In 1993 or thereabouts I entered a contest for women to depict what they did on a particular day. That day, I went to meetings early in the morning at Harlem Hospital. I took photos of the abandoned buildings on West 136th, where I parked my car, and photos of a huge plastic bag in one of the stunted trees. Later, on my way back to my office on W. 166th Street, I stopped to take a photo of man who was selling nuts on the street in front of a burned-out building. He smiled with tremendous pride—when I took him a copy of the photo a few weeks later, he grinned and said he’d send it to his mother so she would know he was trying to make something of himself. There were photos of the Stuyvesant High School students that I was mentoring for the Westinghouse Science Competition, and photos at home in Hoboken with my daughter Molly and some chocolate chip cookies fresh out of the oven. We were reading Ian Frazier’s NewYorker article about plastic bags in trees. I didn’t win the contest, but the exercise etched what I saw in memory.
The extreme commodification of the land is leading to the destruction of human habitat. It is inimical to public health to sell off our neighborhoods and displace our communities.
Harlem had been devastated by decades of policies of disinvestment. Walking the streets was a painful experience because so many of the buildings had been burned out, and garbage blew in the courtyards and rats ran in and out. Working people were struggling to control the neighborhood, but drugs and violence were the order of the day. Most of my research was focused on describing the problems in front of me—filling out our understanding of a terrible statistic reported in 1990 by Drs. Harold Freeman and Colin McCord: that a black man living in Harlem had a shorter life expectancy than a man in Bangalesh, at that time the poorest country on earth. Some of what I wanted to describe was the historical process that had stripped this neighborhood of its life-giving qualities. I was describing an unjust city.
The more I learned, the more I realized that urban policies were playing a critical role in the neighborhood’s collapse. From the stories people told us, I hypothesized that Harlem had collapsed from a series of blows, each one undermining and deforming the social structure, so that death and disorder replaced hope and social productivity. As my colleagues at the Cities Research Group and I deepened our explorations, we were able to name the terrible series of policies—urban renewal, deindustrialization, planned shrinkage, mass incarceration, HOPE VI, the foreclosure crisis and gentrification—that have and continue to undermine poor and minority communities.
We’ve grouped these policies together under the rubric “serial forced displacement.” Displacement traumatizes people and destroys wealth of all kinds. Repeated displacement takes even more of the wealth and integrity of the weakened population. As St. Matthew put it, “even what he has shall be taken away.” Through the lens of the agony of Harlem, I learned the somber fact that policies that destroy some communities and neighborhoods are catastrophic for the health of those in the direct path of the upheaval, but they also endanger the health of the whole of the US, and through us, the whole world.
Let us take one example, New York City’s implementation of the mid-1970s policy of “planned shrinkage.” This policy was designed to manage “shrinking population” in the city by “internal resettlement” of people from very poor neighborhoods and clearing the land for later use. Planned shrinkage was implemented by closing fire stations in those communities. This triggered a storm of fires: South Bronx neighborhoods lost as much as 80 percent of housing; Harlem lost 30 percent.
We can trace many lines of disruption that rippled out from these epicenters of destruction. The upheaval caused massive social disorder and a “synergism of plagues,” as Rodrick Wallace called it. What no one knew when the policy was implemented was that a new virus—which we now know as the Human Immunodeficiency Virus (HIV)—was present in the very poor neighborhoods. HIV began to spread in the South Bronx and other NYC communities. The crack epidemic took hold, accompanied by massive violence, family disruption, and further spread of HIV infection. Mass incarceration was the federal response to the drug epidemic, unleashing an era of imprisonment that had horrific consequences for families and neighborhoods. By 2015, The New York Times reported “1.5 million missing black men,” many in prison and others who had died prematurely. Population fell, families fell apart, unemployment grew, church attendance declined, and trauma became a nearly universal experience.
Having hypothesized the downward spiral of community collapse, my team and I realized we had to start searching for ways to rebuild. We worked first with families, then neighborhoods. But we learned that the fate of neighborhoods rested in the hands of cities. A great deal of our attention has been directed at learning what actions cities could take to counter serial forced displacement and to rebuild the much-needed social bonds.
In 2007, I went to my hometown of Orange, NJ, for a celebration of the 50th anniversary of the fight against school desegregation. My parents, Ernest and Margaret Thompson, had led that fight. My father went on to organize for the political representation long denied to the African-American population, then 20 percent of the city. In 1958, he and others in Citizens for Representative Government created the “New Day Platform,” which advocated for education, youth recreation, representative government and a more beautiful city hall, among other issues. Their work led to a more inclusive democracy and better schools for all children.
While planning for the celebration of Orange’s desegregation, I learned that a local community development corporation, HANDS, Inc. was continuing the work my father had pioneered. It was fighting to protect local housing infrastructure and to rebuild community in the face of serial forced displacement. I became so interested in the city of Orange that in 2008 I co-founded the free people’s University of Orange along with Patrick Morrissy, Molly Rose Kaufman, Karen Wells and others.
The University of Orange has participated actively in planning efforts in the city. The UofO lead the development of the Heart of Orange Plan, which became an official plan in 2010, endorsed by the state of New Jersey Department of Community Affairs, making the area eligible for tax credit monies. We have also invited architects and urbanists from Columbia University, Parsons The New School for Design, Montclair State University and Pratt Institute to work with us to understand the city. We have slowly developed a sense of the city’s potentials and its vulnerabilities.
Orange grew at the foot of the Watchung Mountains, a crossroads of east-west and north-south movement, in the heart of the Lenapehoking. Its excellent water and good transportation made it a natural site for industry. Hat making boomed after the Civil War, reaching a peak of 4.2 million hats a year in 1892. The new bourgeoisie equipped the city with a Stanford White library on a busy Main Street, a Frederick Law Olmsted Park and housing enclave, dozens of churches and synagogues, two settlement houses and a park-like cemetery. The African-Americans and Irish and Italian immigrants were tucked into ghettoes, their children sent to inferior public schools, while the well-to-do created superb schools and tracks for their own children to prosper. The city is so packed with the best and worst of American urban accoutrements that the University of Orange has developed a signature tour, called “Everything You Want to Know About the American City You Can Learn in Orange, NJ.” Orange has the advantage of being a small city, so visitors can see all of this in 2.2 square miles.
But Orange now, like many other postindustrial cities, is worn-out. Sixty-five percent of the largely black population of 30,000 is poor and working poor. Many residents have immigrated from other countries and they speak a wide array of languages. Orange is a city in search of a future. In New Jersey, such places are being converted by “transit-oriented development,” which means the unskilled workers are being replaced by those who commute to Newark—or more likely New York—to work in finance, insurance and real estate, the FIRE industries post-industrial cities have come to rely on. Orange lies just a bit west of Hoboken, Jersey City and Harrison, FIRE cities already remodeled as dense bedroom communities.
For the people who live in Orange, transit-oriented development would be the next turn of the wheel of serial forced displacement. But it would also mean a loss of the complex vitality of people and institutions. Urban bedroom communities are monocultures, a variation on housing projects, albeit with better amenities.
At the University of Orange, we’ve posed the questions: Can’t we take a more interesting path? Can’t we develop new industries? Can’t we help the workforce acquire skills so that they can compete for higher paying jobs and therefore hold on to their homes when the gentry arrive? Couldn’t we combine of the idea of the civil rights movement’s Freedom Schools and Edison’s concept of the “Factory of Invention” to make a “post-industrial city reimaging lab”?
Some exciting opportunities have opened up that are helping everyone in Orange explore these possibilities. The John S. Watson Center at Thomas Edison State College has helped a consortium of cities, including Orange, develop an economic development strategy that will entitle the cities to apply for new federal funds. The Board of Education, with the support of nearby Montclair State University, has been able to develop community schools, including adult education. The University of Orange helps to manage the Adult School, which includes courses for workforce development. The Worldwide Orphans Foundation is bringing its first US-based toy library to Orange, and will be training local people to be toy librarians. At the U of O, we are partnering with a local arts organization and a university to understand how the insertion of a highway in 1970 might be mitigated. This project is supported by Arts Place. What we are learning as we go is that building the just city takes all of us.
