What’s Next?

How about a working title for this project?  Something that will indicate what I’m actually planning to write about . . .

Planning a Project

One of my favorite moments in the film Office Space is a scene that takes place in a corporate conference room. What I love about this scene isn’t what’s said or done, but what’s on the wall: a white board with satirically bureaucratic flowchart and the title “Planning to Plan.”

Cracks me up every time. During my corporate communication days I spent months in meetings planning plans, flowcharting plans for plans, composing employee manuals about flowcharting plans for plans, drinking from coffee mugs emblazoned with flowcharts of plans.

But I escaped all that and came to academe, where we’re far more efficient and much less silly.

To prove it, I’ll make a break in my blog narrative, where I’ve been musing about my rhetoric of nature project for several weeks, and get down to the business of choosing JUST ONE CONCRETE WRITING PROJECT I can start right now to ensure I actually produce something sooner rather than later.

It’s important to note that my thinking and learning and writing about this general subject will continue, and I’m hoping to continue following random trails (such as podcasts about elephant artists) for a long while yet, but I won’t wait any longer to declare a specific writing task.

And I think it would be sensible to return to that list I made a while back, of the “Research Project as a Design Problem” to see what kinds of things need clarification. Here’s that list:

• a client or audience
• stakeholders (people who care about or are affected by the outcome of the project, which includes the creative team but might also include, e.g., an endangered species of fish or the commuter population of the Dallas-Fort Worth metroplex or the faculty of the Pre-Med program)
• a basic goal to be achieved
• time constraints
• material constraints (which could include the budget for purchasing materials as well as many other things–marshmallows might be a great foundation for a temporary sculpture but less ideal as the foundation of a skyscraper or hardcover manuscript)
• components (the stuff you end up working with)
• relationships between the constraints and components and client and stakeholders
• a craft or method (a dominant form of expertise that’s being called upon to complete the project–so, e.g., although your deep knowledge of cake decorating and agribusiness might in some ways inform your approach to the problem in this particular case you’re being called upon for your expertise as an architect)
• technologies (systems of knowledge, materials, and processes that you’ll draw upon as you do your work; e.g., the pencil, the Internet, the English language)

OK, let’s see where I can go with that as my template:

