start

Last Friday i went for a walk.

Instead of concentrating on the way my feet touched the ground, or the view around me, i decided to follow Tim Ingold’s thought on weather, more precisely –air. It was a particularly windy day, as i found myself at times gasping for air. Perhaps this was the reason Ingold’s text came to my mind, as i felt how wind was mediating my body movement, my breath, and emotions. my body was leaning forward, my eyes were half open, and my irritation kept on growing stronger. i was trying to resist the wind when suddenly i thought to allow the wind to guide me; whilst i turned around and began to walk with an enormously strong push. i marched in a straight line, then abruptly i was asked to turn left, later right, and straight again. Although i felt as one with the wind, it did not come to me to say that i became the embodiment of the wind, rather i moved together with the wind. It was a reciprocal dance, a movement of trust. For that walk i became what Ingold referred to as a wayfarer; a walker that simply goes along: “In his movement as in life, his concern is to seek a way through not to reach a specific destination or terminus but to keep on going” (2010, 126). While the rushing wind was showing me the way, i felt my mind slow down, as i was no longer occupied with the direction or a specific goal that i could reach with this ordinary Friday afternoon walk. The slowness came to me as an entity that just like the wind overpowered all senses. However, it was not that i became slow in my movement, it was rather an intricate thought of slowness that appeared in a form of meditation. Which i was reminded of the notion of the non-dual state of being; which points to all things being interconnected in a flow of ever-shifting experiences. The comprehension of non-duality comes close to what Ingold rejects when addressing the notion of embodiment, which underestimates the aspect of what Ingold refers to as “body-on-the-ground and a body-in-the-air” (122). This kind of comprehension led me to the state of a mindful body that was not separate for its inherent bipedal, cognizing, and sensual nature but rather it was a whole experience that took place through an environment that was mediated by winds, and my body that became submitted to the wind blows.

i took this photo in 2020 when the winds where so heavy it took down the tree. here you can see my grandparents' cows, they are drinking water and are not afraid of the upcoming storm. i stayed in the meads with them wanting to keep their company while the storm passes. when the storm arrived, their behavior did not change at all, it was me who felt frightened; it was me who ran back to hide while my two friends remained calm, slow, and grounded.

Dear friend,
how has your slowness journey been?
Have you encountered it somewhere in your everyday life?

Having lived in diverse landscapes, each characterized by its own atmospheric decorations, the wind emerges as a singular protagonist, sculpting memories from my experiences. In my journey through different climates, I have forged intimate bonds with the winds of each land. Because of my vivid imagination, I paint sensations through imagery and personification. While my perception might seem peculiar to some, it perfectly embodies my encounters with such a natural force. Take, for instance, the wind in the Netherlands, a gentle caress akin to polished blue, gray, and jade-green glass. Its touch is almost velvety, smooth, evoking a sense of serenity accompanied by coldness. In contrast, the winds of Italy express a fiery passion. Their embrace is warm, as if I were sitting in front of a crackling fire. The wind in the Netherlands possesses a slender physique, its features delicate yet defined. Meanwhile, the wind in Italy is featured by the playful charm of freckles. My (sub)conscious experience with the wind is more than mere meteorological phenomena. The wind becomes my companion, and I become theirs. I carve memories, and they carve memories into me. The wind is a storyteller, a performer, a dancer, a painter. It doesn't follow any scheme to contribute to the fluidity and temporality of the environment.

Reflecting on Tim Ingold’s insights into paths, terrain, and the elements, I have reconsidered my relationship with the environment. Each interaction becomes a harmonious dance, a dialogue between my essence and the surroundings, ingrained with a deep sense of interconnectedness.
I feel a natural, ancestral tune or connection with the seasons. My body, rather than my mind, becomes aware of natural elements, which are sensations I temporarily forget. When I lived in Italy, rain was infrequent in the summer. I remember the smell of the moments before summer rain, the pollen in the air, the humidity pinching my nostrils. Rain is now part of my daily life. However, the rain changes its essence based on the season.
I embodied slowness in this sense, as my body reacts to these external inputs with memories and emotions by following a cycle. Indeed, this slowness is embodied and internalized instead of being consciously perceived. However, after reading Ingold’s text, I tried to think about slowness more consciously and asked myself: Where do I find it? Does it come naturally to me, or must I consciously embrace it?
I have learned that slowness does not come as quickly to me, but when welcomed, it pushes me into a meditative state. In this state, I merge with my surroundings, achieving a sense of oneness with nature.

Though the text delves into paths, ground, and wind, it also made me reflect on the energetic pace of urban life. Cities often consume natural elements to make room for concrete and buildings. Amidst the gray and chill of urban architecture, it is easy to overlook the opportunity to reconnect with nature, especially when it is hidden from sight. Recently, I captured this moment of sunset in Groningen. Everything appeared frozen in time. As I sat on a bench, gazing at the canal's waters, I absorbed the sunset's reflection, felt the wind's caress on my skin, listened to the rustle of leaves, and savored the scent of humidity in the air.

Narcissus, look beyond your reflection!
Fall into the lake's delicate hug and enjoy its unique enchantment.
Rise again, feel the warmth of the sunlight touch, and let it dry each drip on your skin.
Embrace the soft air and move to its joyful touch.
Run your fingers through the grass, and feel the earth's beat beneath your fingertips.
In every droplet, in every wave, you find echoes of your own being.
For you are not just your reflection in the water; you are the water, and the water is you.

Another example that allows the viewer to perceive the walk from another perspective is Francis Alys’ Andrews Way (2014). For seven days, from 9 am to 5 pm, Francis Alys walked in circles in his studio, equivalent to that of the Camino Ingles. The purpose of such a walking act could be interpreted from what Tim Ingold (2020) describes as “the feet, bearing the full weight of the body, impress the ground rather than inscribing it” (128). Ingold (2020) suggests that when we make a path, we leave a trace of a movement instead of a permanent mark on the environment. Hence, according to Ingold (2010), inscribing indicates walking as leaving a footprint and therefore contributing to the pre-existing path. Impression, on the other hand, becomes a walking act as a creative process with the environment. In the case of Alys’ walking action, what then becomes visible is the wandering notion of walking. Alys shows how walking, a movement that physically transports us to other places and spaces, can also happen in mind-walk, where one is able to achieve an imagined state of walking through the repetition of walking. As a result, while one subtly imprints oneself onto the surroundings, the traces left behind are the thoughts one was having at the time.

In conclusion, the act of walking appears via creative activities in many ways, allowing for differing perspectives and increased awareness of the act of walking.

Alys' work exemplifies how walking as imprinting the ground via repetitive movement allows the mind to wander, therefore generating a potential for an imagined walk. Brecht, on the other hand, creates scores that may be performed in between everyday life, on the streets, by anybody.

To add, a few days ago, i walked a path back and forth till all the growing sprouts were watered. The footpath appeared to have been walked in by others, who must have repeated the score days before me. With the weight of water buckets i was carrying and the continued marking of a trail with my feet, when all my worries started to evaporate, i began to mind-wonder – am i still walking? Having immersed myself in the discourse surrounding walking as a research practice made me aware and alert in every unordinary step i would take. Such perceptions since then have not left my conscious awareness. This made me think of Timothy Mortno’s (2022) notion of ecological thought: “Once you start to think the ecological thought, you can’t unthink it: it’s a sphincter – once it's open, there is no closing” (4). Similarly, when walking becomes an embodied aesthetic experience, it enhances the perception of the act of walking. From there on, there is no way back to the unawareness of the walk.