When I learned of a Robert Wood Johnson Foundation initiative focused on creating a culture of health in New Jersey, I convinced our local partners that we should apply for funding. The leaders of our “Healthy Orange” coalition will be expanding our connections to all sectors of business, industry and civic organizations and to all the ethnic and religious groups. Our leaders are insisting on engaging the current residents, whichis critical in charting a path forward that is not another round of forced displacement. Instead of planning around this pattern of expulsion, we want to create a “plan to stay.”
This concept, first advanced by Catherine Brown and William Morrish, is the antidote to serial forced displacement. Groups planning to stay are asked to answer two questions:
What brought you here?
What would it take for you to be able to stay?
These simple questions lead to the kind of complex interventions that have a shot at helping Orange become a healthy place. In the year ahead, I look forward to the work of Healthy Orange, as it brings all voices to the table to create a blueprint for action, continuing the long struggle for equity and democracy in our city. This is how we get to the just city in Orange and everywhere.
But I worry. One night, in 2010, I was invited to speak in Harlem. I walked down St. Nicholas Avenue, and passed a brand new building. A gym occupied its first floor and little white girls in pink tutus were doing ballet. I stood there slack-jawed, too stunned to even take a photograph. The old Harlem was truly gone.
It is not simply that I want to feel at home in my hometown—of course I do. Rather, I fear for all of us. The extreme commodification of the land is leading to the destruction of human habitat. We are literally chopping the ground out from under our feet: it is inimical to public health to sell off our neighborhoods and displace our communities. The 1958 New Day Platform had it right. What we need for public health are ecologically-sensitive and equitable programs that support the whole city and give all of us a chance to live in a kind and beautiful place.
Every month we feature a Global Roundtable in which a group of people respond to a specific question in The Nature of Cities.
show/hide list of writers
Hover over a name to see an excerpt of their response…click on the name to see their full response.
Eugenie Birch, New YorkNow comes the hard part—activating the indicators. Three of these indicators are strong candidates for using new geospatial technologies.
Benjamin Bradlow, BostonThe key dimension to realizing the elements of the Urban Goal boils down to understanding how cities are governed.
William Dunbar, TokyoIgnoring vital urban-rural relationships can have negative consequences for cities and their surrounding areas.
Peter Head, LondonWe need a road map and mechanism for deployment of funding for research, integrated planning, and education to build capacity and demos for Goal 11 delivery.
Mark Hostetler, GainesvilleUnique opportunities exist in cities to protect both cultural and natural heritage, one of Goal #11’s 10 targets.
Lim Hui Ling, SingaporeRelegating cities to the role of providing inputs to the New Urban Agenda is anachronistic. Cities and city groups should drive the formulation of the SDG’s targets and their implementation.
Shuaib Lwasa, KampalaAchieving Goal 11 calls for alternative conceptual frameworks, methodologies, data and tools to measure progress its targets.
Anjali Mahendra, DelhiThe urban SDG stands the greatest chance of being successful if city leaders work improve performance not necessarily in comparison with other cities around the world, but in comparison to the their own status.
Jose Puppim, MontrealTo achieve Goal 11, we need to recognize the environmental/planetary limits in policymaking at various different levels.
Karen Seto, New HavenThe Urban SDG has the opportunity to be a catalyst for changing how we conceive, design and manage cities, but right now we’re on a trajectory to repeat the city-building mistakes of the past.
Andrew Rudd, New YorkGetting the balance between structure and agency right is essential to achieving SDG 11.
David Simon, GothenburgIf the urban SDG is to prove to be a useful tool, then it is vital that it should prove widely relevant, acceptable and practicable
Bolanle Wahab, IbadanFor SDG #11 to succeed, indigenous knowledge systems must be given adequate recognition and attention.
Lorena Zárate, Mexico CitySDG11 raises concerns about the lack of an explicit human rights approach and the associated state obligations.
David loves urban spaces and nature. He loves creativity and collaboration. He loves theatre and music. In his life and work he has practiced in all of these as, in various moments, a scientist, a climate change researcher, a land steward, an ecological practitioner, composer, a playwright, a musician, an actor, and a theatre director.
In May of 2014, TNOC published a roundtable on why we needed an urban Sustainable Development Goal to be one of the SDGs under consideration by the UN. At that time, an explicitly urban SDG was anything but certain, and a large coalition of urbanists was working hard to make urban issues explicitly part of the UN’s sustainability agenda. Well, an urban SDG was, in fact, adopted as one of 17 new sustainability goals that will propel work through 2030.
See https://sustainabledevelopment.un.org/topics for an interactive website of all 17 goals.
The final SDG Goal 11 is stated this way: Make cities inclusive, safe, resilient and sustainable. There is a lot of meaning to be explored in these seven words. What does “inclusive” mean in an operational sense? “Safe” from what? Safety for whom? The word “sustainable” makes clear that cities are part of larger, globally interconnected chains of resources that transcend old fashioned rural-urban boundaries. But such an integrated view is at odds with the fact that urbanists and non-urbanists (for lack of a better phrase) typically work in separate spheres. The head spins.
There are ten targets for SDG#11 that start to unpack the SDG’s meaning and philosophy, and also imply actual measures of progress:
By 2030, ensure access for all to adequate, safe and affordable housing and basic services and upgrade slums
By 2030, provide access to safe, affordable, accessible and sustainable transport systems for all, improving road safety, notably by expanding public transport, with special attention to the needs of those in vulnerable situations, women, children, persons with disabilities and older persons
By 2030, enhance inclusive and sustainable urbanization and capacity for participatory, integrated and sustainable human settlement planning and management in all countries
Strengthen efforts to protect and safeguard the world’s cultural and natural heritage
By 2030, significantly reduce the number of deaths and the number of people affected and substantially decrease the direct economic losses relative to global gross domestic product caused by disasters, including water-related disasters, with a focus on protecting the poor and people in vulnerable situations
By 2030, reduce the adverse per capita environmental impact of cities, including by paying special attention to air quality and municipal and other waste management
By 2030, provide universal access to safe, inclusive and accessible, green and public spaces, in particular for women and children, older persons and persons with disabilities
Support positive economic, social and environmental links between urban, peri-urban and rural areas by strengthening national and regional development planning
By 2020, substantially increase the number of cities and human settlements adopting and implementing integrated policies and plans towards inclusion, resource efficiency, mitigation and adaptation to climate change, resilience to disasters, and develop and implement, in line with the Sendai Framework for Disaster Risk Reduction 2015-2030, holistic disaster risk management at all levels
Support least developed countries, including through financial and technical assistance, in building sustainable and resilient buildings utilizing local materials
This is a great, even historic start. But it is only the beginning, and much, much work remains between now and the Habitat III Conference, and then through 2030, to accomplish the goal.
So, now what? Now that we have the goal, what is our path to success? What are the pitfalls? What could go wrong? These questions are the subject of this roundtable, including many of the contributors to the May 2014 panel, and adding new voices from around the world. We invite you to join the conversation also.
Professor Genie Birch is the Lawrence C. Nussdorf Chair of Urban Research and Education, former Chair of the Board of Trustees for the Municipal Art Society of New York, and co-chair, UN-HABITAT's World Urban Campaign.
Monitoring SDG 11: geospatial technologies offer hope for solutions, but we have a lot of work to do…
Now that the SDGs are a reality, implementation is going to be the name of the game, and crafting the protocol for monitoring is the next step in that game. As with the MDGs, the United Nations will ask nations to report on the SDG targets—all 169 of them—and at present, is working to develop indicators to provide a set of simple, uniform measures. Sound easy? Well, it’s not. Remember: the SDGs are universally applicable and not all nations have deep data collection capacities. But this situation opens the door to employing new means of monitoring.
