My
connection to the land
A lifetime spent immersed in the coastal environs west of Auckland has inspired
in me an appreciation for the beauty of the region and its diverse ecology. For
over thirty years I have been returning to hike, surf, and photograph. My
responses to this landscape are overwhelmingly visceral and cathartic. The
activities I engage in here distance me from the noise and
demands of hurried urban life, and I experience a heightened sensuous immersion
in the elemental forces of nature, a connection with the ebb and flow of tides,
with the shifting seasons, and with the rhythms of cyclic time. As I approach
the coast I take pleasure in the particular character of changing light, of
luminous salt-saturated haze drifting above the cliffs, and the reflective
shimmering of the ocean over black iron sand.
The wealth of uplifting experiences I have enjoyed here informs my research
interest concerning the phenomenology of enchantment. The political theorist,
Jane Bennett, describes enchantment as a state of wonder that arises when one
is struck and shaken by the extraordinary. She explores the possibility that
this affective force might inspire and motivate ethical behaviour. “I emphasise
how wonder marks the vitality and agency of a world that sometimes bestows the
gift of joy to humans, a gift that can be translated into ethical
generosity."[1]
A corresponding sense of gratitude infuses my relationship with the west coast.
Over many years I have been privileged to share waves with the now critically
endangered Māui dolphins, been thrilled by schools of feeding hammerhead
sharks, and I have felt a kinship with the remarkable grace of gliding tākapu,
their outstretched wings tracing the crest of unbroken waves, harnessing
updrafts that propel them effortlessly along the coast. I have witnessed the
infinitesimal growth of kauri ascending the heights of the bush-clad ranges and
observed the slow migration of sand. Pushed by the currents of wind and swell,
sand gathers in creeping underwater banks that give form to the breaking waves,
later congregating ashore in dunes that shape erosion patterns and support
coastal habitats.
Over the duration of a lifetime, my continual return to the coast has taken on
the character of communion, and yet it exists as a constantly transforming
relationship. To navigate the ocean’s powerful forces, I have learned to
identify its hazards and yields, and to adapt to its ever-changing moods. But
also, to appreciate its constancy. The influence of this dynamic relationship
flows through my life as a sense of enriching connection. I experience myself
most fully in this environment as part of a living and interconnected whole, as
both a witness and participant in the timeless interaction between land, sky,
and sea.
The philosopher and cultural ecologist David Abram argues that the
environmental crisis gripping the planet is a crisis of perception, the
inability to appreciate anything outside of an exclusively human discourse, and
that modern life is characterised by an unhealthy disconnect from the living
earth that sustains us. “Today we participate almost exclusively with other
humans, and with our own human made technologies. It is a precarious situation
given our age-old reciprocity with the many-voiced landscape.[2] Metaphorically,
my photography aims to sing in the forgotten register of “the many-voiced
landscape”, and to imbue my song with the values of kaitiaki that are too often silenced by
economic imperatives. Although I am Pākehā and a guest on this whenua, I feel I
have a role to play in terms of kaitiaki.
The Eco theologian Father Thomas Berry laments western cultures objectification
of the Earth — primarily as raw resource for economic exploitation — as an
attitude driving biosphere collapse. Berry has described the universe as “a
communion of subjects rather than a collection of objects."[3] Similarly,
Abram argues of the importance for a renewed sensorial connection with the
‘more-than-human world’. His premise is that “we are human only in contact, and
conviviality, with what is not human."[4]
For me the genius loci of the west coast manifests
as this potent expression of wildness, of an abiding and durational sense of
deep time, an unfolding drama enacted by powerful elemental forces that have
etched their indelible impressions upon the living land. But just as
significantly, these forces have played a formative role in shaping the
idiosyncrasies of my contemplative character, and my attunement to the rhythms
of the region. My familiarity with recurrent ocean patterns has developed out of
a necessity to avoid drowning, and in pursuit of catching and surfing waves. I
understand the behaviour of ground swell. It travels in sets of individual
waves separated by intervals where increases in distance equal speed and power.