Walking is “the most obvious and the most obscure thing in the world” (Solnit 2001, ch. 1). Nonetheless, discourse on walking has been ongoing research in the field of humanities. Being perceived as an embodied, sensory engagement with the world, walking as a research practice has found its safe harbor in the arts sphere. As walking requires us to move our entire body while constantly adjusting to the environment's altering sensory input, we perceive and interpret the environment in a way deeply rooted in our physical being when we are walking (Merleau-Ponty 1996). When walking becomes an aesthetic experience, it seems to add a multiplicity of angles to how walking can be rediscovered as an artistic practice in and of itself. In this short review, i would like to address a few artistic examples of walking, and how each embodies walking as a creative process with the environment.

The Fluxus movement, which started in the 1960s, disregarded conventional art forms and instead emphasized everydayness and ordinary lived experiences. Fluxus artists saw the potential of integrating walking as an artistic practice in their work because it allowed them direct contact between the environment and the body. To better illustrate such an approach, American Fluxus artist George Brecht in the work Direction (1962), made a score that entailed picking a route at random, walking in that way until it was necessary to turn, and then going in the opposite direction. As a score’s function is to provide an artistic endeavor within a certain degree structure, Brecht’s work allows the performer or participant an opportunity for interpretation and, thus, seminal disruption of what is perceived as the act of walking. In doing so, the walking act in regard to the score brings out the unexpected potential in the mundane.

I appreciate your reflective insights and the references you have made to academic literature. I found your connection of Morton’s assertion (“Once you start to think the ecological thought, you can’t unthink it: it’s a sphincter – once it’s open, there is no closing”) to the act of walking resonating with my own experience. It highlights the inherent link between ecological consciousness and physical engagement, echoing themes we have explored during the past few weeks, particularly regarding slowness as embodied in walking. In the past, these ideas of slowness and ecological awareness may have been somewhat overshadowed by other thought structures. However, I now find myself more in tune with these dimensions, perceiving their tangible impact on my sensory experiences and relationship with the environment. In response to this newfound awareness, I started practicing barefoot walking on grass, intentionally immersing myself in the tactile sensations it evokes. I hope this conscious physical interaction will be a starting point for personal and educational growth, leading to a transformational journey toward more profound ecological and embodied knowledge and exploration.

My flesh begins to rot,

Composting into soil.

Worms tickle feet,

Warmth surrounds my frozen body.

Agonizing pain will fade,

Sprouts will spring in my veins.

I will sink into the debris,

Resurrecting in another body,

A bag

of
fluids.

In regard to my ongoing research on arts-based research methodologies, I am trying to learn to bring the means of aesthetic experience closer to environmental discourses. Following this thought and the short review, i was wondering what would be your take on finding transdisciplinary grounds to connect Tim Ingold’s text with another discipline?

Approaching the theme of walking within academia for the first time has posed challenges in discerning interdisciplinary connections relevant to my academic background. The physical act of walking, a phenomenon I have previously given little consideration to, now emerges as a focal point of inquiry. However, delving into Ingold's text and immersing myself in discussions surrounding the concept of slowness have characterized a deeper curiosity and heightened awareness regarding the production of embodied knowledge.

Drawing from experiences, I recollect a nature workshop where the notion of "desire paths" was introduced. Individuals' continual walking creates paths that defy predefined trails and architectural boundaries. According to Ingold's conceptual framework, these impressions are more than just disruptions to known routes; they provide fertile ground for forming new knowledge. As a result, people's intuitive actions contradict traditional paradigms of comprehension and navigation.

I have made the decision to completely abandon my writing approach as we venture into the domains of senses and immerse myself in the language of poetry and visuals. To convey what I learned from the world of texts, I will be reacting to the literature on sensing that we have selected to study with a poem or a visual aid.

“In the flesh and in the sign, dogs are commodities, and commodities of a type central to the history of capitalism.” (Haraway 2013, 52)

In my exploration of the theme of slowness, I sought to engage with the environment in a new way. The way different species grow from soil and interact with the environment, in particular, captured my attention. While I initially recorded short videos various plants, grasses, and flowers, I soon found myself compelled to simply close my eyes and immerse myself in their presence. In this exercise, I aimed to accept the vitality of soil and its capacity to nurture the environment, reflecting De La Bellacasa's observations.

Animals develop as key components in capitalist society, with their entire bodies conscripted and exploited to suit human demands. Their skins and shapes are methodically made into commodities, surrendering the raw vitality of their life for the desires of mankind's consumption. While society, driven by media and institutions, may encourage individual initiatives to resist animal cruelty and exploitation, it frequently avoids a fundamental questioning of capitalism and its insatiable desire for expansion as the dominant paradigm. Consumerism hurts animals and their habitats, whereas anthropocentrism breaks down the ideal framework of harmony and connectivity with the natural and non-human worlds.
In the case of companion animals, such as dogs, more problems arise. As Haraway suggests, dogs are biotechnologies, workers and companions. Dogs are thus subjected to continuous identity impositions where they are strapped of their will power and consciousness to become commodified and transformed into objects, where their worth is determined by their market value.

Human-centeredness
Interconnection
Self-determination
Cooperation
Reciprocity
Autonomy
Mutualism
Holism
Agency
Sharing
Self-direction

To Gaia:

As I walked through the green grass, pollen filled my lungs, and I followed you silently on your exploration. Your happiness was tangible, and I absorbed it with every step. Adjusting to your environment, I found clothing, shoes, and my bag to be obstacles.
Despite my efforts to focus on your words, to immerse myself fully in the experience, my mind remained cluttered with thoughts and distractions. But in your presence, I found harmony and balance, a refuge from the chaos of my own thinking. I wanted to simply exist in that space with you, to surrender to the moment and embrace the serenity of our shared journey.

While reading Haraway's discussion on value-added animals, I found myself thinking about the intricate relationship between monetization and how we treat companion animals. Do you share my worry about the widespread commodification of other-than-human species within our society framework?
I agree with Haraway; contemporary culture often reduces other species, like companion animals such as dogs, to mere objects with no inherent worth other than their service (or companionship) to humans. This raises major concerns about our ethical responsibility to these sentient individuals, prompting us to seriously consider how we see and treat them as commodities.
Moreover, outside the restrictions of capitalist organizations, the omnipresent idea of ownership over other species remains, raising doubts about the possibility of liberating non-human animals from being commodified. Would the downfall of capitalism truly liberate animals from their status as economic assets, or do deeper cultural and philosophical paradigms necessitate reevaluation?