The UN Statistical Commission appointed an Inter-Agency Expert Group for the Sustainable Development Goals (IAEG-SDGs) to recommend a set of indicators for approval in mid-March. So let’s take a look at how the IAEG-SDGs is treating Goal 11, “Make cities safe, inclusive, resilient and sustainable,” and the seven associated substantive targets on housing, transport, planning, cultural and natural heritage, resilience, environmental impact, and public space. In November, the IAEG-SDGs met in Bangkok, Thailand to review a list of proposed indicators ranked yellow (caution) or grey (more discussion needed) and set about evaluating them, ranking them green (meaning ok to go) or grey. For Goal 11, six of seven proposed indicators held yellow classifications and one was grey at the beginning of the review. But by the end of the deliberations, five of the seven moved to the green column, one was grey (11.4) and one had no classification (11.5).
Now comes the hard part—activating the indicators. Three of these indicators are strong candidates for using new geospatial technologies.
Now comes the hard part—activating the indicators. Three of these indicators are strong candidates for using new geospatial technologies in what could become a revolutionary way to bring policy-relevant information to public and private decision-makers.
The SDG 11 targets, with those most amenable to geospatial mapping circled in red: 11.2.1, 11.3.1, and 11.7.1. Source: http://unstats.un.org/sdgs/
Two tools that can help overcome the monitoring obstacles: the Global Human Settlements Layer (GHSL) and World Pop. The GHSL, a project of the European Union’s Joint Research Council, is due to be fully launched in Fall 2016, coinciding with the Habitat III Conference, the first all UN conference to be held after the passage of the SDGs. The GHSL is a free, open source platform that maps the built up area of the entire world—it can produce national, regional and local maps. It can also monitor green space, as the two images below represent, by showing the inverse of the built up area, which can be used to calculate open space. For more information, see here.
Green Spaces in Built-up Areas from the Global Human Settlements Layer. Green is green space; Red is built (grey) space. Source: Pesaresi, 2015
While geospatial mapping identifies the presence of green and open space, it does not indicate public ownership and use. For that, according to UN Habitat’s Eduardo Moreno, who has extensively studied Goal 11 and its indicators, national governments will have to work with local authorities to collect the information. This will likely require developing a sampling method, searching city records for the appropriate information, and transmitting the data back to the national government unit charged with reporting.
World Pop is a statistical application that, when applied with co-variates such as the GHSL, can demonstrate the location of population with greater detail than current assessments. The images below illustrate a progression of detail, moving from mapping census material by enumeration districts, mapping population data blended with Night Lights (one of the most well known of the current remote sensing applications often used to estimate population and economic activity [light means activity—a rough proxy]), and ending with mapping World Pop demographic assessments with the GHSL. For more information see here.
Hanoi depicted in Census Districts, in Night Lights and in Global Human Settlements Layer. Source: Sorichetta 2015
While these applications represent promising efforts in the emerging data collection front, one of the more immediate challenges will be to find ways to develop capacity in the public officials charged with reporting. This means education at national and subnational levels. In addition, work with civil society to communicate and translate the power of the indicators to guide decision-makers as they develop programs and policies in support of sustainable urbanization will also be necessary. It’s an exciting, challenging world out there!
References
Martino Pesaresi, “Global Human Settlement Data Use in the Perspective of SDG Monitoring,” presented at the GEO-XIII and 2015 Ministerial Summit, Group on Earth Observations, Mexico City, November 10, 2015.
Alessandro Sorichetta, World Pop and Flow Under Activities to Support the Sustainable Development Goals, presented at the GEO-XIII and 2015 Ministerial Summit, Group on Earth Observations, Mexico City, November 10, 2015.
Benjamin Bradlow is a PhD student in the Department of Sociology at Brown University. His research investigates the role of urban politics and institutions in processes of democratization and redistribution in Brazil and South Africa.
The Sustainable Development Goals, which have now replaced the Millenium Development Goals, herald at least one major shift from the MDG era. No longer is a division posed between the “developed” and “developing” nations of the world. The SDGs are for all countries.
Long-standing divisions of the world economy and political relationships have posed spatial distinctions between East and West, or North and South. So it is interesting that one goal within this otherwise universal list makes a spatial distinction: Goal 11, the “Urban Goal.” In many countries in the “developing” world, a rural bias has been a common feature of post-colonial societies, in which urban populations are perceived to be independent-minded and critical of the excesses of post-colonial nationalist political parties that fall prey to what Robert Michels (1911) called the “iron law of oligarchy.” In the “developed” world, we have witnessed often extreme cycles of both public and private investment and disinvestment in cities, as elites oscillate between desiring the advantages of urban life and escaping its perceived dangers by moving to peripheral suburbs and fortified private enclaves.
It’s up to researchers and policy analysts to highlight the political alignments and relationships that make policy possible.
All of this suggests that the key dimension to realizing the elements of the Urban Goal boils down to understanding how cities are governed. This is not merely a matter of institutional design, which is a common pitfall of universalistic policy debates. Rather, it is of paramount importance that we understand how governing coalitions effect change, and on what bases these coalitions are maintained and changed to continue carrying out transformative agendas. The constituent groups will not necessarily be exactly the same in each city.
Goal 11 concerns the degree of inclusion of city residents in accessing land, shelter, basic services, public transport and livelihoods. These are distributional issues, and, as such, they will be contested. The language of conflict-free “win-wins” in this regard is disingenuous, as distributive struggles are the essence of political institutions. Conflict is unavoidable. The SDGs cannot provide a blueprint for how to manage urban political relationships. However, they do help provide a touchstone for the normative principles that can underpin the assembling of the coalitions that can make these relationships a reality.
My hope is that when cities want to implement, for example, public transport programs that have worked in places such as Curitiba, Brazil, or Bogotá, Colombia, and which have frequently acted as touchstones for recent experiments with bus rapid transit in major cities in Africa and Asia, politicians and planners do not seek only, or even primarily, to emulate the technical engineering details of these programs. Rather, they must first ask, what kind of politics allowed this to happen? Which groups and individuals are important to its success? What conflicts arose? What kind of compromises were necessary?
Universalistic goals like the SDGs are, by their very nature, unable to capture the political difficulties of what is being proposed. By virtue of their need to navigate the sheer complexity of urban social relationships and built environments, those individuals and institutions charged with making the SDGs a reality will be undertaking what is fundamentally a political task.
So what can we do to make sure the opportunity of a rather impressive set of goals is not lost? I believe that it is up to researchers and policy analysts to highlight the political alignments and relationships that make policy possible. Earlier generations of urban planners were once thought of as “doctors” who prescribed fixes to the body of the city. But principles of design and engineering will mean little without an analysis of the political conditions that make governments either able to effect change, or that make governments crumble under the complexity of the urban palimpsest. This will constitute a substantive engagement with the needs of policymakers and planners, which does not treat universalized development goals as a technical blueprint, but rather as a set of norms around which to frame political relationships and institutions. It is up to people in cities, their organizations, and their institutions, to struggle to make these principles reality.
William Dunbar is Communications Coordinator for the International Satoyama Initiative project at the United Nations University Institute for the Advanced Study of Sustainability (UNU-IAS) in Tokyo, Japan.
“Inclusive, safe, resilient and sustainable”—this is the list the UN chose for headline attributes that cities should have. These are all good things, and the UN should be applauded for coming up with and approving this Goal. Of course, any list invites the reader to evaluate not only what is included, but also what is not. Some missing terms, such as “healthy” and “clean,” may be considered to be covered under the other list items, while other ideas, such as “having adequate public transport,” are mentioned in the longer description of the goal. One thing I would like to see not so deeply buried in the Goal 11 Targets is the idea of cities “integrated into the wider landscape.”
If Goal 11 is to be met, urban planning must take an integrated approach—not only in terms of the different socioeconomic classes within the city, but also in terms of the city and its surrounding landscape.
Integration into the wider landscape—this wording, which is used for protected areas under the Convention on Biological Diversity’s Aichi Biodiversity Targets (also at #11, coincidentally), is hinted at by “inclusive,” but the description of the goal seems to be oriented toward inclusion of disparate classes within the city. It is true that both extreme poverty and wealth are often concentrated in urban spaces. But the inequality between urban “haves” and rural “have-nots” can be even starker, particularly when cities’ role as one part of a connected and integrated landscape is ignored. “Haves” and “have-nots” in this case refer not only to material wealth, but also to access to the opportunities and services that cities offer.
