates to a cake shop or to a business meeting, and every now and then one of them takes a seat on a bench beside a statue two old animation characters, clicks a photo, and heads on to wherever they had actually meant to go.

In physical space the old and new butt up against one another in Kokura, and yet you might also say that they tend to exist in their own worlds. What ties old and new together physically does not necessarily force them to commune with one another.

Yet somehow, there are places in Kokura and cities like it where such a communion occurs — places where a difficult to identify force does this work of pulling together that which seems opposing into a common view

These places do such work inherently. Pulling together the old and new is an ingrained part of their existence. They must try. They can not help but try.

Cities cry for such trying, for a breaking of rules that were constructed by a way of seeing that never did ask what the city truly needed. If a city is to go anywhere, its in-habitants and dealers and builders must ask. They must carry with them, some intuition, a way of seeing and doing which proclaims that the old and the new are but necessary compliments, and that what they share in common is stronger than what sets them apart.

Here in a small kissaten beside the train station, the old and the new dance with each other in their own way, and it feels like a dance we know. It is a dance we know. The universe would not function otherwise, less a city or neighborhood.

Thanks to the kind staff at Green Grass [ グリーングラス ] in Kokura for allowing me to sit and sketch out this scene while enjoying a nice lunch and coffee. And thanks to you for reading, for signing up, and for sharing this little illustrated corner of the internet with others.

Many in my generation—and even more in younger generations—grew up with a somewhat critical eye to our society’s beliefs and practices. For myself, these critiques came in the form of questions like: are we Humans really supposed to be so aloof to this Earth and this Nature? Why are we growing food in ways that turn wild life and wild plants in to enemies? Why do my vegetables taste like cardboard? Why is my life filled with so much stuff I do not need?

I am sure that you too, have similar questions of your own.

One corner of Yoshikazu Kawaguchi’s garden. There’s a buffet in there, not only for people, but for other lifeforms too.

We humans respond to these kinds of thoughts in different ways. Many of us though, in one way or another, feel forced to ignore or subdue these thoughts. There is a strange narrative floating around that tells us “no, you are wrong, industrial food is the future, this is how it is supposed to be, just accept it and stop complaining.”

Kawaguchi stood up to this narrative. Once he knew the truth and the scale of what was happening to food, agriculture, and nature in his part of the world, he felt there was no choice.

To those of us who are deeply depressed in these days, know that Kawaguchi was, too. In his 30s, the weight of what was happening in his world was in such deep conflict with the beauty that he believed in, he lost the energy to do anything. He became very ill. During this time, he looked deeply inside. He asked himself—regardless of what society was doing, or what other farmers were doing, or what the media or religions or political leaders were saying—what did his own truth tell him, about how he should proceed?

He knew the world as it was. But what did Nature tell him, about how things might become, instead?

LEARNING NATURE’S WAY OF “PROGRESS”

One of Kawaguchi’s answers was to take what he had known—he had grown up in a farming family—and start doing it in a way that cultivated a respectful relationship with nature and the living beings in and around his farm. He did it partly because he knew that the only thing that he, as an individual, had the power to change was how he conducted his own life.

Kawaguchi saw clearly in his lifetime, the results of a society that was gradually eliminating respect, reverence, and care for Nature. He saw it on his family farm, with the heavy machinery which deeply tilled the soils, rendering what used to be a thriving habitat for trillions of living beings into literal fields of death.* He saw it with the resulting chemicals, fertilizers, bug killers and weed killers, the need for which was a direct result of tilling the soil in the first place. At the time that all of these changes were happening however, Kawaguchi did not see them as ‘bad’ things. It was just what everyone took to be progress in those days.

In time, his conscience told him that there was some conflict between what he knew was right, and what he was actually doing. Kawaguchi knew the conflict was there, but like most of us, he did not know exactly how to fix it.

Through the inspiration of the natural farmer Masanobu Fukuoka, and many other thinkers and practitioners, as well as through his personal relationship with nature herself, Kawaguchi slowly shifted his own practices to ways that felt better. He began to find ways in his work as a farmer, to value and respect his relationship with nature. He returned to using a hoe, sickle, and tools that would allow him to directly interact with the life in his field. For the most part he never looked back, and almost always progressed in his thinking and in the ways he could apply the fruits of this relationship.

