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Vibrant Matter reading group

I found and have been following fellow Faculty of Environmental Studies grad Adrian J. Ivakhiv’s blog immanence since early this year. Lots of smart stuff being discussed there, especially the conversations surrounding nature, relational objects and the possibility of enacting different ways of knowing the world. From there, I discovered other  engaging conversations and people thinking through some of the same things that I outlined above, including perspectives I had yet to come across (and I’m still figuring out). Rich all ’round.

Ivakhiv announced a few weeks ago that a loose configuration were going to come together in a virtual reading group to read Vibrant Matter. I knew nothing of the book by Jane Bennett but popped over to amazon and was intrigued. Earlier today, one of those people I discovered posted on his blog that he was going to participate.  So I decided what the hell, why not get the book and join in the fun.

With that in mind, I’ll post a copy of Ivakhiv’s original call here, just in case anyone in the ether want to join in too:

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The previously announced ‘Vibrant Matter’ reading group will take place across five blogs over five weeks, beginning May 23 and ending June 26. Vibrant Matter: A Political Ecology of Things is the latest book by Johns Hopkins University political theorist Jane Bennett. Philosophy in a Time of Error has posted a very useful overview of the book, along with an interview with its author. Anyone interested in participating is invited to read these, and to order your copy of the book in time for the first session. (I’ve asked Duke University Press about a possible discount for participants, but not heard back from them. Here in the States, Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Overstock.com offer the best deals at the moment.)

The reading schedule will be as follows:

May 23-29
Host blog: Philosophy in a Time of Error (Peter Gratton)
Under discussion: Preface & Chapter 1, “The Force of Things” (and overview/interview).

May 30-June 5
Host blog: Critical Animal (James Stanescu)
Under discussion: Chapters 2 and 3, “The Agency of Assemblages” and “Edible Matter.”

June 6-12
Host blog: Naught Thought (Ben Woodard)
Under discussion: Chapters 4 and 5, “A Life of Matter” and “Neither Vitalism nor Mechanism.”

June 13-19
Host blog: An und für sich (Anthony Paul Smith)
Under discussion: Chapters 6 and 7, “Stem Cells and the Culture of Life” and “Political Ecologies”

June 20-26
Host blog: Immanence (Adrian Ivakhiv)
Under discussion: Chapter 8, “Vitality and Self-interest,” and the book as a whole (final overview).

All welcome!

Finding, seeing, identifying, recording, sharing

This post is the conclusion to one of my draft PhD dissertation chapters. It doesn’t represent a final thought or particular endpoint: these are ideas in progress. It also explains why the post just sort of starts without any introductory context. I’m always interested in hearing your opinion of my ideas, too.

Birding 5
Creative Commons License photo credit: Explore The Bruce

Knowing individuals is the exception and not the rule for birders’ relationships with birds, largely because the motivations behind these interactions are not mutual enjoyment. Rather, as I have described, because birding is centred on the detection and identification of individual birds to species, collecting these observations is often the underlying motivation. This notion of collection is not as simple as it sounds. Based on the acts practised by the birders I interviewed, birding at its core is an activity of watching. This watching of birds is an emotional experience – leading to all kinds of feelings – but reinforced through the emotional catharsis, I theorize, of getting to see a bird. While watching birds implicitly foregrounds the visual nature of the activity, as you are drawn into watching birds, the activity expands beyond the visual to include the auditory and even the tactile. Knowing (or wanting to know) what you are seeing, hearing or touching still hold the practices together.

If this watching birds can transition into the act of birding, then it is steeped in first-hand experience, with sightings occurring when bird and birder at found in the same place at the same time. Human sensory limitations coupled with a Euclidean understanding of time and space frame what counts as bird sightings, in turn limiting acts of birding to these experiential moments.