Yesterday I met Elwood. Since he had only recently shed his old skin a few weeks prior, he had extremely graceful and elegant skin that was wonderfully moist. All the times I have visited his adoptive mother, I would just see his terrain, as his green palette skin would perfectly match the environment, and his lack of limbs gives him the ability to curl up in a tiny ball which makes him almost invisible.
However, yesterday Elwood showed an interest in coming out to meet the stranger who often started to appear in his proximity. His adoptive mother informed me of how he expresses his curiosity which appears through his extremely specific method of tongue flicking. This tongue flicking demonstrates his sensory interest in the surroundings; as he analyzes the chemical composition of the environment. As he slowly crawled out of his sweetgrass basket, it seemed as if he was following his tongue as a compass.
Thus, Elwood’s adoptive mother opened the glass doors of the terrain and Elwood crawled making a series of S-shaped curves on the hands of his adoptive mother while continuing to flicker his tongue. With my full awareness and respect for Elwood, I was at first hesitant to take him into my arms, as it felt intrusive. Yet, after some time of getting acquainted with Elwood, and gently coming closer, he began to curve around my arm. The emotions that struck me at that particular moment were out of human language, as I felt as if Elwood was in full control of getting to know me –a human with dried-out skin, bones, hair, and limbs. We spent around 20 minutes in togetherness, Elwood crawled around my arms, reaching to my face, looking into my eyes, and my mouth, then proceeding to get entangled in my hair. I was appalled by the upheaval of my emotions, possibly because it was my first time allowing a corn snake to get entangled around my limbs.
Yet, after this encounter, I could not stop thinking about Elwood. To make sense of such an encounter, I turned to an enormously rich heritage of myths revolving around snakes, or sometimes due to their suborder – serpentines. First, I re-imagined the biblical scenario where Eve gets ‘seduced’ by the serpentine to eat the forbidden fruit. I began to ponder the feminist re-interpretations of Eve’s communication with the serpentine as being a symbol of human and other-than-human relationships in an ecological sense. Remembering the strange bodily sensation of feeling an almost spineless-appearing entity turning in circles around my limbs, reaching towards my face, and by S-shaped curves moving through it. I thought to myself, how did Eve’s encounter with the serpentine happen, I wanted to go beyond the anthropomorphizing belief of the serpentine’s power in seduction through human language. Thus, I imagined that Eve’s communication must have also taken place through her bodily sensation and the serpentine's enhanced sensory greeting which created in an ecological sense a feeling of embodied interconnectedness. That same feeling when we lay in the unmown grass and after a little while the grass adapts to the weight of our bodies, and when we stand up we temporarily leave our silhouettes in the fields. In this sense, I think of Eve now as a symbol of symbiosis.
Elwood made me feel as if I was yet again a part of the planet mesh, not through human language communication but rather through an embodied feeling of interconnectedness. In regards to the devastating catastrophes happening around the globe from hailstorms, floods, human wars, deforestation, acidification, etc. at times I feel disconnected starting to think that nature does not want me, a human, to be part of this ecosystem. But yesterday, Elwood taught me a nonverbal lesson about communication with other-than-human entities in complete harmony with our bodily entanglements.

Gaia came into my life in the winter of 2022, together with my partner from the very first night we approached her as our adopted daughter. This comprehension for both of us came naturally, as we both agreed on the idea of making kin with other species. This notion allowed us to break the boundary between humans and animals, Gaia became our catalyst in becoming-with with other mammals (here, I particularly use the word mammal, as I will come back in a later letter to my hypothesis on how the epistemologies of naming animals affect our relations).

When walking together with Gaia it becomes a constant negotiation between ‘my way’ or ‘her way’. Perhaps it is her youthfulness, as she is only a 2-year-old canine or her genes of a border collie that intuitively put her to work mode whenever we walk outside. Just like her, I do not enjoy having her on a leash, as it places me in the position of a commander, and her incredible sense of human emotions allows her to realize that with the leash we are both in a struggle.
However, this exchange usually takes place as we stroll through the places where Gaia must wear a leash, but the moment we reach the sites where the municipality allows dogs to run freely, our communication changes. It is an instant shift in the way I and Gaia reciprocate with one another. My senses synchronize with hers when I am not controlling our path, where we are bound by an enforced string.

Gaia’s memory and receptivity to the environment amaze me every time, as it is she who tells me it is time to take off the leash, the place where long and sturdy tree branches lay, and the field where she might meet other kindred species. As we walk through the city’s park (Stadspark), my walk changes when I walk with Gaia. While we are no longer attached to the leash, an invisible thread connects us; she adapts to my speed of walking while keeping a 10-meter distance, while I become receptive to possible dangers that might scare her fast-beating heart. These particularities, of course, come from extensive reading on the breed of border collies before adopting her, taking her to dog school where we learned the language of signs, and my effortlessness to regard Gaia as my family, not by blood but by bond. Sometimes, however, I wonder if it was I who taught her particular commands and how to talk the language of signs, or if it was already in her that was trusted to me as a sign of intra-species friendship.
Thus, to answer your question, about how my experience was in our last walk together with Gaia, I was particularly focused on her behavior concerning my own situatedness and exposure to that particular environment. As in the previous months, we dealt with the notion of slowness and care, I aimed to embed these notions during our walk. However, walking together with Gaia, the means of slowness did not have space, while care became foregrounded in human-animal relationships. I noticed, how in comparison to the previous walks where I walked to become in tune with the elements of air and ground, my walk was slow and conscious. This time, I became Gaia’s companion, the one who followed her, played her desired throw-and-catch games, and helped her get out of the pond.
Nonetheless, while my body was active in full participation in the dog's life, my mind kept on bringing up old-school yet deep-rooted ‘teachings’ on how a dog should behave, and that a dog is your companion while you are his master. I noticed how deeply such ideas have been entrenched in me from the environment; from the advertisements on how to train dogs, movies where canines serve as mere commodities of joy, or even pet stores that sell muzzles, traps, and other anger-driven tools to calm an uneasy canine. Therefore, during our walk, I was once again reminded that while I walk with Gaia it is my utmost duty to bring her joy, exercise, and attention on her own terms. While I do this, I tend to forget my own wishes when walking in the park, after a long walk I am rewarded with a satisfied face and many kisses from Gaia.

Yet after reading through Haraway's text and her description—which described a crittercamera being mounted to a wild aquatic animal and a sort of a dangling advertisement coming from Haraway’s side: “the camera’s eye glued, literally, to the body of the other, we are promised the full sensory experience of the critters themselves, without the curse of having to remain human” (252)—I continued my search to locate crittercam videos on the YouTube browser. My search does not take me to page two when I get overflown with National Geographic short videos with names such as “Narcoleptic" Alligator & Other Gators "Film" Their Day”, or “Great White Crittercam | Wild Lab”, and “Crittercams Investigate Seal Mystery | National Geographic”, etc. I started to watch the first video in which many actors play a specific role: there is a boat, a river, the alligator, and a dozen humans involved in talking, analyzing, preparing, and lastly capturing the alligator (image 2). I skimmed through the video searching for the image that revealed the crittercam footage, to my regret, the footage lasted a little over a minute. However, what stayed with me was the process of capturing the alligator, pulling them out of their natural habitat, seducing them, and placing tape over their jaws, all while reaffirming that the people performing such actions aim to impart as little stress as possible to the captured alligator. Feeling a sense of betrayal to the promise of a crittercam as Haraway (2006) wrote: “Immediate experience of otherness, inhabitation of the other as a new self, sensation, and truth in one package without the pollution of interfering or interacting” (252), I continue to read the text.

In the chapter Crittercam, Donna Haraway (2006) writes: “Things are material, specific, non-self-identical, and semiotically active. In the realm of the living, critter is another name for thing” (250). While reading this particular passage, I am brought to think on an imaginary, introspective level of a microscopic realm; where behind my youthful skin, there could be up to a million co-habiting critters of all kinds. It could be said, that such perceptionary enhancement, magnifies unified surfaces in order to unfold the image of the world in which heterogeneous assemblages of organisms, bacteria, and organelles intermingle. According to Haraway, this particular comprehension of the world underscores the means of embodiment, which is always in flux and is shaped by active situational factors. To better reiterate her argument, Haraway borrows Merleu-Ponty’s notion of “infoldings of the flesh” which in a phenomenological sense points to the active verb of world-making. While these infoldings point to the natural phenomena of critter existence, Haraway is quick to move to the technological assemblages made by humans. Sort of bringing back the 90s cyborg theory, Haraway takes upon a particular study case that of crittercam in order to present how an assemblage of various elements stemming from technology, human involvement in naturecultures, and the agency of animals converge. Such convergence can be seen as a consistent factor in Haraway’s theory on critters that are composed of diverse parts and interact in complex, dynamic ways.
But what is a crittercam? After reading the first mention of a crittercam in Haraway’s text, my visual curiosity had to be fulfilled, thus I jumped from my preview pages to YouTube, and abruptly typed ‘crittercam footage’. The first search result was "CritterVision Critter Cam," which showed a live stream of various critters gathering in the woods captured by a tripod-mounted camera that was available around the clock. Under the video, there was a description stating: “Welcome to CritterVision! A 24/7 live-streaming cam of our local wildlife as seen from our rural property!
Critters we’ve seen thus far: raccoons, opossums, squirrels, red foxes, grey foxes, wild turkey, white-tailed deer, flying squirrels, armadillos, wild hogs, feral/farm cats, field mice, lots of woodpeckers, songbirds, hawks, vultures, and even our pet collies!” (image 1). The sheer momentum of recognizing that the streaming was live and that during my brief appearance on the other side of the screen, I might see a woodland animal kept me on the CritterVision for around 30 minutes.