I can identify rip currents and use them to my advantage, conveying me ‘out the
back’ to the relative safety of deep water beyond the impact zone.
This intimate knowledge is primarily a sensorial and bodily experience:
barefoot dashes across burning summer-baked iron sand; cool afternoon sea
breezes drafted off the ocean by rising land-heated thermals; winter southerly
winds blowing from the frozen polar regions of the Antarctic, chilling to the
core; easterly offshore winds grooming the incoming swell into straight-edged lines,
smoothing surface conditions to glass; onshore westerlies generating agitated
confusions of white water; northerlies bringing warm tropical air and summer
cyclones. I experience these changing weather patterns as associative with the
coastal conditions they foster, seen through the accumulated knowledge of a
lifetime spent communing with the coast. This relationship has instilled in me
a humble sense of gratitude for the solace it provides, and inspired in me an
interest in advocating for its protection.
In his Landmarks series, the nature writer Robert Macfarlane contends that the
destruction of our natural environment equally impoverishes and degrades our
very humanness. He offers a re-connective narrative by exploring the reciprocal
shaping of people and place – how landscapes penetrate the psyche of their
inhabitants, and how languages and dialects register an enriching relationship
with the wild.“I have long been fascinated by how people understand themselves
using landscape, by the topographies of self we carry within us and by the maps
we make with which to navigate these interior terrains. We think in metaphors
drawn from place and sometimes those metaphors do not only adorn our thought,
but actively produce it."[5]
The sea calls to me, as I perform the duties of a city-bound working life or
any other activities unrelated to the life of the coast. Ocean emissaries
hasten my return, announcing as the rising flurries of an offshore wind, or as
familiar cloud formations harkening trains of building swell. The waves form in
my mind before I surf them, sweeping up the west coast from the southern
reaches of the Tasman. Their variant angles of approach refract in different
patterns around headlands, breaking across reefs or sandbars in familiar yet constantly
varying formations.
Elemental indicators form a web of interacting coastal conditions that predict
and influence the dynamics of breaking waves. Enchanted, they merge together as
a synesthesia of perceptual phenomena. Surging surf shimmers musically in
dancing sea-salt haze, painting rippling traces in shoreline creeping dunes,
whilst the wind whistled sun swirls in faceted ocean surface. I appreciate
these elementals for the variant possibilities they yield, both for surfing and
photography. But also in the restorative act of spending time, of walking,
looking and noticing. Considered from this perspective, I regard my photographs
as short hand terms for exploring the ways in which I understand and interact
within this wider ecology, an inquiry beneath the surface of nature into the
lattice of the self.
The participatory nature of perception
In my practice, phenomenology has provided a philosophical ground for
integrating my perception back into the web of life. The philosopher Maurice Merleau-Ponty argued for the
primary role that sensory perception plays in our understanding of the world.
He defined the embodied nature of perception as a reciprocal engagement between
the perceiving body and that which it perceives. Furthermore, he consistently
described the sensible world in active terms as animate and in some sense,
alive.
“As I contemplate the blue of the sky ... I abandon myself to it and plunge into
this mystery, it thinks itself within me, I am the sky itself as it is drawn
together and unified, and as it begins to exist for itself; my consciousness is
saturated with this limitless blue.”[6]
David Abram in his book The Spell of the Sensuous: Perception and Language in a
More-Than-Human World (1996) draws on the phenomenology of
Maurice Merleau-Ponty to elucidate the eco-ethical value of subjective bodily
experience. Abram describes the value of such an environmental phenomenology as
“a philosophy which would strive, not to explain the world as if from outside,
but to give voice to the world from our experienced situation within it,
recalling us to our participation in the here-and-now, rejuvenating our sense
of wonder at the fathomless things, events and powers that surround us on every
hand.”[7] Abram
articulates the foundations of an environmental ethic which calls for the human
community to renew its acquaintance with the sensuous otherness of a world in
urgent need of our care and attention.