With a birder and a bird together, a sighting is made and the process of identification can take place. These acts of identification rely on a birder’s sensory abilities to pick out important aspects of a bird’s identity, but also take into account the larger ecological context – the relationship between the components of the bird and birder’s surroundings – of the bird sighting. In this sense, identification occurs in a larger context and is, in fact, a hybrid act. Identification blends a clinical, reductionist approach to breaking birds into a set of field markings (e.g. “has complete eye ring”) and a more holistic, even phenomenological approach leading to the gestalt of a bird (e.g. “that bird just looked like a great-blue heron”). I have personally experienced and found with some birders that the emergence of a phenomenological approach to birding is coupled to an expanded awareness of bird life around them. This sensory attunement to the presence of birds is developed through the overt act of birding. It, in turn, leads to moments outside planned birding excursions where present birds can unexpectedly enter the consciousness and draw attention. I have described these moment as the chance encounter in birding.

If a species of birds holds one or a combination of perceived characteristics (beauty, rarity or transience) they then are ascribed more power by birders. These birds are subsequently sought out or attracted in more often than birds that do not hold these characteristics. Birders also work to predict when and where these kinds of birds can be seen. This act of prediction expands beyond sought-after species and expands into the whole practice: birders work to improve their ability to predict the highest concentration of birds and species. In order to increase their success birding, and in part a reaction to the unpredictable nature of birds, birders share their sightings with others. Sightings are perishable objects and birders work to share the information before the sightings start to decay. They also work to accrue or reinforce the reputation of a birder – being the first to see a valued bird is something valued in the birding world.

The possibility of naturalists

John James Audubon
Creative Commons License photo credit: cliff1066™

Being a naturalist is something that I’ve been thinking about personally and academically for a while now. Now when I say naturalist, images such as this painting of John James Audubon may come to mind. Being a 19th century naturalist was one of collecting and cataloguing, attempting to create order out of the perceived chaos of the natural world. While this work did manage to order the natural world in a particular way, it was undertaken in places like North America by Europeans without regard for value of local knowledge. In this way, it was an extension of the colonial act of “settling” an empty land. As we can now acknowledge, North America was anything but empty.

Significantly, scientific knowledge left the practice of natural history behind as the official way of coming to know the more-than-human. And, if we look at Audubon with his rifle — his instrument of collection — perhaps that fine. Because when I speak of being a naturalist, I am not interested in reproducing this violent, romantic and gendered way of coming to know the more-than-human. But I do think that our personal, intimate and material understanding of our lives is impoverished. And I think that a certain practice of natural history can offer opportunities to discover the networks of material relations that we have between the many actors implicated in our lives. Today, being a naturalist means attempting to broach the divide between human and non-human.

Barry Lopez echoes this (or I echo Barry Lopez) in a 2001 article published in the autumn issue of Orion magazine. In short (and I encourage you to read the whole thing because he is saying many things), he sees naturalists who are attentive to the mystery of nature (and I acknowledge that this does have a bit of a romantic ring to it, so I would say attentive to the more-than-human and in firm grasp of the limitations of what and how we know ), as a new kind of political actor.

And this is key. Naturalists from every era, whether stated explicitly or not, have always acted politically in this world. In the case of 19th century white men coming to the new world, it was a particular kind of politics that they were rendering — it did not deviate much from the larger cultural script of ordering and expansion. Today, however, naturalists have the opportunity to enact a kind of politics that does deviate from the larger cultural script. As witnesses with understanding fostered by skills of observation and reflection, they can say meaningful things about our cultural relationship to the natural world. Words and actions that rough up the flat perspectives and shallow moral obligations that currently are the status quo. This is the naturalist re-cast.

Ruby-crowned Kinglet



Ruby-crowned Kinglet, originally uploaded by Gavatron.

Things have been busy since mid-March with two funerals, a dissertation chapter, a paper for a conference and a chapter for a book. Got to go out birding for the first time in what feels like forever today, and boy was it great just to be out.

Earlier this week, I noticed Ruby-crowned Kinglets and saw this one today, so they appear to be making their way through Toronto right now.

Frances K. Girling, a life lived from 1914 to 2010

Its with sadness that I just got a phone call from my Mum—Frances K. Girling, my Nana, has just died at the age of 95.