It was the third time I watched My Octopus Teacher (2020) and every time I tried to apply a different frame; the first one was directed toward curiosity of being submerged, the second time – matters of care towards other-than-human entities, and the last time I watched the movie through a heightened reception of kinfolk. This particular point of view regarding kinfolk I borrowed from Erica Howsare’s book The Age of Deer; Trouble and Kinship with Out Wild Neighbours (2024) in which Harawayan notion of kinship was extended toward the indigenous way of honoring other-than-human animals. According to Howsare (2024), the ecological and emotional dimensions of kinfolk highlight interspecies relationships that include the sacredness of other-than-human entities in a sense of gratitude and the comprehension of the limits of human consciousness. Meaning, that the notion of kinfolk is situated beyond the human consciousness. With this framework in mind, My Octopus Teacher spoke to me differently. I realized that the friendship and journey between the female octopus and Craig Foster, the main protagonist and a submerged cameraman, were purely grounded in the mediated human point of view. Therefore, in this short note on my third time watching My Octopus Teacher, in parallel to Howsare’s text, I will present a few points of concern about the way the particular kinfolk were present in the movie.
In The Age Of Deer (2024) Howsare examines the intertwined lives of humans and deer, particularly in circumstances when habitat loss and urbanization have forced both species closer together. In this manner, Howsare attempts to present deers as active participants in shared ecosystems rather than just objects of human concern. In addition, Howsare relies heavily on a cultural legacy that is centered on the portrayal of deer in myths, oral histories, and visual arts. This heritage ranges from the mythopoetics of deer-like deities to the appropriation of deer figures in popular culture. In this way, a rich cultural legacy that offers a more grounded perspective on the current landscape of ecopolitics in human-nature relationships strengthens the comprehension of the relationship between humans and animals. Thus, as Howsare (2024) notes: “We carry inside us images and narratives that tell us how to look at the deer before us. They’re a screen upon which we project our conflicting concepts about nature” (xi, 2024), emphasizing how our narrative minds are already formed by mediated inputs.
Moreover, what especially stood out in Howsare’s text was the way the text was written and the research method it utilized. Particularly focusing on oral histories from differing cultures and immersing herself in ethnographic fieldwork, Howsare weaves descriptive passages with more introspective commentaries by using poetic and lyrical language. To provide an example of the way Howsare utilized poetics with an analytical commentary: “It seemed to me, in light of all that had happened in this country between people and deer, that we’d forgotten something very important about them: that they have eyes of their own. Where, I wondered, were the deer who look in? If we were to converse with them like the beloveds they once were, what would that sound like?” (93, 2024). As a result, when I read Howsare's text, I felt a spiritual quality toward the delicate and precarious bond between humans and non-human beings that was provided by her perpetual reinstatement of the limits of human consciousness.
Now, to turn back to My Octopus Teacher (2020), what I experienced the third time watching it was a feeling of frustration. The awareness that the film's narrative construction was entirely dependent on the human need to seek some sort of relation in a submerged environment—something that is distinct from bipedal humans' everyday activities—was the source of this overwhelming feeling. The documentary begins with Craig Foster explaining his experience of burnout and a follow-up disconnection with his family members. The movie then follows the footage that Foster captured with his underwater camera in which the very first moment of him meeting the female octopus is captured. As the movie progresses, the wondrous imagery of the underwater environment is presented, and Foster’s heartily story of a curiosity-driven relationship with the female octopus is further explicated. However, the dominance of Foster’s narrative seems to strip away the possible agency in a narrative from an octopus perspective as even the many captures of the octopus’s behaviors and survival strategies, are always interpreted through Foster’s eyes and experiences. This narrative technique that solely relies on human feelings and motivations for the octopus seems to run a risk of anthropomorphizing the octopus instead of allowing the octopus to be perceived as a unique creature with its own unique life and surroundings. Moreover, the fact that My Octopus Teacher was heavily appraised by popular media as an interspecies emotionally-driven relationship indicates how the film's production and release on services like Netflix underscore how commercial variables and environmental storytelling interact. I would dare to say, that the film operates within a capitalist framework that monetizes popularity while simultaneously attracting critical attention to marine conservation. Therefore, it is possible to interpret the film's narrative technique—which tells the story of Foster's private life and his voyage to the undersea realm to meet a ‘friend’—as an attempt to commercialize natural encounters by further integrating the anthropocentric viewpoint at the expense of deeper ecological endeavors.
This being said, my main aim in this short note was to present two different approaches to what could be called borrowing Haraway’s framework of ‘making kin’ with other species. After the third time watching My Octopus Teacher, I decided to be harshly critical, I noticed that my criticism arrived after reading Howsare’s text; which brought me to the comprehension that the film significantly lacks conceptualization of a more profound and analytic understatement of ecosystems when it comes to be-friending other-than-human entities. As Howsare provides a holistic introduction to the deer kin, I am more inclined to acknowledge the intrinsic values of deers and their agency; perhaps because Howsare leans towards the notion of land sacredness and how deers have been celebrated in indigenous communities outside their utility to humans. While My Octopus Teacher this time appeared as if the significance of the octopus is primarily understood in terms of how it affected Foster's emotional recovery and personal development.

By focusing on the portrayal of crittercamera in the TV industry, Haraway is concerned about how the television screen mediation instead of creating an “immediate experience of otherness” (252) as promoted by the crittercam shows, it presents a representation of a video game, in which viewers are invited to adopt to the main protagonist be it human or other-than-human. This kind of framing, as Haraway states, masks the actualities of the critter’s experiences captured by the camera; which debunks them to easily digestible narratives akin to entertainment shows.
Moreover, Haraway argues that the contrast between the enthusiasm hyped around crittercam imagery (for which I fell) and the actual content of the imagery. While the desire to gain 'direct' insights into animal behavior is touted, the reality of such movies is typically monotonous and hard to decipher (ibid.). For this reason, Haraway compares the crittercam footage to the acid trip, proposing that just like during the acid trip, the footage lacks coherence and context.
Nonetheless, as Haraway's writing appears to frequently inscribe the critique and the underlying possibility, Hathaway sees crittercam technology as a tool for widening the area of scientific inquiry that arises from a radical engagement with critters. For this reason, Haraway wants to acknowledge the assemblage of researchers, technologists, and critters as a collaborative means of utilizing crittercams to investigate historically unsolved ecological questions. In this stance, it seems that Haraway continues to offer an epistemological paradigm shift when it comes to the dynamics of human-animal-technology relationships in contemporary naturecultures.
In my own stance, I see crittercams as already outdated technology, which already failed trying to be non-interfering, or invasive. As with many cases when the camera is treated as an extension of the human eye, it tends to overlook the falsity of immediacy. When it comes to the technological involvement when connecting-with other species, and when it tends to mask mediated connection, I turn to Bolter and Grusin’s (1999) theory on immediacy, in which they have stated that immediacy conceals the presence of the medium, making it difficult to see how technology impact our perceptions and experiences.