Kawaguchi’s version of progress took place on a different trajectory than the dream-tech, highly-industrialized, highly-monetized versions of progress that we hear so much about today. Yet somehow, his version of progress also worked demonstrably better in almost every measurable way — and in the myriad incalculable ways, too.

Kawaguchi speaking to students at the Akame Natural Farm school in 2012.

Kawaguchi’s Akame Natural Farm school [ 赤目自然農塾 ], a tuition-free, volunteer-run organization in Nara prefecture has trained thousands of farmers, and is still thriving. It has branched out into numerous other independent locations over the years, creating a network of training, of ideas, and of dialogues on how to cultivate better relationships with nature in the field. His work, his books, and the film, have also inspired similar community-driven projects around the world.

HUMANS, RESPECTING THE NEEDS OF OTHER LIFEFORMS

The last time we visited him, Kawaguchi sensei had branched out yet again, conducting a course on traditional herbs, and to a completely filled lecture hall. His dedication, not only to doing what he thought was right, but to sharing and collaborating with others so that we might walk a slightly more beautiful path in our own lives, was inspiring.

I also dug that, even at his age, he rode a bike. A blue hot rod.

Most of all though, I remember being in his fields. I remember sitting there with Kawaguchi and the herbs and vegetables and wild plants and bees and butterflies and spiders and frogs all going about their business, and this was really one of the first times I think I got it — Ah. This is what it feels like, to have a farm that is a beneficial part of the web of life. This is what it feels like, to be a part of nature. This is what is possible, if we shift our mindsets, even just a little bit, letting go of some of our ego and being more attuned to the needs of the environment that we are a part of.

A way of living that respects the needs of other living beings while allowing humans to live happily and fully is not only beautiful, but possible and practical. Kawaguchi proved it. Many thousands of others have, too.

Now, it is our turn to continue that work, together, not blindly following, but inspired by each other, while also working each in our own ways.

We need not be farmers to do it. We just need to slow down, and like Kawaguchi san, stand in the Nature, and remember who we are.

Yoshikazu Kawaguchi (1939-2023)

—

* Ten grams of healthy soil holds more lifeforms than there are humans on earth. These lifeforms are the reason why soil can grow plants. They fix carbon and nitrogen from the air, help decompose organic matter into nutrients, and then help plants uptake those nutrients. When the soil is tilled, the homes and intricate networks that these lifeforms depend on are destroyed and exposed to sunlight. Much of that life dies instantly. Much of it is washed away with the rains. Although both Kawaguchi and Fukuoka were routinely dismissed by mainstream agricultural science for decades, today’s research largely now confirms the benefits of what they practiced — that sowing cover crops, allowing a diversity of plantlife, and not tilling are the foundations of building healthy, fertile soils. Of course, there is more to it than that. See also:
https://finalstraw.org/en/life-and-death/
https://www.thenatureofcities.com/2016/08/21/farmers-chefs-and-lawyers-building-an-ecology-of-one/
https://extension.oregonstate.edu/news/secret-life-soil
https://www.ucsusa.org/resources/how-soil-erosion-threatens-food-and-farms

We are pleased to announce that our work will be exhibited in the Biennale, as part of the Seoul 100-year Masterplan Exhibition, alongside projects from around the world, each reacting to different urban issues and geographies.

The theme of the Biennale is to imagine what Seoul would be like in 100 years if it existed in harmonious relation with nature. The sentiment of the Biennale’s general director Byoung Soo Cho aligns well with the work we have been doing for the past decade.

Our proposal is based on an ongoing project called City Designed by Trees. The project imagines just what the title suggests, a city where trees are the planners. The concept began in 2018 as an essay at The Nature of Cities, and then another for Kyoto Journal the following year. Eventually it grew into a full-scale exhibition for the Daejeon Biennale in 2022.