Nana's 92 Years OldNana in 2006, at 92

I’m flooded with snapshots of memories: her life-worn hands being able to snatch out a hot home-made teabiscuit when mine had recoiled in pain; having a March picnic in the sun along the foundation of the old barn complete with apples in eighths, cored and cut to look like canoes; making up ad-hoc rules for Monopoly and her still playing along; trips to the Children’s Museum in London; preserves and jams labelled with her hand-written script: Black Currant Jam, 1984 or Peaches, 1986; teaching me the basics of cribbage; patience when I went through the pantry and made some strange frozen banana dish; her obvious pride in being able to see me graduate from my master’s program; her resolute positive attitude in light of whatever situation she found herself, like when I visited her in hospital last January: it wasn’t the manifestation of her heart’s slow progression to failure, it was a chance to get a tune-up; I could go on.

These are my personal memories of the thirty-two years we got to share with each other. And I’m sad that she had to go. I also know we are all mortal and that, intellectually, this time would come. But right now its painful to think it has all come to an end.

So, rather than dwelling on the pain, I’ll take a page from Nana’s book and focus on the positives of her life: she managed to live on her own terms, by herself, until late last year. It was incredible to see and hear about her life as a nonagenarian and I can only hope that all my loved ones live life, as long and on their own terms, as she did. Her spirit and ethic of sharing was inspiring. I remember, for example, being brought to the Dearness Home, a long-term care facility, during my various visits and wheeling residents to and from the chapel on site. She took leadership roles in the organizations she belonged to: secretary of the McIlwraith Field Naturalists and President of the London Horticulture Society, for example. While never rich, per se, my grandparents donated a great deal of their money: to their church, to local environmental organizations. Generosity is a word that comes to mind: time and money. As a child of the depression, she was re-using and recycling before they were ever considered a thing to do. Locavore? Nana likely heard of the word, but she and my Opah, Bill, grew a large market garden on their property each year. A member of the local field naturalists since 1934, her memoirs are full of stories of time spent exploring the more-than-human. She lived a life that acts as a model in our hyper-consumptive, disconnected world.

While I can’t do justice to all she was in life, let me take an imperfect stab at generating a list: naturalist, horticulturalist, aunt, parishioner, teacher, environmentalist, mother, wife, birder, volunteer, caregiver, donor, friend, grandmother, family genealogist, sister.

Love you and miss you. Today is bittersweet.

Silver Maple

9-story silver mapleAs reported in The Toronto Star ((And incorrectly identified as an Oak)), a large Silver Maple that was growing just to the south of our apartment building was cut down during the day on Thursday. I returned home at 12 to the sound of chainsaws and the majority of the limbs removed from the tree. I took some photographs of the rest of the felling from our apartment balcony.

Having a look at the trunk cookies now sitting on the ground, there wasn’t anything wrong with the tree. It had lost one limb and there was some rotting of the heartwood there, but this was not widespread and wasn’t at risk of weakening the tree to the point of causing it to fall. That’s just my humble opinion.

Word around the neighbourhood was the city hadn’t issued a permit, now The Star is reporting that it had, in fact, done so. Disappointing if that is the case. Disappointing that it had to be cut down.

We’re all a bit mistanthropic

I hate everybodyCreative Commons License photo credit: quinn.anya

Pronunciation: \ˈmi-sən-ˌthrōp\
Function: noun
Etymology: Greek misanthrōpos hating humankind, from misein to hate + anthrōpos human being
Date: 1683
: a person who hates or distrusts humankind

Would you consider yourself a misanthrope? I suspect that most, if asked if they hated or distrusted humanity, would say no. Take ethical consideration, for example. We, who are interested in the more-than-human, often argue that it is the human that sits at the zenith of consideration. And this isn’t strictly an intellectual argument. One has to look at how our culture has chosen to treat, a proxy for consideration, the non-human for confirmation. I have a hypothesis, though. I think that we’re suffering, culturally, from an undiagnosed case of misanthropy.

For your consideration

Dundas Street and Dixie RoadCreative Commons License photo credit: bill barber

As of January 3rd, 2010 there were 3,015 Tim Hortons in Canada. Today, Tim Hortons outlined plans to add 900 outlets by 2013. The population of Canada is around 33,000,000. This means there will soon be 1 Tim Hortons store for every 10,000 Canadians.

By comparison there are 9.6 family physicians for every 10,000 Canadians. Sub-saharan Africa has a physician to population ratio of 1.3:10,000, but then again, they don’t have any Tim Hortons restaurants.