It hardly needs to be stated how much cities typically rely on surrounding rural, semi-rural and peri-urban areas for provisioning, regulating and even cultural services, in terms of peoples’ biocultural ties to nature. But it is also important to consider what cities contribute to the wider landscape. They provide a place for many people to live, relieving population pressures on areas needed for production activities, and also provide markets for agricultural products, among other services. Cities’ policies that ignore vital urban-rural relationships can have negative consequences not only for the surrounding areas, but also for the cities themselves.
As an example, consider a city that traditionally gets its food from surrounding agricultural areas. Policymakers are generally also concentrated in urban areas, and some of these individuals enact policies to make foreign imports cheaper, thinking that cheaper goods will improve life for urban residents. Not only does shipping larger amounts of goods from overseas mean increased pollution, noise, etc., now rural residents, deprived of a market for their products, are forced to abandon their land and move to the city, exacerbating the very problems that the policy was supposed to help, including urban poverty. This type of mass urbanization and rural abandonment is happening in many places around the world, fed partly by urban-centric policies that are meant to improve city life, but ignore the city’s integration into the wider landscape.
If Goal 11 is to be met and cities made inclusive, safe, resilient and sustainable, urban planning must take an integrated approach as the Goal’s description states—not only in terms of the different socioeconomic classes within the city, but also in terms of the city and its surrounding landscape. Much of our work with the Satoyama Initiative at UNU-IAS is in working toward policies that consider the landscape in a holistic manner, incorporating human settlements along with all other types of production areas. And if this is done in such a way as to maintain a healthy balance in urban-rural relationships, then cities may be able to have some of the other attributes not included in the UN’s list: “pleasant,” maybe, or even “enjoyable” and “a fulfilling place to live one’s life.”
Peter is a civil and structural engineer who has become a recognised world leader in major bridges, advanced composite technology and in sustainable development in cities and regions.
The first thing that has struck me is that I have been monitoring social media since September 25th, 2015, when the SDGs were launched, and Goal 11 has not had anything like the same coverage as others, apart from the push by the Urban Campaign Group. I think this is because the Goal is mainly about integrated and sustainable human settlement planning and management, which is a complex and inaccessible subject for young people, compared with poverty, water supply, energy security or infrastructure provision. The critical importance of urban-rural integration makes it even more complex.
This is, of course, why we had such a tough time getting the Goal over the finishing line, but we all know that the content of Goal 11 lies at the heart of the transformational change we need to improve human well-being and resilience globally. It will be transformational on performance and, as no one is doing it, there will have to be a transformation in every urban settlement in the world!
There is a major disconnect between the words and meaning of Goal 11 and the intentions of cities and the research community.
Communication about Goal 11 and its importance is therefore going to be crucial going forward—getting the Goal is wonderful, but we need to communicate its importance to the whole world if communities are really going to get behind it. This is likely to be the role of cities and urban settlements in achieving Goal 11, as part of their lobbying of national governments to get them to adopt urban development strategies and to dedicate powers and finance to deliver the outcomes.
The second thing that has struck me is how the rhetoric in the “cities community” in the middle- to high- income countries has barely flickered as a result of the Goal being adopted. For example, in the U.K., there is a Foresight program underway which is reporting on Future Cities and their material does not reflect the importance of Goal 11. If you go onto the Future Cities Catapult website and search for SDG Goal 11, there are no responses. It seems, in the U.K. at least, that the SDGs are for everyone else?
I think one of the reasons for this is that integrated planning is complex, involves engaging communities and is little used in practice, whereas technology and sensors and IT systems are much more accessible and interesting.
So I conclude that there is a major disconnect between the actual words and meaning of Goal 11 and the intentions of cities and the research community. All the city lobby groups and mayors were great in supporting its inclusion, but I wonder if the meaning of the words was really grasped.
I went to a Future Earth meeting in Xiamen where this disconnect was discussed for China and the Asia Pacific Region and there was recognition (particularly from China) that co-design or integrated planning is really critical if the transformational change set out in Goal 11 and other Goals is to be realized. It requires an integration of social and natural science and economics in order to bring forward new tools to support capacity building for integrated planning and performance-based design.
It has been recognized that access to capital will be key to enabling these transformations to take place and this means making money available for research, planning, education and for projects. At this stage of knowledge and practice in integrated planning, there needs to be a big, fast application of money to research, planning and education that leads to capacity building and demonstration. Then, we need a massive scale up of that finance moving into city transformation using the money we know is available.
With this objective in mind, we are working very hard to develop a global funding mechanism to get money into integrated planning and performance-based design for urban-rural systems in which community participation and the economics of human well-being are embedded. What we need right now is a road map and mechanism for deployment of this funding, linked to the value this will create to society as trillions of dollars are moved successfully into delivery of Goal 11.
Cities can play a role in conserving the world’s cultural and natural heritage
Looking through the ten targets under Goal 11: Make cities inclusive, safe, resilient and sustainable, they essentially cover the three pillars of sustainability: social, environmental, and economic. I agree with previous conversations, particularly Yunus Arikan’s comments, that cities need solutions that are cross-cutting and holistically address social, environmental and economic concerns. I do think there are many synergies among the sustainability targets mentioned under Goal 11, but for simplicity, I’ll focus on one of the ten targets:
“Strengthen efforts to protect and safeguard the world’s cultural and natural heritage.”
A laudable target, but how do cities move forward to embrace urban biodiversity conservation and to conserve the traditions, values and practices of local cultures? I do think unique opportunities exist in cities to protect both cultural and natural heritage. Many cultural traditions around the world are rooted in the use and appreciation of native flora and fauna. Landscaping and/or conservation of native plants will not only help in terms of biodiversity, but it will present an opportunity for urban residents to retain cultural traditions and practices.
Incentive-based policies that give a monetary benefit to landowners are the best way to encourage new practices that protect cultural heritage through nature.
For example, in New Zealand, the Maori use the fibers of native flax or harakeke (Phormium tenax) to make a wide variety of items including baskets, fishing nets and traps, rope, and clothing. Incorporating New Zealand flax into yards, neighborhoods, and community parks presents an opportunity for city residents to harvest fiber and to create items that were traditionally made by Maori. In addition, the nectar from NZ flax flower is an important source of food for many nectar-eating indigenous birds, such as the Tūī and Bellbirds. NZ flax is habitat to a host of other animals such as arthropods, geckos and skinks that feed on or live in native flax. One can think of such cultural and natural synergies in any city around the world.
To create enabling conditions where native landscaping and conservation practices are implemented, I think the first step is to make city policies where decision-makers, from homeowners to developers, are rewarded for incorporating native plants and habitats into the urban landscape. This can take many forms, but I believe incentive-based policies that give a monetary benefit to landowners are the best way to encourage new practices. For example, developers could get a tax break, a housing density bonus, or a permit break when they landscape with native plants and/or conserve wildlife habitat for a development project. In these native plant and animal habitat areas, educational signage should be installed that describes how these plants and animals were utilized and appreciated by local cultures. At a smaller scale, homeowners could get a property tax break or a reduction of their utility bills when they landscape their yards with native plants.
Also, to kickstart citywide efforts to protect cultural and natural heritage, cities can create examples on their own properties, such as public parks, where portions of the parks are designed for local plants and animals. These areas could serve as cultural demonstrations where people can learn about traditional use and appreciation of native flora and fauna. This can take the form of interpretive signage or outside “workshops” where people learn how to utilize local plants, such as flax weaving done by the Maori in New Zealand.