Now, five years later, this idea of listening to nature in order to build a city is part of the most innovative and wide-ranging events on cities that we know of. Perhaps even rivaling the interdisciplinarity of The Nature of Cities Festival

“… over the past 50 years, the city has continued to develop neither for its inhabitants nor for nature. Urban development aimed at short-term interests—such as to refine the exterior, to attract large number of tourists, or for the benefit of a particular group—leads to the same result as building a castle on crumbling sand. The Seoul 100-year Masterplan Exhibition Idea Competition was planned to address this problem…”

byoung soo cho / E-Flux architecture

The Project: Five Layers for a Nature-Based Korean City

Our project, Five Layers for a Nature-Based Korean City owes in part to Patrick’s recent work in co-authoring a chapter for the recently published book Nature-Based Solutions for Cities. Here in the exhibition piece, we suggest five principles, each one garnered from watching how trees and forests take care of the environments around them.

All of this is then rendered as a large-scale illustration, done in chalk and ink, and then digitized to render and give context to the different layers.

Science, folk traditions, and the trees themselves, astoundingly all tell us many of the same things. Lessons from trees, when applied to cities, make the places we live not only more ecologically responsible, but more livable, healthy, and connected places where all beings can live according to their true nature.

We are happy to have our work displayed in this form.

We are not architects nor urban planners, but artists and champions of a new brand of ecological urbanism that sees the city as part of nature rather than an act against nature. Thus, we enjoy the company of anyone and everyone else who holds such passion.

We would like to thank the hip, game-changing architect Byoung Soo Cho, who made an open call with such a forward-thinking theme. That detail gives a small artist-run studio like ours a chance.

Exhibition Details

The Seoul Biennial of Architecture and Urbanism runs from September 1 – October 29, 2023 at multiple locations, mainly within Seoul’s original city center. Our work is to be exhibited at the Seoul Hall of Urbanism & Architecture, adjacent to City Hall.

This work is also featured in the Google Arts & Culture portal:

You can also view all of the works from past exhibitions on the Google Arts & Culture portal.

우리가 나무의 목소리에 귀를 기울인다면, 그 이야기를 도시에 적용시킨다면, 도시의 풍경은 과연 어떻게 바뀌어나갈까?

“대전 시민들이 ‘나무의 소리를 듣는 법’을 기억해낸 지 10년이 흐른 2032년, 끝없이 펼쳐지는 숲의 네트워크는 도시를 이루는 대동맥이자 연결망이다. 숲 사이로 연결되어 퍼져나가는 지하 균사체와 미립자들은 대대로 이어져 온 생태적 지혜와 사람들을 더 가까이 연결시킨다. 인간에 의해, 인간을 위해서만 디자인되었던 기존의 도시가 아닌, 지혜로운 나무들의 조언을 따라 인간을 포함한 모든 존재를 위해 새롭게 디자인된 이 도시는 과연 어떤 모습일까?”

<나무가 디자인하는 도시>는 인간과 자연이 더욱 바람직한 조화를 이루는 가능한 미래를 상상하며, 예술, 과학, 도시계획, 기술, 음악, 퍼포먼스, 그리고 생태학적 지식을 함께 엮은 전시다.

한국의 오랜 풍속에는 ‘당산나무’가 있다. 마을 어귀 혹은 한복판마다 동네의 수호신이자 공동체의 중심으로써 당산나무가 우뚝 서 있었으며, 성스럽고 고귀한 존재로 여겨지며 대대로 잘 보호되어 왔다. 나무와 사람이 함께 어울려 공존했던 이 오랜 전통과는 달리, 오늘날의 도시들은 자연과 철저히 분리, 단절되어 있다. 그러나 여러 과학적 문화적 연구 결과에 의하면, 나무들은 기후 변화로부터 도시를 보호하고, 깨끗한 공기, 토양, 물을 제공하며, 사람이 더욱 건강하게 살아갈 수 있도록 돕는다. 나아가 숲은 더욱 건강하고 지속가능한 도시를 구축하는 방식을 실제 숲의 구성 사례를 통해 명확하게 입증하고 있다. 그러므로 사람은 나무의 이야기에 귀를 기울이며, 자연과 더 가까이 이어져야 하고, 나아가 그 일부가 되기 위한 법을 배워야 한다.