Landscape & memory
In my practice I am attempting to drop beneath abstractions and pay close
attention to the felt experience of the land. I seek to prioritise
phenomenological forms of perception in this endeavor. However, I recognise
that my experience is tempered by personal proclivities of habit and behaviour
that can cloud a phenomenological approach. The subconscious aspects of the
psyche are not so easily quieted. Walt Whitman’s observation, that nature
emerges subjectively out of a changing historical landscape of beliefs,
suggests to me some value in maintaining a perspectival viewpoint whereby
looking at the world through multiple interpretive lenses might equate more
closely as seeing. The historian Simon Schama in his book Landscape & Memory makes a strong
claim for cultural construction as an implicit characteristic of perception.
“Landscapes are culture before they are nature; constructs of the imagination
projected onto wood and water and rock ... once a certain idea of landscape, a
myth, a vision, establishes itself in an actual place, it has a peculiar way of
muddling categories, of making metaphors more real than their referents; of
becoming in fact, part of the scenery."[8]
My photography queries the role that memory plays in filtering my experience of
the present. Here, the ambiguous term landscape is discussed as it refers to a
cluster of ideas that describe ideological ways of seeing. In my practice I
explore landscape as a concept in relation to my own latent tendencies for
framing the land in terms of antiquated ideological and aesthetic filters.
These tendencies have predominantly involved photographic tropes of the
beautiful, picturesque, and the sublime. These tropes have been evident in my
photography, at times in a purposive way, at times as unexamined and habitual
inclinations. Although my practice has evolved beyond the limiting perspective
that such framings impose, these inclinations have a habit of reappearing in my
current research in different guises, at times beneath awareness. As such, the
self-reflexivity of my practice acknowledges and releases my outmoded attitudes
towards the land as they emerge from processes of thinking and making. This
allows for a more receptive awareness of the environment to arise. Yet, the
complete erasure of my historical past and the realisation of an unmediated
experience of the land seems an impossible task, and so, I have come to regard
an ecological self as a dynamic negotiation of different perspectives that is
always ongoing and unfinished.
Cultural construction
My experience of the west coast manifests as a heightened sense of felt
connection within a life world that extends beyond me. Identifying how this
visceral experience of communion might function as an ethic of care for the
more-than-human world has been problematised by the seemingly divergent
perceptual processes evident in my artworks. I have framed these different
understandings of landscape perception as constructionist on the one hand –
relating to the projection onto the landscape of culturally determined ideas
and attitudes – and phenomenological on the other – perception arising from a
sensory and embodied relationship between the subjective self and the land. I
recognise these different perceptual modes as being mutually entangled in my
practice and necessitating joint consideration.
The environmental psychologist David W. Kidner[9] argues
that a cultural constructionist approach to environmentalism, one that views
nature as an artifact of language and the realities of the world as primarily
discursive ones, has the effect of denying the natural world as a potential
source of experience, understanding, or morality.
The sociologist Klaus Eder (1996) summarises a cultural constructionist view of
nature in the following way: "Nature is only signifier. The signified in
the description of nature is society itself. Society sets down the rules for
perceiving and experiencing the world in the symbolisation of nature. Such
symbolisations are used to adjust the elementary schemata for perceiving and
experiencing the world."[10]
Thus, constructivism has given rise to sceptical attitudes towards nature –
nature understood as a larger order out of which we grow. This philosophical
view proposes that there exists no ‘Nature’ out there, and that our true
environment is socially constituted. Equally, Jane Bennett and William
Chaloupka have argued that “nature, like everything else we talk about, is
first and foremost an artefact of language”. In this sense, language is
understood as constituting nature rather than representing it, so that “any attempt
to invoke the name of nature ... must now be either naive or ironic."[11]
As a participant in the extractive processes of culture and capital consistent
with industrial consumer society, I exhibit colonising attitudes towards the
land consistent with this world view. I am a member of industrial consumer
society and so I appreciate the ironies inherent in any romantic attempts to
invoke the name of nature. Nonetheless, I also suspect that my struggle to
understand and articulate certain nature-inspired experiences I have had in my
life has causative relations with the limiting schemata industrial society sets
out in the symbolisation of nature. I am ignorant of the degree to which
prevailing societal habits for perceiving and experiencing the world preclude
more psychologically integrative ways of knowing and being in the environment.