Regarding this lengthy note, which I feel came via my writing-hands as a result of my zest for moving imagine matters, I continue to wonder how to form relationships with non-human critters through technological mediation.

What are the ethical implications of My Octopus Teacher?

Is the friendship between the diver and the octopus lady, as portrayed in the movie, would have been more empathy-driven if the camera was not involved?

How do the notions of care and slowness are present in the movie?

The first time I watched "My Octopus Teacher" was with my father, who has always shared his passion for the ocean, sailing, and exploring the aquatic world with me. Growing up, he introduced me to scuba diving and sailing, which I cherished and mastered throughout my upbringing. This personal connection is crucial to acknowledge, as it frames my relationship with the movie and reminds me of dear experiences and relationships.
This emotional connection deeply informs my approach to the theme we are analyzing now—animals—but it could also potentially cloud my judgment and knowledge. I have discordant views on the documentary: one side is shaped by emotions, the other by previous knowledge, anti-speciesism, and notions of care that I have embraced through our dialogues and exercises.
The documentary's beautiful imagery offers a mesmerizing window into the aquatic world, inviting viewers to immerse themselves fully. In these scenes, I perceive a profound sense of slowness, not only through the visuals but also in Craig Foster's deliberate approach to the environment. Despite his presence inevitably interfering with the natural habitat, Foster embodies a slowness that aligns with the pace of the habitat and its inhabitants.
My emotional response to the film is heightened by childhood experiences. I recall asking my father about the enormous scar on his back from an accident with a motorcycle when he was young. He used to tell a tale about a mystical octopus that abducted him and left him with a scar after an intense battle. The symbolism of the octopus strengthens my personal connection to this movie.
Thus, while I admire the documentary's imaginative thinking and representation of empathy and connection, I am also conscious of how my personal experiences and emotions influence my perspective. This mix of emotional resonance and analytical thought increases my learning, but also serves as a warning to stay cognizant of how profoundly personal connections might influence interpretations.

To further address your questions:
The documentary presents several ethical implications. One of the first criticisms I developed when watching the movie for the first time is that Foster overly centered the narrative on himself by anthropomorphizing the octopus. While this approach allows the audience to relate to the story and develop affection, it can also reinforce a divide between human and other-than-human species. Furthermore, Foster’s intrusion into the natural environment is controversial. Regarding your second question about the use of a camera, this raises important issues in vegan activism discussions I participated in: How can we obtain consent from an other-than-human species? Is the camera an element that promotes performativity?
While it is unlikely that we can obtain consent from animals as we define it within human communities, I believe we can strive to be less invasive. By doing so, we create space for species to experience their environment and approach elements (and potentially us) at their own pace.
When using cameras, a level of performativity is inevitable when humans are involved. Foster’s behavior would have been different, even if only slightly, had he not filmed his interactions with the octopus. While diving with her, I imagine he likely already crafted a narrative on how to tell the story. Thus, although I believe their relationship was genuinely strengthened by empathy, love, and care, it was also influenced by Foster’s ego and eagerness to share his story in interconnection with the octopus’ life.

I had the pleasure of meeting with Alica to discuss her relationship with her dog Šaky, but our conversation quickly veered into a fascinating exploration of veganism and our relationships with non-human species. Alica recounted how, around the age of eight or nine, she began to realize that meat was, in fact, animals. This revelation horrified her, as she couldn't reconcile the idea of eating beings that looked so much like her beloved dog. The notion that humans could consume creatures that were recently alive was deeply disturbing to her. By the time she was thirteen, she was allowed to stop eating meat, and six years ago, she embraced a fully vegan lifestyle.
When Alica met Šaky, she was working in social work in Slovakia. She recognized her own privilege as a human within the system and felt compelled to extend her care to an animal less advantaged by the same system. She told me, "I don't see myself as the owner of my dog; I see myself as his friend. It's all about communication. I try to understand his body language and his needs. For instance, when he wants to go for a walk, he starts biting me."
Alica faces criticism from other dog owners who believe Šaky should be more well-trained. However, she disagrees, valuing Šaky’s agency and his natural approach to the world without human-imposed constraints. Language, both human and canine, came up frequently in our discussion. When I asked her to define her friendship with Šaky, she explained that Šaky probably put more effort into adapting to her lifestyle, being continuously subjected to human stimuli, while she is less immersed in the dog world. Today, she feels their friendship is balanced, and she makes an effort to understand his communication, especially during play. She even mimics his barks and growls while playing on the ground.
Our conversation also delved into the realm of Niche’s aesthetics and its connection to anti-speciesism. We discussed how non-human creatures should not be placed in a hierarchy, regardless of how much they do or do not resemble us, emphasizing the importance of recognizing their intrinsic value beyond human-centered perspectives.
The relationship between Alica and Šaky is a dance of mutual observation and understanding, communicated primarily through body language and sounds. This reminded us of the story of the Little Prince and his interaction with the fox, where the prince and the fox slowly build trust and move closer together each day, forging a meaningful connection based on reciprocity. This gradual process of forming a bond echoes Alica's approach to her friendship with Šaky, highlighting the importance of mutual respect and understanding between human and other-than human species.

The first time i was introduced to Annie Sprinkle’s artistic, environmental activist, and feminist works was in 2019 when i by accident found documentation of her wedding ceremony to Earth on a YouTube channel. At that time i was a fourth-year fine art student slowly entering the realms of performance art and feeling a sense of belonging to the natural fields; as those represented my home country. During the first COVID-19 wave, i had an overwhelming need for someone to love in 2020. Yet, the fear of the unknown virus spreading around the globe made it impossible to connect with people, more so –strangers. Therefore, a day before my birthday, i decided to cycle outside the city searching for empty fields. After cycling for over 40 minutes south, i ended up in a desolate area; there were no houses, no passers, and no wild animals. It was utterly empty, as if the pandemic not only locked us inside but the whole world felt abandoned. I decided that this was a perfect spot to instigate a performative act for myself to reconnect with nature and my body. With hands shaking i took out my camcorder, placed it on a tripod, and pressed record. Then walked into the field and laid down, embracing grass, little daisies, and mini critters that appeared once i intervened in the stillness of that space. According to the video documentation, i laid and enjoyed nature and my own company for 30 minutes. This ended up being one of my first performance pieces for nature and a subtle critique on the male gaze; as i called the piece "A Hysterical behavior in a state of isolation; or LandArt; or Ecosexuality".

The Little Prince: Dialogue between the Prince and the Fox
"One only understands the things that one tames," said the fox. "Men have no more time to understand anything. They buy things all ready made at the shops. But there is no shop anywhere where one can buy friendship, and so men have no friends any more. If you want a friend, tame me . . ."
"What must I do, to tame you?" asked the little prince.
"You must be very patient," replied the fox. "First you will sit down at a little distance from me--like that--in the grass. I shall look at you out of the corner of my eye, and you will say nothing. Words are the source of misunderstandings. But you will sit a little closer to me, every day . . ."

When I read Vincent's chapters, I thought about my own mother. She has always had a strong relationship with nature and is extremely passionate about gardening. I have memories of myself as a child in the garden, sitting on the wet grass and watching my mom get dirty with the soil. I always see her smiling, and her way of talking is extremely calm, almost as if she could leave behind everything that worries her just to focus on the bodily sensations that touching the soil gives her. I then decided to call my mom and asked her to take some pictures of her plants and flowers and tell me a bit more about her approach to gardening. Her voice filled with passion as she told me about the numerous plants she had grown over the years. She talked enthusiastically about the several sorts of flowers growing in her garden and she described how she meticulously picks each plant.