이 전시는 생태예술 창작그룹 ‘시티애즈네이처’가 지난 10여 년간 일본, 한국, 스코틀랜드, 미국에서 진행해 온 자연 기반 디자인(NbS, Nature-based Solutions) 관련 문화적, 실용적, 과학적 연구를 바탕으로 착안되었다. 작품 제작 과정에서는 가능한 한 지역의, 지속 가능한, 재생 가능한 자원을 활용했으며, 대전 지역의 예술가들, 자연 환경과 함께 작업했다.

전시 관람

<나무가 디자인하는 도시> 전시장에서, 관람객들은 4개의 나무 기반 ‘노드’를 통해 나무와 연결되도록 제안 받는다.

(1) 당산나무 (Network Hub)

나무는 정교하게 얽힌 생태망 안의 핵심종으로, 모든 생명의 어머니이다. 만약 나무가 존재하지 않는다면, 인간을 포함한 모든 생명체들은 지구 위에서 살아갈 수 없게 된다. 전시장 입구에 설치되어 있는 이 어린 ‘당산나무’는 작가들이 모종에서부터 2년 동안 정성껏 키워온 녹보수로, 관람객들은 이 나무 앞에서 지구 위의 나무들에 대한 감사 인사를 올리게 된다.

Dangsan Namu, 2022
Happy Tree, FSC-certified pinewood, hanji

(2) 나무 이야기 (Story Node)

과거, 현재, 미래의 도시와 나무에 대한 포토에세이 ‘수천 년의 춤’, 그리고 나무와 자연에 관한 지혜로운 통찰을 모은 ‘이야기의 숲’으로 구성된 ‘나무 이야기’는 충분한 시간을 갖고 천천히 둘러보도록 안내된다. 또한 나무에 관한 추억이나 떠오르는 생각을, 비치되어 있는 종이에 적어서 ‘이야기의 숲’에 매달도록 디자인되었다.

*온라인 참여 가능 – #citybytrees #나무디자인도시 를 태그하거나, 이메일 suhee@finalstraw.org 로 접수

Tree Story Forest, 2022
text in graphite on hanji

The Dance of Thousands of Years, 2022
photographic pigment prints on hanji and text in graphite

(3) 나무로부터 온 노래 (Tree Punk Rock Node)

‘왜가리의 부름으로 깨어난 대전천 ‘물의 여신’이 샘으로부터 등장하여 ‘나무의 신’을 찾아간다. 요청을 받은 ‘나무의 신’들은 어딘가 어설픈 사람의 모습들로 나타나, 대전 시민들에게 보내는 나무의 메시지를 펑크락 음악의 형태로 전달한다.’ 이 실험적인 뮤직 비디오는 대전천 옆의 나무, 그리고 지역 예술가들과의 협업에 의해 제작되었다.

Let’s go Trees, 2022
single channel film and sound, 9m04s
[ Directed by Patrick M. Lydon, with Suhee Kang, Nartzz, and Eunsun Heo ]

(4) 도시 계획 (Urban Plan Node)

만약 우리가 나무들의 말에 귀를 기울인다면, 대전의 풍경은 어떻게 바뀔까? 이 구역에 전시된 작품들은 ‘The Possible City‘ 시리즈의 스케치 및 일러스트, 그리고 대형 도면으로 구성되어 있다. 한지에 그려진 ‘보문산, 나무가 디자인하는 도시’ 작품은 작가가 매일 보문산을 찾아가 숲을 관찰하며, 그리고 자연 기반 디자인(NbS) 관련 문화적, 실용적, 과학적 연구자료들로부터 영감을 받아 제작되었다.

‘나무가 디자인하는 도시’는 단지 생태적으로뿐만 아니라, 자연과 더욱 가까우면서도 더욱 폭넓게 이어지는, 또한 모든 존재들에게 더 살기 좋고 편안한 도시일 것이다. 이를 위한 7가지 지침은 전시장 벽면에 연필로 적혀 있다.