Surfing has been one of the primary activities that brings me into a close
relationship with the coast. However, surfing is an overly pejorative way of
relating within a wider ecology that remains indifferent to the fulfilment of
my leisure pursuits. To disrupt my habits of engagement, I began exploring the
bodily sensation of being in the ocean through moving image, and with the
intention of treading water in the shoreline surf and recording my experience.
Untethered from a surfboard, and consequently from my habituated ways of being
in the ocean environment, I drifted passively with rips and currents.
Reflecting critically on this footage, I noticed that during recording, my gaze
had been drawn by the activity of the waves from the perspective of a surfer,
and that I had chosen to shoot on days that had been favourable for surfing.
The images reflected my own tendencies as a surfer to view the ocean through
the tropes of surf photography. The body of work didn’t reflect my felt bodily
experience of rhythmic ocean movements as much as it hinted at a
surfing-derived narrative.
Emptying out & opening up
Photographic tropes can operate as limiting filters that temper a more
receptive experience of the environment. My tendency to frame the land in terms
of aesthetic conventions such as the beautiful, picturesque, and sublime is not
an exhaustive account of the culturally determined ways in which I reflexively
think, act, and photograph. Nor do I believe that I have a full awareness of my
own limiting biases.
David Abram, in his introduction to Ecopsychology, Phenomenology, and the Environment,
describes the difficulties of a phenomenological style of perception: “Such an
approach demands great care and lucidity on the part of the would-be
practitioner. In careless hands, phenomenology can risk assimilating the wild
multiplicity of things into too human a register."[12]
In my practice I have tempered a phenomenological approach with an awareness
that projection is an inevitable function of my psyche. By understanding how
different modes of perception unfold in my practice I can recognise a broad
spectrum of attitudes as they arise within my experience. Art provides a means
for such critical reflection, for examining and questioning my relationship
with the world, for broadening my perspectives, and for opening new horizons
and possibilities. Questioning my approaches to photography, and the underlying
attitudes that inform them, is to dig down into a compost, part of a deeper
psychological schema of attitudes and beliefs that inform my experience of the
present and orientate me in the world. My goal is not a disavowal of my
past methods, but rather to seek assimilative possibilities.
Simon Schama states “Although we are accustomed to separate nature and human
perception into two realms, they are in fact indivisible. Before it can ever be
repose for the senses, landscape is the work of the mind, its scenery is built
up as much from strata of the memory as from layers of rock."[13] In
accordance with this view, my photography poses questions regarding the
characteristic beliefs – “constructs of the imagination projected onto wood and
water and rock” – that have been ubiquitous in my past practice and have drawn
censures of overt obscurantism. One such convention is the romantic sublime,
which has operated as a kind of shadowy antiquarian vestige of its historical
predecessor. Photographic throwbacks to this tradition invariable draw
criticisms of cultural pastiche, or hopeless romantic cliché. Despite my
sympathies with the prescient critical objections levelled against the romantic
sublime within contemporary art discourse, it is a tradition that has remained
doggedly with me. As such, certain characteristics of the sublime for which I
still hold clandestine sympathies require ongoing critical appraisal as they
emerge out of processes of thinking and making. This criticality serves as a
valuable means for orientating my practice within a broader historical context
of understanding.