I believe to move a city forward, we need model examples. Brainstorming between citizens, ecologists, design professionals and planners can provide a suite of practical ideas to help produce local examples. Nothing speaks louder than a local project where one can observe the areas that have been transformed. People can see it and envision how they could do it on their own property. Think of a homeowner that sees his/her neighbor remove the exotic turfgrass and install a butterfly garden that has native host plants for butterfly caterpillars and nectar plants for adult butterflies. Or a developer that sees his/her competitor building a conservation subdivision where the cultural and natural heritage is infused into the design and management of the community. Such examples begin to create a new “norm” for a city and would foster the adoption of novel design and management strategies that conserve cultural and natural heritage.
Not having cities at the forefront would undermine the effectiveness of the ‘New Urban Agenda’
From the experience of the MDGs, global commitments can and have made a difference. Sustainable Development Goal (SDG) #11, an explicitly ‘urban SDG,’ is a win for the global development community as it signals that we are finally paying due attention to the centrality of cities to the future of sustainable development. In a way, as soon as the SDG was adopted, it exceeded its use-by date. It has served the purpose of focusing attention on the importance of making ‘cities inclusive, safe, resilient and sustainable.’ Ultimately, however, we will be measured by how well we implement this SDG.
Relegating cities to the role of providing inputs to the New Urban Agenda is anachronistic. Cities and city groups should drive the formulation of the SDG’s targets and their implementation.
The next United Nations Conference on Housing and Sustainable Urban Development (Habitat III) in October, 2016, will be the first of the Habitat conferences to take place after the adoption of the SDGs. Aptly, the United Nations has promulgated that the conference is going to be about the ‘New Urban Agenda.’
Currently, even as the theme of empowering local governments is widespread in the discussions, there is still a focus on country-based national reports and on ‘National Habitat Committees’ in the preparation process for Habitat III. Local and regional governments are providing their inputs to the draft agenda, rather than driving it.
To be effective, the desired outcomes of the SDG have to be tackled at a localised level. From the agenda setting, to the design of the indicators and progress tracking, sophisticated local knowledge is a prerequisite. For instance, reducing urban environmental impact in Chengdu and in Prague could have different contextual meanings and would entail different approaches, with different emphases.
Considering the need for local expertise, and with city governments being most immediately connected to the people they serve, the urban level offers the optimum level of governance where public service and leadership interact with urban actors. Cities have the capacity to respond swiftly to local conditions with innovation, finance and appropriate solutions based on local resources. Good city leadership can corral resources from multiple partners, including from federal and state governments, private corporations and philanthropy, research institutions and sister cities.
There is already much talk about decentralised governance as part of the implementation of the New Urban Agenda. It might be worthwhile to bring the timeline forward; rather than centralise the negotiations and leave Member States to be the arbiters of what needs to be implemented under the ‘urban SDG,’ perhaps experiment by having cities and city groupings formulate the relevant implementation plans of the SDG instead. Relegating cities to the role of providing inputs to the New Urban Agenda is anachronistic. The governance of territories by city leadership has been evolving with the growth and expansion in economic power of urban regions. This is not a matter of Member States relinquishing their conventional roles in the international development negotiation process; it is more about recognising the reality of the ‘New Urban Agenda,’ where many cities are now the drivers of economic development, and are blazing the path in sustainable development, climate change mitigation and more; it is about harnessing the capabilities of an existing global constituency of cities, as a deserving and equal partner in delivering on the urban SDG.
Even at this stage of the agenda drafting period, Member States would benefit from bringing their cities into the inner circle of the preparatory process more by supporting Habitat III’s education and outreach efforts and ensuring that cities directly participate and take a more active role in defining their concerns and priorities and proposing implementation approaches for the urban SDG, both through the Habitat III regional and thematic forums and through other major international, inclusive platforms such as the annual World Cities Summit Mayors Forum.
If this unprecedented opportunity comes to bear, cities can avail themselves of bilateral cooperation and adapt from tried and tested approaches and the wealth of best practices that exist. There is no need to reinvent the wheel. At the Centre for Liveable Cities (CLC), based on our study of Singapore and other cities’ experiences, we have identified two very common factors underlying the successful transformation of many cities, from New York, to Bilbao, to Suzhou City, to others.
First, having a system of integrated planning is crucial, as it keeps the long-term targets constantly in view. Secondly, to make these plans into reality, the governance principles have to be inclusive, responsive and pragmatic, and effectively implemented by sound institutions embodying a culture of integrity. These principles have ensured that the conditions for the attainment of the desired liveability outcomes are well laid (See CLC Liveability Framework). With a holistic and long-range strategic implementation approach—we have until 2030—and with cities at the forefront as actors of change, we can certainly set high hopes to deliver on the targets of the urban SDG as well as the other SDGs.
To assist cities in achieving sustainable and liveable development and integrating the aforementioned principles of the Liveability Framework, the CLC regularly holds capability development programmes. These programmes are for city leaders interested in learning how to address the complex challenges related to rapid urbanisation and high population density. All cities are welcome to apply.
Shuaib Lwasa is an Associate Professor in the Department of Geography at Makerere University. Shuaib has over 15 years of experience in university teaching and research working on interdisciplinary projects related to urban sustainability.
Goal 11 of the SDGs has finally embraced what I think of as a holistic view of cities and human settlements, moving from the slum-improved target of the MDGs to include human settlements ranging from hamlets to megacities. The goal’s adoption as one of the 17 SDGs is a big step in recognizing the importance of human settlements and cities, which contain more than half of the global population, as conveyors of sustainability. But cities and human settlements have long been developed with models and frameworks that idealize ‘space,’ the ‘order of that space’ and the outcomes of such order.
Whereas these frameworks have worked in some regions of the globe, they have failed to deliver in others, including sub-Saharan Africa. This implies that working towards not only effective targets, but meaningful targets that are measurable, is the challenge of the communities concerned with urban development. This is because, despite the dialogues that went towards formulating Goal 11, the dominance of strategies that have previously determined the nature and trajectory of urban development inherent in the goal are clear.
It is critically important to transcend output indicators by developing frameworks for outcomes that can be tracked through progress markers.
For example, the underlying definition of access to safe and affordable housing and to affordable and sustainable public transport systems is underlain with uncertainty. It is a tough challenge to achieve the goal and targets, which are complex. The indicators for whether these targets have been achieved are also likely to be complex, since not one single indicator would adequately measure, for example, the reduction of per capita environmental impact of cities in terms of air quality and wastes, or the sustainable urbanization of and capacity for participatory, integrated human settlement planning.
Grassroot activities for sociotechnical urban solutions and resilience building. Image: Shuaib Lwasa
Scanning the known and tested evaluation frameworks, there doesn’t seem to be an appropriate framework for monitoring such complex indictors. It seems as though the evaluation will have to embrace indices, which have a reductionist problem. The relations between goals make it even more challenging to send a signal that defines the resilience of cities and that would have some way to include risk reduction, climate actions, and poverty reduction, in all its dimensions as defined in Goal 1, but in cities specifically.
To achieve and evaluate Goal 11 will therefore require making resilience an actionable concept that is measurable, so that it becomes possible to address the inherent risks of taking action on climate and to deliver equitable development. This calls for alternative conceptual frameworks, methodologies, data and tools to measure progress in achieving Goal 11, among others. Sustainable development may be undermined by increasing risk and disasters and/or progress made so far in terms of development will likely be reversed by the increasing rate of climate-related disasters. Intensity of disasters notwithstanding, the case for extensive risk and associated disasters is a risk profile for much of Africa, and particularly for urban Africa.