산부터 강까지 이어지는 숲
모든 산줄기에서 시작하여 연속적으로 아래쪽 강까지, 끊이지 않고 숲과 녹지가 펼쳐진다

강과 하천의 ‘통행권’ 보장
유역들마다 어디에서나 자연스럽고 개방적인 물의 흐름이 확보되도록 한다

자연에 이로운 농장들
도시 안팎 곳곳에 자연농, 퍼머컬쳐 등 친환경 농장들이 마련되어 건강한 먹을거리를 재배고, 생명 다양성을 촉진하는 터전으로 쓰인다.

토착 동식물들의 서식지, 야생 초원
제초제나 중장비를 쓰지 않고, 최소한의 개입으로 자연 스스로 균형을 찾는 야생 녹지에서, 생태계 안 모든 구성원들이 조화롭게 공존한다.

‘스며들기 좋은’ 길
아스팔트와 콘크리트, 차량 통행을 최소한으로 줄이고, 걷기 좋은, 자전거/휠체어로 접근하기 좋은, 아름답게 가꿔진 생태 통로를 늘려 더 활기차고 건강한 도시가 된다.

자연 습지 보존
홍수를 방지하고, 물을 정화하며, 수많은 동식물들의 서식지가 되는 자연 습지를 매립하거나 제거하지 않고 받아들인다.

물의 신전
산속 맑은 숲은 깨끗한 물의 근원이다. 식수를 얻는 약수터와 그 둘레의 숲을 신성한 공간으로 섬기며 보호하고, 소박한 ‘물의 신전’에서 감사와 존경의 인사를 올린다.

Concept Sketches for A City Designed by Trees, 2021-2022
various media on paper: graphite, chalk, oil pen, pigment pen, blueprints

Bomunsan and a City Designed by Trees, 2022
graphite, pigment pen, charcoal, and chalk on unbleached hanji, 140x70cm

The Trees Say: Seven Directives for Livable, Healthy, Ecological Cities, 2022
written in graphite on gallery wall

‘나무 이야기’를 모아 전시합니다

나무에 관한 어떤 기억, 소중한 추억, 나무에 대해 생각한 것.. 널리 함께 나누고픈 나무 이야기가 있다면 저희에게 보내주세요. 짧은 글, 혹은 긴 글, 그림이나 사진, 음악.. 어떠한 창작물이든, ‘나무’에 대한 이야기라면 무엇이든 좋습니다. #citybytrees #나무디자인도시 를 태그하거나, 이메일 suhee@finalstraw.org 로 받습니다. 보내주신 ‘나무 이야기’는 전시장 안 ‘스토리 노드’ 구역에 모아 함께 전시됩니다.

전시 정보

_{‘대전과학예술비엔날레 2022 : 미래도시’ 시티 프로젝트}

나무가 디자인하는 도시 A City designed by Trees

2022년 8월 2일 ~ 10월 16일
공간 구석으로부터, 대전광역시 동구 정동 36-11번지 [ 지도 ]

(매주 월,화 휴무 / 오전 10시 ~ 오후 6시)

제작

기획, 진행, 제작 : 시티애즈네이처 ( 패트릭 라이든 & 강수희 )

객원 작가 : 허은선 (퍼포먼스), 송재형 (퍼포먼스, 음악)

제작 지원 : 대전시립미술관 (한국) & The Nature of Cities (미국)

^{_{전시를 뒷받침하는 아이디어는 패트릭 라이든이 2018년도에 쓴 에세이 A City Designed by Trees 로부터 비롯되었다.}}

제작 과정

Patrick M. Lydon
in Osaka

When the woman who was pushing a handcart full of groceries fell onto the pavement, people took notice. Not just the people around her at that moment. Nearly everyone, across the country. Word spread quickly about the old woman who fell.

“She had heat stroke.” said the doctor, said the local leaders.

Two months prior to the incident with the old woman who fell, the tree maintenance crew was on the street for a full week. Usually the crew brought a bevy of handheld cutting shears and small hand saws, by which they delicately manicured the trees. This year however, you could smell the gasoline. It was a different crew, and they had large chainsaws.