• Audience: Who cares about this stuff I’ve been writing about? Everyone. No one. Something in between, eh?  (And we’ll just assume I come up with something coherent to say eventually.) Well for sure one possible audience for my writing would be those who share my interest in preserving nature and learning to live in harmony with the natural world, learning from it, doing our best to engage it in ways that enrich our lives and hopefully inspire others to do the same. So who are those people? Locally, they’d include the people I see at the lakes and on the Oklahoma River and at the food coop or farmer’s market; some of them are members of organizations such as the Sierra Club and the Audobon Society and Sustainable OKC. How might I reach that audience? An editorial in the Gazette maybe, or commentary on a local public radio station, or how about an article for one of their newsletters or blogs?
• Stakeholders: If I get all kumayesque I’ll say EVERYONE because the natural world matters to everyone. But realistically, right at the moment, the kind of writing I’m likely to do is really just something that will at best be informative and interesting to people who already share my point of view. I’m an explorer in this subject, not an expert. I’m really just someone using writing to learn more about a subject and want to share some of what I’m learning with others who might perhaps over time respond in some way, create a dialogue perhaps, to help me (and them?) continue to learn. But to be specific for now I’ll say the stakeholders for this project are basically the same people as the audience with this exception: I am a major stakeholder of this piece of writing because this experience is really important to me. One of my personal commitments is to be more of a “public writer”: someone who writes in ways that will help me join some of the larger conversations happening in my community. Also, because I’m a teacher choosing to do this whole project as a case study for my students, I have a lot invested in it–one way or another I need to develop a text that will illustrate some of the things we’re studying in class, “warts and all.”
• A Goal: I touched on some goals above, but here are two specific goals. First, a personal goal: I’d like this text to be something short and fun to write that will help me learn about my subject and also help me see whether this kind of research and writing might be worthy of a larger project–a series of essays, perhaps. Second, for my audience I’d like the text to be something that enriches their lives in some small way, giving them information or ideas of interest. If the text is published in a newsletter or blog I’d like it to contribute a distinctive perspective or subtopic that isn’t already being covered by their other contributors. After all, if I just say things that sound like everyone else I’m not really “enriching” their conversations but simply repeating or reinforcing them.
• Time constraints: I need a deadline! I’d for sure like to have this thing done before the fall semester begins so I can share it with my students. So let’s make the deadline the day of matriculation: August 19, 2009. But here again I need to be more specific: what needs to be done by August 19? The text published? A first draft of the text? Publishing schedules are in the hands of the editors, so let’s say that by August 1 I’ll have completed the text and sent it to an editor. The editor might reject it, or she might ask me to revise and resubmit it for future consideration. If so, I’ll have a couple of weeks to complete a revision or maybe even write something else from scratch.
• Material constraints: If I were to compose this text as an audio commentary for the radio I’d have a number of technical issues to consider: I’ve only experimented a bit with audio editing and podcasting so I’d need more time, practice, and skill to get a high-quality recording after completing the text. Also, audio commentaries have time-limits and other requirements set by the broadcaster. Although I’d really love to try a radio commentary I think for right now I’ll choose a genre with very few material constraints: a blog article. Those can be any length acceptable by the blog editor (print newsletters tend to have more space restrictions and the additional factor of layout and design considerations), so by going with a blog I’m more likely to be able to generate something that matches the basic format of the existing contributors. Also, with a blog text I can include links to additional resources. I’ll need the contact information for the blog editor. I have lots of access to research sources and so forth. My laptop is working. My main constraint right now is probably the fact that I have family visiting me, which will take some time and concentration away from the project. Also, my dogs bark a lot and my terrier really likes to play ball so those things are interruptions I’ll need to manage.
• Components: Well I’m not building a bridge here, just a digital article of some sort. Off the top of my head the main components are: ideas, information, a computer, reference materials, someone’s weblog, maybe a cool digital image to accompany the article, and my sentences. If I create the image myself, I might need a camera and photo-editing software, or maybe some drawing software. If I borrow an image created by someone else I’ll need their permission to modify, reproduce, or publish it.
• Relationships between the constraints and components and client and stakeholder: Heh. This is one of those moments when I, as a teacher, see how I just made this harder for myself. It’s one of those critical thinking moments I’ve integrated into the project. Well, OK then, here’s at least one consideration regarding those relationships: I need to be sure that whatever I write does a proper job of representing and advancing the purpose of the organization in charge of the blog (because when you publish something as a guest editor your words are in various ways perceived by readers as “speaking for” that organization or at least communicating in ways that are respected or valued by that organization). Many organizations welcome alternative viewpoints as a way to promote open dialogue, but it’s important to understand the editorial policy of the publication as well as its mission and to be mindful of the organization’s purpose for publishing your words. The text should be worthwhile to readers and sensitive to its context. I could come up with more ways to explore the interrelatedness of audience, stakeholder, constraints, and so forth, but I think I’ll stop here so I can get to the last two items on my long list!
• Craft or method(s): I’ll use the craft of writing, in an article or essay genre that matches those used in the blog, and I’ll include and image and links to illustrate and extend the content of the text. Some behind-the-scenes methods I’ll use will include research (online and through print publications and possibly also an interview or two) and a close reading of a couple blogs in this subject area to be sure I choose the right one to submit the piece and also to understand how my text fits within the larger public/blog conversations regarding my topic.
• Technologies: Phew! We made it to the last item, which by now seems very easy: I need a computer with Web access, the English language, a Creative Commons license for my text, software for text and image work, and central air conditioning. (We could get into a Walter Ongian or Cynthia Selfeian discussion about other technological dimensions of this work but let’s not for now. Instead, let’s go feed the dogs and feel good about having a basic plan for the project 🙂

If this blog is about rhetoric and nature why do I keep mentioning art?

You might say it’s because rhetoric is an art and because art is rhetorical and because nature is both (to my way of thinking).

Or you might say it’s because the inescapable underlying theme of my work here is composition: the way things are made and how they appear and what they say.

Additionally, though, I believe that working with things–manipulating things (physically or digitally), spending time getting to know them in different contexts–helps us know them better. And at some level (as Emerson said) as soon as we move from interacting with something to changing it we’re doing “art.” Whether it’s “good” or “serious” art is irrelevant. We’re integrating it into our lives in a new way, making it an extension of ourselves, our curiosity, our vision, our understanding of what is and might be.

