As we board the homeward bound flight, the sun is setting over the Rocky Mountains, reminding me of my early childhood years living in Denver. The sunset becomes more intense as the plane is pushed onto the runway, and takes off, leaving Denver International Airport behind. The beauty of flying westward into the sunset is that it lasts longer–the earth’s shadow and Belt of Venus seem to be eternal, keeping me company as I daydream looking out the window over my sleeping son’s head.
Below us, lights from the small towns of the West are starting to come on. I wonder what’s happening in those towns on this Friday night; people are relaxing at the bar after a long week of work, teenagers are cruising Main Street looking for something to do. Despite that, its the empty spots, the growing blackness, that capture my imagination. I’ve been a passenger on this route enough times to know what’s below me: the foothills of the western slope of the Rockies, the Green and Colorado Rivers, the white rim of Canyonlands, the Grand Canyon, the Mojave Desert.
Its quite possible there’s not a whole lot of unexplored areas left in the West, but part of me wants to hang on to the notion that there is still some “out there” left out there. David Roberts recently had a thought-provoking op-ed piece in the New York Times arguing that with 21st Century technology, there’s not a whole lot of wilderness left. That hopeful naïveté I cling to wants to disagree with him–that possibly there is still an unexplored canyon, or at least a hill which offers a great view of this everlasting sunset–that has yet to be enjoyed.
Aldo Leopold wrote,
“To those devoid of imagination a blank place on the map is a useless waste; to others, the most valuable part.”
Tonight, sitting on this jet with a bird’s eye view of the West, I have to wonder where my imagination would wander if there were no blank spots on the map. As a photographer, I have been thinking a lot lately about documenting these wild lands–what is my responsibility as an artist, my obligation to protect these lands? If those peaks and mesas are leveled, if lights begin to dot the landscape, these places will change forever.
Where does your imagination wander? None of us would argue over the value of those blank spots on the map, but what do you think–is there a fine line between artist and activist, or are they one and the same?
End of the Day, July 2010
I don’t think artist and activist are necessarily one and the same, but they can definitely go hand in hand. They can also be separate.
I don’t know that it’s our responsibility as artists to protect our wild lands, though we can certainly do that. I do think it’s our responsibility as human beings though, a responsibility we all need to embrace. And soon, whether it be through art or otherwise.
The pity about exploration is that explorers by definition kill the thing they love. The old ones did it by filling in the blanks, the new ones by their dispatches, updates and rescue requests. I remember reflecting on the death of Heinrich Harrer that the real old-style exploring, where you might find a lost tribe or enter a forbidden kingdom, is all but gone. My parents’ era of seeking out unclimbed peaks, unboated rivers and undescended canyons is going fast. Soon there will be only interior Antarctica, the deep sea and space, and while these undoubtedly have immense fascinations, they’re cold and alien places. It’s not exploration on a personal, unmediated kind of scale as in the past.
Nonetheless, I do think wilderness still exists, even in the lower 48. There are a ton of places still where the easiest way to get information on them is simply to go and try for yourself. And there are plenty of places that can still kill or maim you. I’ve spent a lot of time off trail in very seldom-visited areas where no one knew exactly where I was, and injuries there would have seriously screwed me. Communications tech mitigates the danger (and I’ll admit that I’m contemplating getting a locator beacon), but a lot of the sense of security it brings is false, and the possibility of modern rescue often leads people to rashly and unthinkingly risk the lives of their rescuers. You can still die out there.
I do feel that landscape artists have a responsibility to care for their subjects and view them as something more than grist for the mill. But I sometimes get pessimistic whether our images still have power in the general culture. The landscapes of the southwest that blew my grandparents’ minds like nothing they’d ever seen are now in every other SUV commercial. I hope that my images inspire people to get out into the landscape, because I think it’s only direct experience that will really make most people care.
Here in the Northeast all the blanks have been filled at one time or another. Many areas were abandoned over the past few centuries and we have reborn “wilderness” in some spots. Matter of fact, my favorite stomping ground, Quabbin, was once four little towns that were taken for the reservoir and is now called the “Accidental Wilderness”. There are even a few areas of “old growth” in areas that could not be farmed or logged.
It is always troubling when shooting the lovely but remote areas that have been mostly disregarded for fear that folks will now wish to visit them and ruin their unspoiled quality. That is the dilemma that most activist/artist photographers must face. I think the one thing locally that is helpful is the difficulty of access. Most of the places I visit are not accessible to the SUV’s Jackson mentions.
Obviously, I can’t speak for the Southwest, but I would think that there must still be a spot or two that have not been visited or at least not often.
Great thought-provoking post as usual. I think you’re pretty fortunate in the States, you have some amazing National Parks and quite stringent levels of protection.
In China it is not like this at all. National Parks can be logged, developed and raped to the financial gain of the owners.
As soon as a new mega beautiful area is discovered you have to be quick to get there before it is made tourist friendly.
Of course, I am being unfair, this happens in other places outside of China.
People die every year in the Scottish highlands, and you’re rarely more than a few miles from a road. I think the dark spots on the map in your beloved west are safe for now, the big problem with water will see to that.
But, yes, I feel artists and photographers do have a responsibility to articulate the wilderness. It is only through awareness that we can educate – but that walks hand in hand with responsible development (if any) and visitor management.
cheers,
Alister
Thanks for all of the thoughtful comments, and discussion!
My personal stance is that we do have the responsibility to be stewards of the landscapes we all love so much; Jackson, I think you said it way better than I ever could have…
A fine well-written and well-considered post, Greg. Following are the words of two photographers who have also contributed to this topic eloquently…
First to address the dilemma that Jackson and Steve mention above, I quote my father, pioneer landscape photographer, Philip Hyde, “For every place there will always be people that want to exploit it, and there will always be people—hopefully—that want to save it and keep it as it is. Even with the risk of inviting the crowds into paradise, better to publish your photographs and rally the troops. What’s in the frame of the photograph matters artistically, to be sure, but what’s outside the frame can destroy it.”
And secondly on the general topic of whether nature and landscape photographers are wise to become activists: Michael Gordon, in his current blog post, “On Assignment: Technology in Desert Photography” http://michaelegordon.wordpress.com/2011/10/03/on-assignment-techology-in-california-desert-photography/ wrote, “I consider it somewhat irresponsible for any ‘nature photographer’ to pursue this genre while ignoring the challenges and foes that consistently challenge these ideals. Were it not for the dedication and passion of photographers such as Ansel Adams, Philip Hyde, Eliot Porter, Galen Rowell, Robert Glenn Ketchum, et al, it’s doubtful to me that we’d have protected today what has been protected.”
Thanks for your response, David. I really appreciate the quote from your father, because he was so good at articulating his thoughts, and I can thoroughly appreciate the quandary he faced in publishing photos of the places he visited.
I also read Michael’s essay and really was inspired by it. I suppose, in some ways, his thoughts helped me to put my own feelings on the subject into words…
Cheers,
Greg
This was a beautiful read, Greg. I enjoyed it so much.
One thing I like about photographing the ocean is that it is always changing. I feel like it is my wilderness.
Sharon
Hi, Sharon. Thanks for your comment and for bringing up a wilderness that’s so-often overlooked. The ocean is most certainly a wilderness…