Nineteenth century romantic artists conceived of the sublime as an elevated
experience of boundlessness precipitated by feelings of awe, fear, or
terror. Edmund Burke[14] in his
treatise on the sublime described extreme aspects of nature, such as storms,
mountains, or the wastes of the sea as the most auspicious environments for
stimulating these feelings. For this reason, the sublime became synonymous with
natural settings of a grandiose kind. In my early practice I was struggling to
articulate my felt connection with the land, and so I adopted the romantic
sublime as a substitute discourse which did not accurately reflect my
experience. However, certain aspects of this convention resonated with me. My
attraction to the dramatic scenery of the west coast elicits at times powerful
emotions within me. The adrenaline aspects of surfing, of testing physical
limits against the forces of the ocean and the palpable fear that can be
experienced in this wild environment, have superficial parallels with the
language of romantic sublimity.
Nineteenth century metaphysical and idealist rhetoric framed the sublime as a
spiritual experience, thought to be triggered when the boundaries of the self
and the rational mind – overwhelmed by all that exceeds comprehension – merge
with the divine. Furthermore, romanticism was a tradition that celebrated
intuition over the intellect, and emotion over reason. These sentiments
resonate with my felt experience of the west coast, a location that stimulates
an emotional sense of heightened connectivity within an order that exceeds my
rational awareness. In common parlance this more-than-human order is termed as
nature or cosmos. In my early research the associated heightened feelings that
accompanied such felt visceral experiences were translated in lyrical and
poetic terms.
Rupture
I began exploring how I could open my photographic gaze to allow for a more
nuanced experience of place, and of the more-than-human agencies active in the
land, without being overly prescriptive in my methods. I realised that my
carefully controlled framing of the land was distancing the environment. With
this concern at the forefront of my thoughts, doubt entered my practice and I
began to experience an uneasy dissonance when photographing familiar coastal
scenes. I realised that to more effectively evoke a sense of relatedness I
needed a new approach.
Experimentation with a pinhole camera ensued. This involved relinquishing
technical control over the aesthetic outcome of my photographs. Owing to the
lack of a viewfinder, this method opened my practice to a different kind of
attention. Although I was still thinking pictorially, my attention was
inversely engaged. While waiting contemplatively during long exposures,
unnoticed elements of the environment presented themselves to me. Accordingly,
I became less concerned with producing dramatic sublime photographs. Also, this
change to pinhole camera shifted my choice of subject matter. The
often-frustrated search for breathless romantic vistas relaxed into a more
intimate awareness of the here and now. This prompted mindful attention of what
was happening within me in relation to the surroundings. I began regarding the
camera differently, as a perceptual filter through which the act of
photographing becomes a means for accessing the materiality of my experience.
This marked the beginnings of a transition towards a more relational approach.
The romantic sublime morphed from transcendent portal to earthly departure
point, registering how shifting attitudes towards the land influence the ways
in which it is perceived and interacted with. This shift in thinking raised the
question of how an emerging awareness of these filters, documented
photographically as markers of significance, could bring into focus hidden
influences at work, both in the land and within myself. My interest in felt
bodily experiences marked a change towards a phenomenological approach.
Interactive landscape
The philosopher Arne Næss has warned against the dangers
of an ecological holism that denies individuality. As such, when photographing
I do not seek to collapse self into environment, and I am also aware of the
dangers of subsuming environment into self. Næss contends that,“We are part of
the ecosphere just as intimately as we are part of our own society. But the
expression ‘drops in a stream of life’ may be misleading if it implies that the
individuality of the drops is lost in the stream."[15] In
both my artworks and my methods, I am seeking to recognise this interplay
between separation and relation, recognising the difference between myself and
the land while nurturing a greater sensitivity for the agency of the
more-than-human world.
The environmental philosopher Val Plumwood outlines a
corresponding notion of Interactive Landscape.[16] This
conceptual framework for ecological ethics embraces gradations between self and
other, and between humanity and nature. Plumwood demarcates the boundaries of
interactive landscape by indicating what the concept rejects:
- hyperseperation – into a nature/culture binary;
- cultural reductionism – nature scepticism that discounts the agency
of the non- human sphere; and
- implosion – nature and culture as indistinguishable categories.