The figure of the Empress in tarot cards, as introduced at the beginning of the book, immediately conjured an image of abundance for me. The Empress embodies serenity, prosperity, and is the epitome of femininity and womanhood. She evokes the essence of Venus and the divine feminine, calling to mind themes of spring and rebirth, and the nurturing qualities of earth and soil. The archetype of the mother also emerges when contemplating the Empress, and the author notes that many women she conversed with frequently invoked the terms “mother” and “mum” (Vincent 2023, 2).
The author weaves a narrative of women who garden, delving into their profound relationship with the earth. Her earnest quest to understand the reasons behind women's deep connection to the natural world resonated with me, drawing me emotionally into the text. This exploration highlights the dual nature of “sensing”: on one hand, sensing is a tangible, physical experience, while on the other, it is transcendental and intertwined with inner feelings.
Sensing with the body involves touching the soil, feeling it with one's hands, getting dirty, and nurturing the earth. Feeling with the body, however, means connecting deeply with the elements, allowing them to evoke memories and emotions. This duality enriches the narrative, offering a nuanced understanding of women's experiences and interactions with nature.
Additionally, interconnectedness is a recurring theme that continually emerges, much like the past themes we explored, such as care, slowness, and animals. Alice Vincent captures this interconnectedness by highlighting the patterns and threads she observed in the diverse stories shared by different women. Here, sensing becomes an innate quality, perhaps long lost or obscured by external distractions and stimuli, that disconnects us from the earth and the natural realm.
This notion brings to mind the concept of collective consciousness. Collective consciousness in this context implies that these sensory links to the planet are not purely personal, but rather part of a wider, shared experience. It indicates that the way we interact with nature, and with one another through nature, is ingrained in our shared consciousness. Reconnecting with these innate qualities and recognizing our shared experiences fosters a deeper, more harmonious relationship with the natural world and each other.

Sensing through Care
Women's attitudes on gardening have moved from emphasizing the development of complex and planned gardens to a more personal and practical approach (Vincent 2023, 10). Women have been drawn to growing and rehabilitating abandoned landscapes, resulting in unanticipated shifts in traditional gardening standards. This break from norm is analogous to the powerful energy that drives women to reject conventional expectations (Ibid 2023, 2).

“Even when my legs can't support me, putting my hands in the soil gives me a sense of liberation. When my father passed away, his garden was neglected. To cope with the loss, I started pulling weeds and just kept going. I immediately felt that being in contact with the earth, touching it with my hands, and getting dirty gave me a sense of empowerment and freedom. Even now, visiting nurseries and gardening is a way for me to find peace. Plants and flowers give me wonderful feelings. Taking care of plants it's a way to transcend everyday worries and connect deeply with nature. It's about forming a kinship with the earth, where the act of tending to plants and flowers brings a sense of peace and fulfillment. This connection with nature allows me to transcend who I am and what I face ”

“perseverance is crucial in tending to a garden but it is also overlooked” (32) & “a refusal to let go or give up” (Vincent 2023)

As well as i have decided to share my late grandmother's summer house garden & its gifts which she cherished literally till her last breath; just before she left us, she was brewing apple jam from the apple trees that still graciously stand in the garden.

Since my grandmother abruptly passed away in the fall of 2022, my father and I have been tasked with continuing her legacy in the summer garden. More so, now we also take care of her resting garden.

If you are wondering why I am sharing these memories of the family with you, part of the reason has to do with Alice Vincent's book, specifically chapter Enfield, where Vincent explores the close relationship between life events and gardening, with a particular emphasis on how women benefit from gardening as a coping mechanism for grief. As I read this chapter, all I could think of was my late grandmother, who had a strong connection to gardening and did it for the majority of her life. She left me and my father with this connection as a legacy to carry on her creativity of the relationship between hands and soil.

When I think of gardening, I feel my mother’s presence with me

I pasted some reflections on my mother and her relationship with gardening into my part on Vincent’s chapters before even reading your response. How interesting to see that my mom’s memories of gardening are closely linked to her father’s passing, and how that brought her closer to him. She often mentioned that taking care of his garden was a way to avoid neglecting his memory. I find this so powerful!
I loved reading about you and your father taking care of your grandmother’s garden, and to be honest, I felt really emotional. When I think of my mother, I think of nature. I think of her hands getting dirty, the excitement in her eyes when she buys new seeds or plants, the seriousness in her voice when she describes the different types of soil and lighting needed for particular plants and flowers.

Ecosexuality: The story of our love with the Earth.
Ecopoiesis: Eco-Human Theory and Practice,
Sprinkle, A., and Stephens, B (2021)

Is it possible to encourage more profound commitment to the environment through the expressive union of love and ecological activism?

Do you think that this concept of ecosexuality could deepen our knowledge of the relationship between humans and the environment? How does this align with your personal beliefs of these subjects?

Re-wilding Academic Bodies

about this website:

This website is a retrospective collage of two young academics' environmental humanities endeavours, who chose as their mode of approach to walk, listen, and sense the topics of interspecies relationality, soil-time, and modalities of caring. Following the notion of every-thing being interconnected in a non-linear mesh, the website was purposely created in a map-like structure.

the website is structured into three primary vertical sections: sensing, animals, and slowness. In these sections, the themes were approached creatively, stemming from image exchanges, poetry, and personal diary entries.
There is also a horizontal section where these three themes were shared and made more tangible in a creative workshop.

Who are we?
We are two friends and colleagues in the academy who have come together, driven by similar ways of thinking and being. For both of us, matters concerning the environment and planetary futures are something that has been foregrounded in our academic and everyday lives.
For the last five months, we have been exchanging our knowledge and experiences regarding ways of living attuned to ecological thought; which promotes the notion that no being, construct, or object can exist independently from the ecological entanglement.

Workshop on Environmental Sensing Using Clay and Found Organic Materials

Dialogue exchange on on slowness, animals, and sensing

The workshop, designed to enhance our sensory perception of the environment, brought together seven participants for an immersive experience. Rooted in the principles of environmental humanities, the workshop aimed to deepen our connection with nature by engaging directly with its elements. Our main impetus for creating a workshop was to open up our research to a wider audience and encourage a more sympathetic and sustainable relationship with nature. More so, as we positioned ourselves within academic settings, it was of our utmost importance to seek ways to move away from static, text-based knowledge—which is prevalent in academic settings—to more embodied knowledge production.

A Brief Report On The Workshop:

On the 30th of April, we sent invitations to 20 people who, in one way or another, work/think along the lines of ecological thought and, in different ways, aim to foster environmental receptivity.
First, the workshop had to be held at the natural reservoir De Onlanden on June 8. This reservoir is the lowest point in the province of Groningen, where all the excess water is stored. De Onlanden is renowned for its marshes and wildlife, home to foxes, deer, otters, and white-tailed eagles.
Unfortunately, the workshop had to be postponed to June 21st due to unfavorable weather circumstances. On the actual day, we changed the location at the last minute to the city's inner park, Noorderplantsoen, in the hopes of avoiding getting soaked in the middle of the marshlands far from our homes, as the weather forecast was again indicating heavy rain.
On the day itself, at 18:00, we gathered at the entrance of the Noorderplantosen Park. There were eight people present.
From there on, we slowly walked through the park area, picking leaves, wild flower buds, little stones, feathers, soil, branches, etc.
Each object was then placed in the ‘mystery box’.
Unfortunately, the weather was not on our side, as it started raining heavily. Luckily, one of the participants invited all of us to proceed with the workshop in their house as it was stones-throw from the park).
After arriving at the participants house, we all gathered around the table.
The ‘mystery box’ filled with organic objects was placed on the table.
Each participant was then given a piece of clay.
We started by carefully exploring the texture and softness of the clay in our hands. Next, we moved in a circle, and each person took an object out of the ‘mystery box’ while keeping their eyes closed.
Following the selection of the object, each participant proceeded to articulate the texture, scent, and allusions related to the selected object that they sensed in their hands.
After becoming familiar with the object through sensorial perception, the participants were asked to imprint the object into clay, as a way of writing-with-nature.
Participants talked about their experiences related to the questions of what nature is, how we view nature, and how we belong to nature during the imprinting process.
Some of the words that were mentioned during the conversation were written on the paper sheets that were placed on the table.
The workshop took over two and a half hours.