There are synergies and tough choices to make to achieve resilient cities. These tough choices are potentially the basis for new conceptual frameworks, methodologies and tools for achieving the targets of as well as developing appropriate measuring indicators for Goal 11. Local specificities will play an important role, since the definition of ‘order’ as it is viewed in the global South now is different from the dominant frameworks of urban development. It is critically important to transcend output indicators by developing frameworks for outcomes that can be tracked through progress markers. These progress markers include but are not limited to the following;
Green urban infrastructure with a range of sociotechnical solutions that have been tested after failure of single unified infrastructure systems
Reducing urban risk—especially extensive risk and development-accumulated risk— and curbing losses
Transforming production processes and infrastructure that creates opportunities for all social groups for inclusiveness
Enhancing urban ecosystems and the possible range of ecosystem services dependent on locale specificities
Conventional urban development interventions have largely failed to reduce urban poverty; thus, creating opportunities for the urban poor seems a plausible progress marker to transcend traditional output indicators
A resilient city would have features that harness opportunities related to scalable resource efficiency, decentralized services and infrastructure, local employment and expanded markets and strategies that eradicate urban poverty
Dr. Anjali Mahendra is an urban planner & transport policy expert working at interface of research & practice on issues dealing with cities, transport, climate change & economic development
The urban SDG is important because it emphasizes the salient role of cities in advancing sustainable development goals in countries and globally. With increasing evidence on the urbanization of poverty—i.e., the fact that poverty is becoming increasingly concentrated in urban areas around the world—the urban SDG holds promise as a vision that marries the twin goals of environmental sustainability and poverty reduction in cities.
The urban SDG stands the greatest chance of success if cities to work to improve performance not necessarily in comparison with other cities, but in comparison to the their own status.
It is a means to achieve four crucial purposes: (i) to engage decision makers and build political will at all levels; (ii) to direct resources to cities through multiple national and international channels for critical investments in urban services infrastructure; (iii) to enhance technical and governance capacity, particularly at the local level and in smaller/secondary cities; and (iv) to instigate civil society, the private sector, and other actors to demand better services and governance in cities worldwide. This is a huge opportunity for nations, given the impending increase in urbanization likely to occur in the global south, especially in Asia and Africa.
Implementation of the urban SDG targets in many countries will be difficult, with some short term costs but long lasting economic, social, and environmental benefits. The targets of the urban SDG should not remain on paper, countries must redirect attention to cities, sign on to the targets, and ensure that policies and plans at multiple scales — national, regional, state, and local — are structured to enable progress towards these targets.
The urban SDG stands the greatest chance of being successfully implemented if helps create a vision for city leaders to work towards as they improve performance, not necessarily in comparison with other cities around the world, but in comparison with their own status at an earlier point in time. Measuring progress towards the urban SDG targets requires current data about gaps in access to urban services, households living in informal or substandard housing, city revenues and budgets, and other such indicators on which data is currently very limited in many cities, especially in the global south. City and national decision makers must prioritize collection of these data. Higher levels of government must design financial and other incentives for cities to improve performance in service delivery and be better accountable to citizens. The adoption of the urban SDG is a good start but decision makers must now commit to making choices that can lead to its successful implementation in cities around the world.
Jose A. Puppim de Oliveira is a faculty member at FGV (Fundação Getulio Vargas), Brazil. He is also Visiting Chair Professor at the Institute for Global Public Policy (IGPP), Fudan University, China. His experience comprises research, consultancy, and policy work in more than 20 countries in all continents.
How to recognize the natural/planetary limits in urban policy making?
The UN Post-2015 Development Agenda has indicated some of the UN goals (SDGs) for the next 15 years in order to achieve plain human development for all, while keeping life-supporting systems intact for the next generations. Nevertheless, we are far from having comprehensive governance and policy mechanisms to transform urban development processes to achieve SDG 11 (and the other goals), though there are some promising initiatives we could learn from and try to use strengthen policy processes and outcomes. One of the fundamental issues we need to address for dealing with sustainable development is recognition of the environmental/planetary limits in policymaking at various different levels. We need to make huge transformations in the way we think about development processes and their governance.
We are slow to understand how to galvanize transformation towards more sustainable urbanization and to find alternatives to our current model of development, beyond recognizing that we need significant transformation in our governance systems. A shared starting point in the criticisms on the existing alternatives, such as green growth, is that efficiency strategies, which constitute the core of the ecological modernization discourses, are not a sufficient condition for leading to a broader transformation towards sustainability.
Three levels of transformation are required to achieve Goal 11: (1) increasing speed in areas where we have knowledge, (2) ensuring balanced representation in decision-making and (3) altering our ethics.
Moreover, the world is turning into a polycentric system of governance, but our local institutions and organizations have not adapted to this new system. Faced with this reality, we can point to changes in governance patterns, both in theory and in practice, that can move us beyond the technocratic realm and can help us to negotiate a more equitable future on a shared and finite planet.
There are three levels of transformation that may be required with different degrees of efforts, needs and uncertainties. Firstly, we need to move much faster in the transformative helms where we already have control and knowledge, such as use of appropriate, more efficient technologies and existing managerial tools, as well as establishing good public transport and land-use policies to avoid sprawl. But this is not sufficient. For example, China has made great advances in the production of renewable energy and energy efficiency. Still, these changes have not been able to offset the growth in energy demand in China. The second level is the decision-making and implementation systems that constrain broader transformative changes that would come with more balanced power, such as giving voice to different groups and making organizations, in the public and private sector, more accountable, as well as trying to coordinate efforts to identify synergies among networks in a polycentric society. Tokyo has established the first and one of the most climate-friendly policies. This was only possible after almost a decade of debates with policymakers in government and civil society. Now, the city is trying to incentivize other towns to do the same. Last is the ethical level, as we need a significant change in the values and beliefs of society that would lead to changes to the large institutions that shape most of our political and economic decisions. Bhutan has introduced the new idea of the Gross National Happiness index, which challenge the fundamentals of our thinking about development.
New insights from the recent advancements in the discussions on the Post-2015 Development Agenda and the possible climate agreement after UNFCCC COP-21 can potentially help to propel larger transformative changes at the different levels. Our capacity to accelerate the transformation we need rests necessarily on how to incorporate the concept of sustainable development into different governance systems, including urban governance systems, and to translate the decisions into results in practice. The SDGs represent a new attempt to transform our approach to development, including the planetary boundaries, but we do not have the governance to steer this transformation. The history of sustainable development is littered with well-intended but ill-designed or ill-executed initiatives. Our hope is that the urban SDG will not be one more among them.
Karen Seto is Professor of Geography and Urbanization at Yale. She is an expert on urbanization in China and India, forecasting urban growth, and climate change mitigation.
We will build more urban areas during the 21st century than in all of human history. Simply stated, we cannot afford to create 21st-century cities with outdated ideas and technology. Yet, that’s what we’re on the trajectory to do if we do not transform the way in which we build new and rebuild existing cities. The Urban SDG has the opportunity to be a catalyst for changing how we conceive, design and manage cities. We need to urgently work towards establishing a plan of action for implementing and monitoring progress towards these goals.
The Urban SDG has the opportunity to be a catalyst for changing how we conceive, design and manage cities, but right now we’re on a trajectory to repeat the city-building mistakes of the past.
I see three potential pitfalls with the Urban SDG. The first is that it sits on a shelf like a family portrait: it’s a snapshot that’s static, collecting dust over the years, but represents happy times and great potential. There has been a lot of energy and effort towards establishing the SDGs, but that is only the first step. The next phase will be even more challenging—implementation. Here, the second pitfall is that implementation and monitoring falls well short of the target. If the Urban SDG becomes a way to repackage and rebrand existing efforts, then it will not achieve its goals. No single city is safe, resilient and sustainable. Substantive effort, by way of science, policy and financing is necessary to make the Urban SDG a living process that can achieve its goals. The third potential risk is that cities emulate strategies from other cities that are not appropriate for their context, constituents or needs. This would be a triple loss in effort, time and opportunity. Cities will need to carefully identify sister cities with similar challenges and opportunities, from whom they can learn what works and what doesn’t.
How can we avoid these dangers? There is a long list of things that should be done, but there is at least one thing that must be done in order for the Urban SDG to be achieved and that is the coupling of strategies across scales. Many of the conditions, processes and policies that affect urban areas occur outside of urban areas, be it the political economy or regional or national contexts. Cities cannot achieve the goals of the Urban SDG if they act alone. They must have the support of regional and national governments and institutions. However, support is also not enough. Cities must work together to ensure that efforts undertaken at the local scale are not subverted by strategies at other scales or by other actors. This will require a lot of coordination and sustained dialogue among diverse institutions, leaders and communities.