The old woman who would later fall onto the pavement was on her way to the grocer that day too. On her mind was a mission to get two ice creams for her grandchildren who would arrive later that day. She walked slowly, but confidently, and half way down the block she stopped to take her usual break, under the tree with a bench next to it. There by the bench, she saw the chainsaw wielding man. “Don’t worry lady. Just giving them a little trim!” said the man, motioning his head toward the tree canopy. Maybe it was his posture, or the way he held the saw so that it swang back and forth in her general direction, or his strange grin, but somehow the old woman felt unsafe. She accomplished the acquisition of two ice creams on that day however, and her grandchildren rejoiced in the treat.

The trees, however.

The next week the chainsaws were gone, and hundreds of trees that had previously shaded the street with their canopy looked like hundreds of upright logs. Only a few leaves struggled out of the trunks, and the smell of gasoline still lingered in the air as pedestrians took back the sidewalks.

Business seemed to resume as usual.

Then came the heat stroke incident. It was the hottest day of the year. Only 92 degrees Fahrenheit on the official record, but due to the lack of shade—or really, the lack of anything other than concrete, cars, and asphalt along the entire block—it measured 117 just above the pavement where the woman stood.

Young people can bounce back from heat stroke. The elderly have a bit more trouble. The death certificate for the old woman who fell on the hot pavement that day said the cause of death was “heat related.”

Given the circumstances however, the neighbors suggested that the death of this grandmother was not from the existence of a hot sun, but from the lack of shade.

For all the years that the trees had thrived with full canopies which shaded the street, it is true that no one died while carrying home their groceries. This could be why word spread so quickly, about the old woman who fell in the blazing sun on the newly-shadeless street. What started with concerned groups of locals quickly spread to a national movement. They wanted to take action. The results were unheard of.

In just three years time, there were fledgling urban canopies along most major streets and shopping districts. Within five years, networks of forested walkways for cyclists, pedestrians, walkers, wheelchairs, and all kinds of wildlife — called “Multi-use Forest Corridors” (MuFCs) — became the new standard infrastructure for getting around cities. By law, every neighborhood was required to be connected to at least one of these leafy green corridors.

Good thing then, that the city had previously built many egregiously wide 10-lane streets. Most of these streets were converted into MuFCs, increasing equitable travel for all beings, accepting more wildlife into the city, and creating a renaissance for local businesses.

Over the next ten years there were zero occurrences of heat stroke on urban streets throughout the country, and zero pedestrian deaths for the first time in the country’s modern history. This, added to the multiple other health benefits brought by the forests and the natural farms that sprouted up along the MuFCs, resulted a 2.7 year increase in average lifespan for city dwellers.

The death of one woman was a catalyst for much change. However, the doctor who tried to save her was not yet satisfied. His final effort was to personally commission a statue, cast in bronze, of an old woman with a handcart of groceries, sitting on her bench under the tree.

“Every time we think about pruning or removing an urban tree, we should remember her.” he said.

—

This story comes from The Possible City series.

MORE TREE STORIES

Patrick M. Lydon
in Osaka

There were at least a hundred and thirty people crying that morning, by my count. I couldn’t follow them all home, but I suppose some of them were crying all day. On the surface, they eventually got over it. Deeper down somewhere however, in their gut, or in their heart, or their spleen, or wherever these things tend to hide away, I think the grief was still there.

It was just a tree, but it was also an elder living being; one that had resided there for several centuries before the city had even been thought up. Today there is a shopping mall and parking lot where the tree had lived.

Some of the people who were crying that morning, begrudgingly shop at the new mall. A few others swear they will never step foot inside. All of them though, still have questions. Questions like: Is there another way? Is there a way to respect the need for human life and growth and expansion, while also respecting nature’s need for these same things? Is there a way to draw a line somewhere, a boundary across which no human-centered goal of grandiose material luxuries and fantastical financial acquisitions should trespass? At the time, the developers, media outlets, and politicians did not listen to such questions.

But there are other stories.

There are stories where the line is drawn. Firmly. There are stories where so much goodwill or gratitude or understanding of an old tree’s right to live exists within a people, that the tree can win arguments in the face of development.

There are stories, even, of advanced, urban, capitalist-tolerating people who, despite their obvious predilection for comforts and small luxuries, have decided that they want to live in a world where the tree wins these arguments, or at least—after some debate and perhaps a skirmish or two—wins a compromise.