As with our ongoing study on the themes revolving around the framework of environmental humanities, the workshop's practical activities aimed to highlight the interconnectedness of all living things and develop a more extensive, personal understanding of the environment. We therefore wanted to design a workshop that would encourage a more immersed and dynamic educational setting, promoting not only mental comprehension but also affective and perceptual links to the natural world.

Our discussions during the workshop caused us to reevaluate the dichotomy between nature and culture. A participant made the observation that this duality can be used interchangeably, resulting in the idea that nature is culture and culture is nature. Regarding this, we all concluded that the understanding of this contradiction stems from our Western perspective, which we all felt has cut off humans from the natural world. Furthermore, another participant mentioned that creativity is crucial in addressing ecological crises since it enables us to situate ourselves in a more embodied and embedded manner while thinking about the environment.
Another component of our conversation included the notion of non-Western perspectives and Indigenous knowledges. We collectively agreed that these perspectives, which are in contrast to the Western inclination that views humans as distinct from or superior to nature, tend to put an emphasis on harmony and interdependence. Moreover, we realized that with this approach, ecological challenges are capable of being engaged in a deeper and more varied way, fostering recognition of other ways of knowing and being in our natural world.

For this exchange, we continued to apply our unconventional lens and proceeded to diverge from the standardized approach of academic institutions. As this is our second time creating a dialogue exchange, we found that such a writing method fosters us to look into our close environments and reflect on our positionalities as human beings who are at times disconnected from the naturecultures, and in extreme cases –morals & ethics. This dialogue exchange was written during the University of Groningen encampment in regard to pro-Palestinian solidarity which has impacted both of our visions of the educational institutions. Thus, our care-driven words that are present in this document hope to be reflected not only within the environmental discourse on animals but also, to be taken as an example of the possibilities of knowledge exchange when such practices are driven by radical care, transparent honesty, and empathy.

We chose to delve into the concept of slowness through an unconventional lens, diverging from the standardized approach often seen in academia. Our objective in this exercise was to foster an ongoing dialogue surrounding the theme of slowness, centering our discussions around scholarly texts that explored notions of care, walking, and weaving in relation to the environment. Rather than adhering to a predetermined structure, we opted to engage with these themes organically, generating reflections and contributing through various mediums such as images, videos, or textual games inspired by one another's contributions.

these dialogues on slowness, animals, and sensing were informed and inspired by the selection of books and texts that in some way or another contribute to the discourse on environmental humanities

The Dragonfly Will Be The Messiah begins with Fukuoka’s illumination of his personal experience that took place during his early adolescence. Such an opening of a book perchance is not a surprise, taking into account that the means of The Dragonfly Will Be The Messiah is a call-out for what Fukuoka calls do-nothing farming. In order for Fukuoka to clarify what do-nothing farming indicates, storytelling becomes essential. I take Fukuoka’s book as a story of a journey towards the embodiment of living-with, while asking myself how the notion of care is weaved in this particular story.

To begin with, Fukuoka employs aspects of autobiography, humbly telling a story of his life where the self-reflection is directed to the relationship with nature. What particularly interested me was the author's crisis of no longer grasping the means of human existence, after he had suffered from acute pneumonia and had witnessed the Second World War. It could be said, that the urgency for harmony created a space for the author to perceive the environment in a more holistic sense. To elaborate, such comprehension of harmony derives from a deep-rooted Eastern knowledge of non-duality, so to say, the acknowledgment where self and other, or subject and object is taken as illusionary. Meaning, that the recognition of all things interconnectedness is cultivated through the consciousness of a non-dual state. Fukuoka employs such means by weaving a story from a dualistic mindset to a transcending sense of kinship with ecosystems. This way, the aspect of care is taken as a mindset of receptive awareness.

Another factor that the book presents when thinking about care, is the proposal for an alternative. Fukuoka draws the comparison between industrial agriculture and its effects on the environment to the unexpectedness and complexity of nature; by exemplifying the pitfalls of human-centric farming, that of subjugating nature rather than collaborating with it. The proposal for an alternative that Fukuoka calls do-nothing farming recognizes the agency nature has for itself, for which the aspect of care is realized by allowing nature to take its course while being present in its changes. To elaborate, for Fukuoka it is not the means of abandoning nature but rather taking nature as a teacher that teaches rhythms of seasons, the complexities of resilience, and cycles of growth, regeneration, and entropy. This kind of caring as proposed through alternative methods further explicates Fukuoka’s call for reevaluation of the human-nature relationship.

Lastly, the concept of the sacredness of nature seems to be a focal point for Fukuoka, as he repositions the human-nature relationship not only as equal but rather gives nature respect for its timelessness and wisdom, as Fukuoka writes: “The world before me was the true form of nature, and the only deity I would ever worship” (3). Such an approach weaves the whole book into a coherent whole, it is visible that the author's stance derives from embodied knowledge that was acquired through years of learning from nature, with nature, for nature.

The central aspect that was weaved throughout the book is the notion of reciprocity, as a means of creating an honorable attitude not only for human-to-human but as well as human-nature relationships. To reinstate her argumentation, Kimmerer elucidates Potawatomi traditions that allowed the knowledge to be transmitted from generation to generation, a long teaching way that stood resilient. This way, acts of reciprocity have embodied a sense of kinship that led to the action of care as something deeply ingrained in living-with more-than-human-worlds.

Moreover, the notion of care as a fundamental aspect of relationships was enticed through Kimmerer’s storytelling on empathy and appreciation as acts of participatory engagement with the land. More particularly, in the chapters The Council of Pecans and The Gift of Strawberries the notion of care towards natural environments is presented by culminating awareness on how plants are considered gifts from the land. For this, Kimmerer brings back the Potawatomi teachings that taught her how the first batch of fruits, in this case strawberries, were always left unharvested as offerings back to Earth’s gifts. As well as, in the story of pecan trees, Kimmerer exemplifies the aspect of empathy by situating humans amongst other ecosystems. So to say, when pecan trees grow they offer a generous bounty that can be shared amongst humans and wildlife. That being said, I have found myself particularly drawn to the writings of Kimmerer as the book brought back the teachings of my great-grandmothers.