This line of reasoning works fairly well when we think about something like landscape architecture or even gardening as arts that help us explore and experience nature. But what about other pursuits involving learning-about-nature, such as kayaking or dog-walking?  I suppose there is also an art to kayaking, certainly when done by skilled athletes. But even when I’m slapping around on the river there are times when perhaps not my skill but my state of mind and context make the experience if not one of “art” then one of aesthetic engagement with and within space, time, scene.

OK, what of dog-walking. Well that one’s obvious, isn’t it?

Elephant Art

So if Nature is a creation of the divine and Art is a human modification of Nature then what is this:

Yes, a human put a paintbrush in the trunk of [Nature/an elephant named Lucky] and used positive reinforcement to encourage the elephant to paint.

In that regard, of course, a human “altered” the elephant-as-Nature, causing the elephant-as-Nature to further alter Nature (such as the pigments, derived from plants and insect carcasses) to make Art.

But unlike some of the representational works the elephants were trained to produce through a series of brushstrokes, such as this:

some works, such as Lucky’s are (dare I say it) expressionistic.

In an interview on public radio’s To the Best of Our Knowledge one of the trainers in this Asian elephant conservation-through-art program was quoted as saying something to the effect of “Yes, when elephants paint it’s a trick. But it’s also a trick when humans do it–someone at first places a brush in our hands as well, showing us how to begin.”

Hotdog Art

This lovely thing is a weed from my garden.

Is it also art?

Emerson (basically) says that art is by definition our attempt to do something to/with nature, which would classify this print as art. This definition would also classify a hot dog as art. (Something I’m not exactly disputing.)

Aesthetic educator Maxine Greene says that to be naive about art is

. . . to be unable to distinguish between a sculpture and a glacier-eroded rock, between Monet’s painted poplars and the poplars as viewed on a mistly morning along the Seine. It is in other words, to be incapable of distinguishing between those ‘privileged objects’ we have called aesthetic objects and natural things perceived aesthetically. (Notes on Aesthetic Education, 23)

Somewhere in between the weed itself and, say, a rendering of such flora by Van Gogh, lies my print: a primitively aesthetic object created by a natural thing perceived aesthetically. Is it a “privileged object” by virtue of my intentional composition of it as something I hoped would be beautiful while also giving me an experience of working with it closely, observing its form, attempting to create something aesthetically worthy of the original . . . all this despite my amateur execution of the printmaking process? Is it “naive” both as an artwork and as an artistic vision–or perhaps not naive at all but something else.

What do we get from such things that we might not get from the natural object alone? What do we learn or how do we benefit?

I think it’s all about process again. I experienced nature differently when I made the print.

First came the idea to make the print, which came from a do-it-yourself-ish art book.

Next came my choice of object. I knew I wanted to print a weed–for a number of reasons but mostly I think because I feel so conflicted about yanking them from my garden. Here’s something that chose my plot of land to make its home, and it’s thriving here, so who’s to say this plant doesn’t belong there when the plant beside it–something I purchased across town and have been attempting to keep alive all summer, and which is wasting away in comparison to the vigorous weed–seems to be putting much less energy into being here with me? (Aren’t there countless self-help books about this very subject?)

Anyhoo, selecting a weed as my subject was a way to honor and preserve at least an image of those life forms that have been sharing my space, as well as a way to record their beauty.

Next, the process of making the print. As I made it I realized I’d chosen the wrong time of day to capture a crisp image, for the process uses the sun’s light to make the image and any shadows cast during the exposure will make the print blurry. Still, because the paper is small and the exposure time is fast there’s a satisfying choreographic experience: inside, away from sunlight, you practice the proper placement of the object on the paper and your plan for moving the object and paper into the sunlight; once outside, you swiftly get into position and in my case sat for 2 minutes in the sun to keep everything steady despite the wind. After the exposure time has elapsed you place the paper in a pre-prepared bath of water and watch the image emerge on the page.

So much of this process is about sharing time with the object, about altering your day to spend time with a plant and to make it your focus. And while you work with it, the plant begins to wither. You’ve pulled it from the ground, shaken off the dirt, patted it dry, toted it around while deciding upon the composition, placed it in bright sunlight, . . . and as every minute passes the plant becomes evermore limp.

The process kills the plant in order to preserve it.

My relationship with this plant is different of course than with the dozens of other weeds I may have pulled that morning. I’m watching it die. I’m also appreciating its  form, its robust roots; I’m noticing details I’d overlooked before.

The art, after all, is in my experience of the plant. It’s not just a matter of “doing something” to a natural object; it’s about the quality of my interaction with that object.