|
|
|
In discussions of nature photography this week we've talked about perspective-the spatial relationships between camera and subject, between subject and background. Oftentimes, if the viewer draws closer to the subject, photographic perspective changes and the entire feel of the photo changes. Today, as I floated from the Cottonwood Trail of Lawson's Fork down to Glendale, my thoughts on perspective drifted as well. I became immersed in the muddied waters of relationships-person to person, humans to the natural world. Perhaps it is those damned artists. Janisse, the writer, is gone today. John, the poet, is off warping young minds. They left me, the confused scientist, here on the creek alone. In search of perspective. |
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
I grew up walking the banks and wading the shallows of Lawson's Fork. My first spotted salamander eggs were in a floodplain pool off Lake Forest Drive. My experiences in those tender years, along with biological inspiration from Sarah Crain and Major Rhodes, are largely the reason I do what I do today, which is study wetlands and amphibians. As a scientist it all seems so logical. If we educate folks about wetlands, about function and value, about wildlife habitat and flood control and all the rest, then that should be sufficient, right? Armed with The Facts, informed decisions are possible, and surely those deciding will want to protect the remaining wetlands we have, won't they? Then why, I wonder, do so many wetlands continue to disappear? Those artists and poets are on to something. Science is essential. Facts are necessary. But there is more. Somewhere a spiritual connection to the land has been lost. I don't believe my efforts as a scientist can restore that in those who do not feel. Perhaps, just perhaps, the artists will have more success. Perhaps the flow of their poetry and the drip of their paint will restore the spiritual connection. I wish them well, as their perspective draws us all closer, and changes relationships to the natural world. |
|
|
|
|
|