I have observed that throughout the book, each concept comes with its opposite side. Initially, this might seem like a limiting perspective on the world, yet I was surprised to find it deeply resonating with my own understanding. As the author explores themes of gratitude and care, it becomes evident that these virtues also highlight the existence of destruction, a lack of appreciation (and consequently, understanding), neglect, or even worse, indifference.
However, drawing from her native cultural background, the author explains that while nature is indeed generous and offers gifts, such as strawberries, memory plays a significant role. This is particularly noticeable in the "The Gift of Strawberries" chapter, where the author reminisces about her upbringing and her profound connection with strawberries. The importance of memory implies a strong emotional component in the language and descriptions used.
Through this narrative, themes of kindness and gratitude emerge prominently as the author expresses her amazement upon encountering gifts from nature, like stumbling upon wild strawberries in the field. She accurately states, "The field gifted me berries, and the human gift is time, attention, and care" (Kimmerer 2013, 25). This quote establishes a reciprocal relationship, emphasizing the importance of caring for future generations as well. Thus, alongside receiving gifts, it's crucial that we nurture care.
Similarly, in the “Allegiance of Gratitude” chapter, the author explores the Thanksgiving Address tradition within the Potawatomi heritage, where people express gratitude towards everything in nature that sustains them (Kimmerer 2013, 110). The author highlights, “You cannot listen to the Thanksgiving Address without feeling wealthy,” and underscores that while expressing gratitude may seem simple, it's actually a revolutionary idea (Kimmerer 2013, 111). The message is profound: through care, we can convey our gratitude to nature, animals, and the earth, establishing reciprocity as a fundamental principle underlying every relationship.
Likewise, in the video “Untrashing Djulpan,” produced by the organization Sea Shepherd, the Dhimurru native community demonstrates care by organizing periodic cleaning missions in the North East Arnhem Land area. Their care extends beyond just cleaning the beach; they also consider the well-being of future generations, the broader ecosystem, and specifically, turtles nesting in the area. Despite the fact that the debris also impacts the lives of the Dhimurru community, it's noteworthy that their mission is not solely human-centered.
Reading Braiding Sweetgrass enlightened me to the understanding that “care” is about the collective rather than individual needs and desires. Care is cultivated through embodying the various interconnected webs that exist between different realms on earth. While this idea might appear utopian, as it conveys a harmonious and abstract perception, distancing ourselves from the capitalist mindset of destruction and learning from indigenous populations could profoundly transform and enhance our approach to the global crisis.

In De La Bellacasa’s text, the author delves into the notion of care as a pivotal aspect deserving greater attention. Drawing upon Haraway’s concepts such as situated knowledge and relational ontology, De La Bellacasa seeks to explore the significance of thinking with care. For example, she asserts, “The heart of the doing is in the how we care rather than the intention or disposition to be caring”, indicating a call for proactive engagement when approaching matters with care (p.85). In essence, the true essence of "caring" lies in the actions of care.
Although I read “Thinking with Care” prior to engaging with the other texts reflected upon here, I found myself initially drafting reflections on the latter two, leaving De La Bellacasa’s piece for last. What became apparent to me is that, despite "Thinking with Care" being the sole text to prominently feature the keyword “care”, I felt somewhat detached from it. While “The Dragonfly Will be the Messiah” and “Braiding Sweetgrass” resonated with an immediate connection to the emotional realm, “Thinking with Care” appeared somewhat abstract, lacking direct applicability to addressing environmental crises or fostering awareness. To clarify, I appreciated the academic discourse and the value of the incorporation of Haraway’s concepts; therefore, it was surprising to find myself less engaged with this text, despite having previously encountered it. Perphans this indicates a surprising evolution in my academic approach, underscored by a newfound recognition of the significance of care, signified by my use of the term “emotions” in both the present and subsequent reflections.
However, I agree with the author's assertion that the absence of care implies carelessness (p.70). Her explanation of care emphasizes that it is not inherent; rather, we must actively cultivate and nurture care until it becomes internalized within us. This prompted me to contemplate further on the texts discussed in following reflections, where themes of care and gratitude are consistently intertwined. Returning to the notion of “how we care,” I propose that the concept of gratitude should be viewed as an essential component of caring action. By practicing gratitude, we can authentically demonstrate the sincerity underlying our acts of care.

Bibliography:

Books and Book Chapters:

Duffy, Michelle, Kaya Barry, Caroline Scarles, Peter Varley, and Michele Lobo. "A Conversation Through Listening to Everyday Walks." In
Art and Creativity in an Era of Ecocide: Embodiment, Performance and Practice, edited by Anna Pigott, Owain Jones, and Ben Parry, 25–42. London: Bloomsbury Visual Arts, 2023. Accessed June 5, 2024. http://dx.doi.org/10.5040/9781350237261.ch-001.
Haraway, Donna. 2016. "Playing String Figures with Companion Species." In Staying with the Trouble: Making Kin in the Chthulucene, 9-29. Durham: Duke University Press.
Haraway, Donna. 2013. When Species Meet. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press.
Higgins, Dick, Steven Clay, and Ken Friedman. 2018. Intermedia, Fluxus and the Something Else Press: Selected Writings by Dick Higgins. Selected Writings By Dick Higgins Catskill, New York: Siglio.
Howsare, Erika. 2024. "Chapter 5: Kinfolk." In The Age of Deer, 86-99. London: Icon Books.
Kimmerer, Robin Wall. 2013. Braiding Sweetgrass: Indigenous Wisdom, Scientific Knowledge and the Teachings of Plants. Minneapolis: Milkweed Editions.
Merleau-Ponty, Maurice. 1996. Phenomenology of Perception. Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass.
Morton, Timothy. 2022. The Ecological Thought. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.
Pigott, Anna. 2023. "Willow, Weaving, Worlding, and Politics of Change." In Art and Creativity in an Era of Ecocide, 99-116. London: Bloomsbury Publishing. https://ebookcentral.proquest.com/lib/rug/reader.action?docID=7272998&ppg=112.
Puig de la Bellacasa, María. 2017a. "Five Soil Times: The Pace of Ecological Care." In Matters of Care: Speculative Ethics in More than Human Worlds, 169-216. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. https://www-jstor-org.proxy-ub.rug.nl/stable/10.5749/j.ctt1mmfspt.5.
Puig de la Bellacasa, María. 2017b. "Thinking with Care." In Matters of Care: Speculative Ethics in More than Human Worlds, 69-94. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. https://www-jstor-org.proxy-ub.rug.nl/stable/10.5749/j.ctt1mmfspt.5.
Vincent, Alice. 2023. Why Women Grow: Stories of Soil, Sisterhood and Survival. Edinburgh: Canongate Books. https://public.ebookcentral.proquest.com/choice/PublicFullRecord.aspx?p=7088405.
Solnit, Rebecca. 2001. Wanderlust: A History of Walking. New York, N.Y., U.S.A.: Penguin Books.

Journal Articles:

Ingold, Tim. 2010. "Footprints Through the Weather-World: Walking, Breathing, Knowing." The Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute 16: S121–39. http://www.jstor.org/stable/40606068.
Maracle, Lee. 2013. "I’m Home Again." Mānoa 25 (1): 17-20.
Sprinkle, Annie, and Beth Stephens. 2021. "Ecosexuality: The Story of Our Love with the Earth." Ecopoiesis: Eco-Human Theory and Practice 2 (1). http://en.ecopoiesis.ru.

Films/Documentaries:

Ereira, Alan, dir. 2012. Aluna - an Ecological Warning by the Kogi People. United Kingdom, Colombia: Sunstone Films. https://www.alunathemovie.com/watch-aluna.
Kossakovsky, Viktor, dir. 2020. Gunda. Sant & Usant.
Reed, James, and Pippa Ehrlich, dirs. 2020. My Octopus Teacher. Off the Fence Production.

Youtube Videos:

National Geographic. 2017. "Kids Take Action Against Ocean Plastic | Short Film Showcase." YouTube video, February 21, 2017. https://youtu.be/hKFV9IquMXA?si=EQT2ixHzGA1wKI1p.
Seashepherd. 2019a. "Help Us Protect Cabo Verde’s Sea Turtles." YouTube video, September 23, 2019. https://youtu.be/ucYlHkVV2-I.
Seashepherd. 2019b. "Untrashing Djulpan." YouTube video, October 3, 2019. https://youtu.be/uZLWfoHhf0M?si=r7hGUgYfu-EKufne.

Artworks:

Francis Alys, Albert’s Way, Mexico City, Mexico, 2014; 4:48 min, In collaboration with Félix Blume and Julien Devaux, https://francisalys.com/alberts-way/
George Brecht, Direction, 1962, typewriter on paper, MoMa, The Gilbert and Lila Silverman Fluxus Collection Gift, NY, USA