Andrew Rudd is the Urban Environment Officer for UN-Habitat’s Urban Planning & Design Branch in New York, where he leads substantive advocacy for the urban dimension of the 2030 Agenda for Sustainable Development (including the SDGs).
As with their predecessors, the SDGs will continue to bring attention to sustainability issues of global importance, encourage accountability from governments and (hopefully) attract financing. None of this is new, but that does not make any of it automatic. We, as an urban community, will have to enable much of it. In contrast to the MDGs, the SDGs are also set to tackle contemporary challenges, such as climate change, through contemporary, place-based approaches. The SDGs’ newly consultative formulation means greater stakeholder ownership. And their fresh focus on common but differentiated responsibility (CBDR) means that the developing world has as much stake in them as the developing world. (The upcoming agreement in Paris will show whether such an arrangement is feasible in practice.) These more novel aspects will also need our active support if the new issues’ metrics are to be consistently used, if cities are to actively engage in their implementation and if countries in all parts of the world are to take them seriously.
So what do we need to do now? The first thing is to help cities see why the SDGs (or the global development agenda at all, for that matter) matter. How do the million and one choices that urban dwellers make every day add up to the global consequences that ultimately return to impact them in local, personal ways? What to recommend to city dwellers whose choices are too limited in the first place to allow for sustainable behavior? How can they be encouraged to ‘do their part’ for SDG 11?
Behavioral choices generate demand for structural improvement that prompt further behavioral change.
No doubt my colleagues on this panel will have articulated many of the catalysts for its implementation, from cross-sectoral partnerships to cross-scalar governance; from lowering the risk of lending to cities to increasing their ability to generate local revenues. All of these will be essential. Let me add something else: getting the balance between structure and agency right. Urban settlement patterns often limit choice to the point where populations have little alternative but to behave in unsustainable ways (e.g. living in a freestanding house and driving a private car). The developers of such patterns often claim they are accommodating residents’ demands. Residents sometimes claim that they never had a real choice in the first place. How to address this catch-22?
The targets of SDG 11 aspire to a number of structural improvements, but the critical role of agency in them is not always clear. To remedy this, cities can do three things: (1) help urban residents better understand the trade-offs inherent in particular settlement patterns (e.g. high-density, mixed-use over low-density, single-use); (2) get urbanites involved earlier in planning processes (e.g. planning for new urban areas or retrofitting existing ones); and (3) incentivize and advocate for better personal choices (e.g. cycling over driving). Understanding the consequences of personal choices may lead city dwellers to demand more responsible choices from others, and ultimately to demand that the system itself provide more choices in the first place.
The NGO Transportation Alternatives, an advocate of nonmotorized transit infrastructure in New York, recently had an internal debate after another city motorist had struck and killed a cyclist. In this debate, a number of Transportation Alternatives members argued that continuing to advocate for a modal shift to more cycling was premature without more extensive, protected bike lane infrastructure in the first place. An opposing group argued that such advocacy had no credibility until a critical mass of cyclists could first demonstrate the demand for such infrastructure. Ultimately the consensus was ‘both.’ In other words, behavioral choices generate demand for structural improvement that prompt further behavioral change. (It is worth noting how such an intervention would contribute to the implementation of multiple SDG 11 targets: 11.2 on public transport provision, 11.6 on urban environmental impact and 11.7 on accessible public space provision, as well as 11.3 on making density more livable and 11.b on policies for accessibility, resilience and sustainability.)
With SDG 11, cities have their work cut out for them. To effectively balance structure and agency over the long term, key urban stakeholders will need to (re)configure themselves. In an earlier piece on the pedestrianization of Times Square, I wrote that residents need to contemplate and agree on common values. City leaders need to contemplate value-based priorities and execute and maintain a related vision. And enforcement bodies need to prepare to humanely and consistently guide the change inherent in any new vision. The sustainability battle we are fighting is a granular one, and it will not only be won or lost in cities, but by cities through a million different decisions; decisions that both reinforce and challenge the very structure that guides them. The implementation of SDG 11 could be very exciting indeed.
David Simon is Professor of Development Geography at Royal Holloway, University of London and until December 2019 was also Director of Mistra Urban Futures, an international research centre on sustainable cities based at Chalmers University of Technology, Gothenburg, Sweden.
As a member of the Campaign for an Urban SDG, Mistra Urban Futures conducted a unique pilot project during the first half of this year, using its four transdisciplinary co-production research platforms in Gothenburg, Greater Manchester, Cape Town and Kisumu, along with Bangalore, to test the draft set of targets and indicators formulated by the Campaign and the UN statistical team up until that point. The extensive and detailed work of the Campaign has hitherto been undertaken in isolation from the daily pressures and realities of urban local authorities and other agencies that will be required to collect, compute and report on the indicators.
Compared with world or megacities, for instance, the five cities that formed the testbeds for this study—namely Bangalore, Cape Town, Gothenburg, Greater Manchester, and Kisumu—constitute a reasonably representative sample of the multitude of urban areas worldwide that will be faced with the new challenges of annual urban SDG reporting from 2016 forward. The precise extent of such responsibilities will vary by country in terms of how national reporting agencies allocate roles, but the specifically urban focus of most of the indicators makes some urban involvement inescapable. Indeed, this is part of the novelty and added value of Goal 11.
There is a clear discrepancy between the call for international standards on the one hand, and local realities on the other.
Our project examined the extent to which the required data already exist in accessible forms in the five cities and could thus be reported straightforwardly; which variables could be obtained or computed with relative ease, hence imposing only a small new burden; and which were unavailable without purposive primary data collection exercises.
If the urban SDG is to prove to be a useful tool to encourage local and national authorities alike to make positive investments in the various components of urban sustainability transitions as intended, then it is vital that it should prove widely relevant, acceptable and practicable. Otherwise, reporting will become piecemeal or irregular, data will be fabricated to suit perceived political advantages, or compliance with reporting obligations will become the principal objective rather than utilising the reporting as a stimulus to promote positive change towards urban sustainability.
It is noteworthy that not one draft indicator was regarded as both important or relevant and easy to report on in terms of data availability. Since the targets and indicators are supposed to be forward-looking and setting the agenda for the next 15 years, the overall consensus of the local authorities participating in this study suggests that for these to become useful and implemented at a city level, they must be relevant for local policymakers. Hence, they cannot be too few and general in scope and range, while there is a clear dilemma in striking a balance between reducing the number of indicators and increasing the policy relevance. There is also a clear discrepancy between the call for international standards on the one hand, and local realities on the other. This will not be easily bridged.
The project results made an immediate impact on the Campaign’s work and were made available to the UN statistical team for their current phase of finalising the targets and indicators. Once the SDGs are implemented, the Campaign anticipates an ongoing need for monitoring, targeted training/capacity building in urban local authorities in poor countries, and probably some revisions to the initial indicators—much as has happened with the MDGs. Mistra Urban Futures has volunteered to play a key role in this process as a critical friend, since we believe that urban areas and their inhabitants worldwide will be better off and more sustainable with Goal 11 than without it. Indeed, this has formed the basis for the entire Campaign.
Bolanle Wahab, PhD, is a Lecturer and Researcher and former acting Head of Department of Urban and Regional Planning and also the Pioneer Coordinator of the Indigenous Knowledge and Development Programme at the University of Ibadan in Ibadan, Nigeria.
Urban SDG #11 is a good goal, but for us to get things on the right track, especially in the developing world, this goal cannot be isolated from the other 16 goals. Of great importance are Goals 1 and 3: (1) End poverty in all forms everywhere, and (3) Ensure healthy lives and promote well-being for all at all ages, respectively.
For SDG #11 to succeed, indigenous knowledge systems and practices of peoples and communities in different nations and regions of the world must be given adequate recognition and attention. The range of issues to which indigenous knowledge systems can contribute is broad, including sanitation; urban planning and development control; climate change and disaster risk management; solid waste management; informality in planning; slum rehabilitation; new housing projects; urban greening and landscaping; and urban and peri-urban agriculture; and more.
Let the people be part not only of planning and implementation, but in setting the goals.