“Due to an understanding of reverence for this tree, she should not be cut.” says the bronze plaque just beside the old camphor. The plaque was not planned to be there. The tree was supposed to be cut. After a series of tense confrontations and discussions however, the train company agreed to re-design the station with a hole in the middle of the platform.

And so she lives, this old great grandmother camphor.

Trees know how to negotiate. They can even convincingly win arguments. We just need to learn how to listen.

—

This story comes from The Possible City series.

MORE TREE STORIES

Patrick M. Lydon
in Osaka

I cannot tell you how it is, but I can say for certain that in your own way, you already know.

You and I, we just have to remember.

I cannot tell you precisely how it is, to lie down with the grass in a park, looking up as a starling lands on a branch, sending a pink cloud of cherry blossoms floating down.

Nor can I tell you how it is, to hear the lunchtime siren at the factory just beyond the starling and the trees, where the hiss and pounding of metal stops abruptly, and the workers take their lunches to the park.

I cannot tell you how it is, to encounter the joy of the child that sits on the back of his mother’s bicycle, pointing at the workers, and the bird, and the blossoms floating. Nor can I convey the joy of seeing the mother stop her bike and unfold a picnic with that child under the tree.

I can not say quite how it is, to have ridden here, wind rustling the hair, with feet-pedaling-power, along narrow streets past small homes, tiny factories, trees, gardens, humans, and nature’s myriad denizens, a scene that changes ever so slightly, every day.

Nor can I tell you by the three hands, what time it is when I sit here, under a tree, drawing this scene. But I can tell you, relative to my position, when the sun will set, or when it is about to start raining, and when to hop on the bike and pedal home before either of those events takes place.

We were both born as ecological beings, you and I. This can not be removed from us, but only brushed aside temporarily, by this, by that. We all have moments in our life, that tell us how this is.

And so I cannot tell you how it is, but I can say for certain that yes, you already know.

You and I, we just have to remember.

—

This story comes from The Possible City series.

MORE TREE STORIES

이지나
한국

서울 문묘 은행나무.
“네가 좋아하는 은행나무 가지가 부러졌다는데?” ,
“뉴스에 은행나무 가지 부러진 게 자막으로 뜨더라구요.”,

태풍이 온 것도 아닌데,
천연기념물인 문묘 은행나무 가지가 부러졌다고 해서
어떤 내용인지 찾아보니 나무 수리·보수를 하는 한 업체가
지지대 교체 작업하다 2개의 가지가 부러진 것이라고.
–
은행나무 소식을 듣고 안타까워하는
동네 주민, 대학원 후배에게 받은 오늘의 현장 사진.

아침부터 이 나무의 지난 날들 사진을 찾아봤다.
내가 마음을, 시간을 참 많이 준 나무.
내가 아는 서울의 가을 풍경은 이 나무를 만난 전•후로 나뉜다.
그래서 오늘 내내 맘 한 켠이 무거웠나보다.
–
그래도 나무는 자라고 또 언제 그런 일이 있었냐는 듯
커갈 것 같다. 오래된 나무를 마음에 품고 그 나무가 견딘
세월풍파를 상상하면,
눈 앞에 보이는 것이 전부가 아니라는 것을 깨닫게 된다.
가지가 잘리고, 부러지는 것도 어쩌면 자연스러운 일 일텐데
지지대 교체 작업이 어떻게 이뤄진 것인지 궁금하다.

“지나가는 사람은 모두 안타깝다고 한마디씩 나누고,
열심히 사진찍으시던 교수님 한분은 앞으로 어떻게 대책을
세울지 모두가 관심을 가져야 한다고, 한 학생은 부러진 것도
멋있다고” 이야기하고 있었다는 진아 씨 메세지에 나무를 아끼고 사랑하는 이들의 시간도, 마음도 건너 만날 수 있었다.
마침 어제 이 나무 이야기를 나눴는데!

그 자리에 그저 그렇게 있을 땐, 귀함을 잘 모르는 우리들.

MORE TREE STORIES