Plumwood argues that
hyperseperation, cultural reductionism, and implosion are poor ways to deal
with issues of gradation. She states that “the dialogue on the self/other
boundary will hardly be facilitated if it must start by imploding
nature/culture discourses and refusing conceptual expression to
difference," and also “cultural reduction, which is often associated with
certain forms of postmodernism, would abolish conceptual conditions for
sensitivity to nature’s limits, and to the variations and interweavings of the
human and non-human narratives an ecological consciousness aims to
foster." Interactive Landscape grounds eco-ethical responsibility in
an awareness of the continuities and divisions between subject and object, and
between people and the environment. Within my practice the notion of
interactive landscape underpins my multi-perspective approach to the
land.
The ecological self
To avoid assimilating the land to preconceived categories of thought I have
identified methods that allow for a reciprocity between self and environment to
emerge out of my practice in a non pre-emptive way. One of these methods
involves being present in the west coast environment with no fixed goals, open
and receptive, and with the intention of spending time. In this enterprise the
camera has operated as an appendage, facilitating a deepening of my sensory
acuity. This acuity is not limited to the visual, but tacitly engages all my
senses. When using this method in the field I focus on my felt bodily
sensations in response to elemental forces. Drifting passively with rips and
currents while recording moving image, I surrender myself to the whims of the
sea. Periodically submerged beneath breaking waves and buffeted by the
elements, I enter into a state of heightened awareness.
This attention draws me into a meditative reciprocity with the wider
environment. I have begun to employ this way of knowing in all my photography
field trips. My body enters into a dialogue with the elements as I walk the
coastline, sit gazing indolently out to sea, drift with ocean currents, or
tumble in shoreline breaking surf. I feel the warm sun on my face, or the wet
rain on my skin. I respond with my body and through the lens. Jane Bennett has
described the kind of enchantment I feel in these moments in comparable terms.
“Enchantment involves an experiential encounter in which one’s critical
faculties are momentarily disrupted, and a sense of fullness and enjoyment
ensues”.[17]
Employing this method of mindfulness, I walk the shoreline allowing myself to
be drawn into an awareness of the dynamic life of the coast. When my attention
is engaged by phenomena, I stop and shoot. My attention has varied across
seasons, focusing on various elemental subjects: of rippling patterns in
streams brushed by the disturbing flurries of gale force wind, swirling eddies
scattering sand across the beach in constantly shifting deposits; of clouds
sweeping the coastline broken by glancing beams of sunlight and sheets of
squalling rain; of rhythmic immersions in shoreline breaking surf, drifting
listlessly with rolling ocean currents that submerge into the green ocean
depths.
I regard the inter-tidal area as both a literal and metaphoric threshold,
registering converging movements as they unfold between the wind, the sun, the
sea, and the land beneath my feet. The shoreline is in a constant state of
transformation swept rhythmically by surging surf that advances and retreats
leaving constantly shifting patterns in the sand. As clouds drift through
reflective pools of light, I walk the beach advancing and retreating with the
sweeping surf. I respond to changing light as it glances off surface and
illuminates patterns in the sand and rippling water. I regard this rhythmic
movement as a dialectic between self and environment. My photography unfolds
over many hours in which I become immersed in a meditative state of interactive
fascination. My attention is absorbed in such a way that I experience myself as
participant in an enchanted dance. The environmental psychologist David Kidner notes that “Difference and
relation … together make up a sort of dance that is part of the vitality of the
natural world."[18] While
photographing, I am not engaged in critical thought but rather relaxing into a
concentrated state, responsive to the myriad interacting phenomena in the
surroundings.
It would be disingenuous of me to suggest that my photography field trips
always unfold as enchanted encounters with the more-than-human world.
Invariably I am attended by conflicting currents of thought ready to punctuate
my contemplative methods. Often-times thought arises unbidden, pulling me this
way and that in streams of conjecture. I stand on the beach surveying the
surroundings and I feel oppressed by the dullness of a grey cloudy day, or I
resent the lashing assaults of squalling rain showers. I might question my
methods and ask myself: Where is the photograph here? Why photograph at all?
In such moments I sit in the sand dunes, or alongside streams that empty into
the sea. Relaxing into an awareness of the moment, I become a conduit for
interacting aspects of mind and matter, I become porous. The rhythmic sweep of
the waves draws me into their presence, the eddying gusts of wind converge with
the transmuting environments of my heart and mind. This is how an ecological
ethic unfolds in my practice. It is an ethic of spending time, of dropping beneath
projections and opening to a receptive awareness of the environment.
During this process of thinking, photographing, spending time and reflecting,
the lens has served as an appendage to my self, bringing me into a deeper and
closer relationship with what I observe. In the process my point of view has
become less separated from the object of attention so that I find myself
intimately involved as an inherent part of the ecology, and in this sense, the
ecology that I have set out to explore is opening as a plain of immanent
potential. In rare moments I find myself close to being 'at one' with the
more-than-human world.
Endnotes:
1 Bennett, J. (2001). The enchantment of
modern life: Attachments, crossings, and ethics. Princeton, NJ: Princeton
University Press. P.175
2 Abram, D. (1996). The spell of the
sensuous: Perception and language in a more-than-human world. New York, NY:
Pantheon Books.Pp.ix
3 Berry, T. (2006). Evening thoughts: Reflecting on Earth as sacred
community (M. E. Tucker, Ed.). San Francisco, CA: Sierra Club Books. P.17
4 Abram, D. (1996). The spell of the
sensuous: Perception and language in a more-than-human world. New York, NY:
Pantheon Books. P.ix
5 Macfarlane, R. (2012). The old ways: A
journey on foot. London, England: Penguin Books. P.26
6 Merleau-Ponty, M. (1962).
Phenomenology of perception (C. Smith, Trans.). London, England: Routledge
& Kegan Paul. P. 214
7 Abram, D. (1996). The spell of the
sensuous: Perception and language in a more-than-human world. New York, NY:
Pantheon Books. P.ix
8 Schama, S. (1995). Landscape and
memory. London, England: HarperCollins. P.61
9 Kidner, D. W. (2001). Nature and
psyche: Radical environmentalism and the politics of subjectivity. Albany, NY:
State University of New York Press
10 Eder, K. (1996). The social
construction of nature: A sociology of ecological enlightenment. London,
England: Sage. P.31
11 Bennett, J. & Chaloupka, W.
(Eds.). (1993). In the nature of things: Language, politics, and the
environment. Minneapolis, MN: University of Minnesota Press.
12 Vakoch, D. A., & Castrillón, F. (2014). Ecopsychology,
phenomenology, and the environment: The experience of nature. New York, NY:
Springer. P.vii
13 Schama, S. (1995). Landscape and
memory. London, England: HarperCollins. P.6
14 Burke, E. (2008). A philosophical
enquiry into the sublime and beautiful (J. T. Boulton, Ed.) (2nd ed.). London,
England: Routledge. (Original work published 1757)
15 Næss, A. (1989). Ecology, community,
and lifestyle: outline of an ecosophy (D. Rothenberg, Trans.). Cambridge,
England: Cambridge University Press. P.165
16 Plumwood, V. (2006). The concept of
a cultural landscape. Ethics & the Environment, 11(2), 115–150.
17 Bennett, J.
(2001). The enchantment of modern life: Attachments, crossings, and ethics.
Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. P.10
18 Kidner, D. W. (2001). Nature and
psyche: Radical environmentalism and the politics of subjectivity. Albany, NY:
State University of New York Press. P.252