Most ancient towns and cities in Africa, for example, had no master or development plans drawn-up in planning studios; yet, these settlements developed in an organised manner through the active involvement and collaboration of all stakeholders. The siting of structures (buildings, footpaths, tracks, open/recreational spaces, markets, community halls, village square, wells etc.) was done consciously, in relation to one another. Inclusive community planning was employed, whereby physical developments were controlled and monitored to prevent incompatible land uses and developments on flood plains, wetlands and disaster-prone areas, thereby promoting safe and resilient settlements. The tool or approach used throughout was indigenous knowledge, the systems of accumulated local knowledge and practices constructed and applied by local people and communities in the course of their everyday interactions with their living and working environment. Contemporary settlement planning knowledge has abandoned this system and the result is the chaos that is the experience of many African cities.
It will be key to include the participation of “ordinary people” and indigenous communities through the integration of their knowledge, attitude and practices in policy formulation and execution at all levels of government. A shift in the planning paradigm is required; let the people (irrespective of social, economic, cultural and political class/status) be part not only of planning and implementation, but in setting the goals and thereby setting the standards for the creation of inclusive, safe, resilient and sustainable human settlements—the aims of SDG #11. In this way, project beneficiaries will be effectively engaged, will exhibit a sense of ownership, and will ensure project sustainability and capacity for replication.
Although local people may be low in formal western education, the knowledge systems and practices that have sustained their needs and aspirations in their environment over time are nevertheless very relevant for more formal settlement planning process. Such practices are still very dear to them. Their knowledge and modes of thinking, participatory decision-making, and the ways they implement programmes and projects should be integrated into the framework for implementing the urban SDG #11. Local context is critical.
By missing out on key information and strategies that are part of indigenous knowledge systems, SDG #11 could go badly wrong, especially in Africa. . It is even segregatory, discriminatory, morally wrong and against the principles of equity, justice and fair play to not include them. This is more so that the peoples’ roles and services are made indispensable in the social and economic development of any village, town or city. Under SDG #11, settlement planning should focus on making city life more accommodating for the poor through more compact development with adequate infrastructure and minimal risks; urban regeneration with adequate public spaces, and accompanying greens, especially in tropical regions; and creation of employment opportunities which incorporate cultural values. Exclusive developments, as in most African capitals, should be minimized. Population shifts to urban areas could be minimized through the enhancement of living standards in rural areas while discouraging/reducing urban sprawl and its effect on the available land for agriculture.
The inclusion of an explicitly urban Sustainable Development Goal inside the Agenda 2030, adopted by the UN General Assembly last September, can be seen as an important step forward if compared with the Millennium Development Goals. But at the same time, it raises some of the same concerns—and new ones too—related in particular to the lack of an explicit human rights approach and the associated state obligations.
SDG11 raises concerns about the lack of an explicit human rights approach and the associated state obligations.
It is more than evident that, in an increasinly urbanizing world, bold commitments and actions should be taken at the city and regional levels if we really want to achieve sustainability and improve quality of life for both urban and rural populations. Local and subnational spheres of government are at the frontline of those challenges and its role should be recognized and supported by national and international institutions. On the other hand, the final formulation of the urban goal and the current discussion of its related indicators reveal some important gaps and concerning omissions that could be misleading in the measurement of “progress” during the coming fifteen years.
From our point of view, here some particular concerns:
a) In tracking the access to adequate, safe and affordable housing and basic services, special attention should be paid to the current national and local policies for rehabilitating and increasing the social housing stock, the level of protection for tenants (including those living in so-called informal settlements), the support of social production of habitat projects and the programs to address homelessness. At the same time, mandatory data collection of privatization of public/social housing and an inventory of the stock of available vacant buildings/land and abandonned/subutilized facilities and community infraestructure should be part of the equation.
b) UN-Habitat’s current, broad definition of “slum” and “informal settlements”—that involves the lack of secure tenure, access to basic servicies, sufficient living area, durable housing and non-hazardous location—will not be instrumental in identifying the specific problems that need to be addressed in different national and local contexts. The indicator should be disaggregated in order to get more precise information about each of the five mentioned characteristics.
c) As for the “security of tenure” component, it should include data on cases of harassment and forced evictions and displacements, as defined by international human rights instruments.
d) Affordability of both housing and public transport system (including integrated multimodal and non-motorized/non-carbon-related options) should be measured in relation to the real evolution of basic income and purchasing power of the households.
e) Although the word “participation” is mentioned few times in some of the specific targets, there is no explicit mention of the need to democratize decision making processes and put in place and/or strengthen the institutional spaces and tools for a truly democractic management of the territory. The development of indicators should actively solicit input from civil society and social movements who are effective in participation processes, and include their ideas in the implementation and monitoring of public policies and budgets at local, metropolitan, regional and national levels.
f) In protecting and safeguarding the world’s cultural and natural heritage, indicators should track the percentage of the local/national budget that is being managed by indigenous people and other ethnic and minority groups, who preserve biodiversity and promote social diversity and multiculturalism.
g) The promotion of the use of local materials and traditional building techniques should be a priority for building sustanaible and resilient communities. This will require a revision of the current global and national statistical data collection that frequently characterizes such methods as “precarious,” “informal” or “irregular,” or not in compilance with the construction regulatory framework.
It is clear that we have many challenging tasks ahead. As we can see, many of the targets are multidimensional and their appropiate measurement will require more than one indicator, and often composite ones. At the same time, given the prominent role that cities will play in monitoring progress, adequate technical and financial support should be available both for governamental and non-governamental institutions for doing so. Finally, stronger intersectorial and interactoral coordination will be necessary in order to address the SDG11’s commitments.
The contents for a “New Urban Agenda,” to be adopted at the upcoming UN Conference on Housing and Sustainable Urban Development (Habitat III, Quito, October 2016) are now being discussed inside a complex and intense process. For that to be, at the same time, ambitious and operative, we should be looking at deepening the debates and filling the gaps from the experiences and proposals for the Right to the City that social movements, civil society and local authorities are putting forward.
Timothy Beatley, a recognized environmental urbanist and planner, has recently been working on the concept of sustainable communities and resilient cities. In particular, the author’s focus is on the possibilities and scope of cities and their residents to cope with environmental challenges, including mitigating climate change and reducing ecological footprints. While these environmental challenges are burning topics acknowledged by society, it seems that time and again, a nature enthusiast needs to remind the citizens of planet Earth how important these issues really are. With the alarming increase in pollution, sea level rise, and global temperature changes, books on fighting and mitigating these events should be published more often and distributed widely, starting with schools and local communities.
People living in cities—coastal and land locked—depend heavily on the sea as a food source and for transportation to sites of employment, recreation, and leisure. Unlike many urbanists who focus only on land boundaries of cities, Beatley takes one big step forward in this book: he extends the boundaries of cities not only to coastal areas, but to the deep blue sea, even to parts inaccessible to an ordinary person. Because coastal cities constantly use marine resources, it is only logical to include the vast marine ecosystems of the world in cities’ boundaries. Beatley gives us a new perspective in viewing water masses (rivers, lakes, seas and oceans) as an extension of our cities and, in the end, an extension of ourselves.
Beatley often argues in his books that cities should be designed in a way to enable citizens to have daily contact with the natural world, which would reactivate the lost but permanent connection of all living things on the planet. Although connectedness to green belts is more “natural” and easier, we have to remember that we are 70% water and that seas and oceans are already an intrinsic and inseparable part of us. Still, in urban areas, there is more focus on green belts due to easier accessibility. Beatley tries to bring the blue belt closer to us through amazing examples and practical suggestions from all over the world. With just a little imagination, bringing the “big blue” to even inland cities and creating connection between people and the blue belt has shown amazing results, many of which are presented in Beatley’s book.
Images of the Taputeranga Marine Reserve
The book is written in straightforward language designed for the broader public, from children and students to everyone interested in learning a bit more about the blue environment and our connectedness to it. Even local and regional authorities can find examples of and means for bringing aquatic life into the everyday lives of citizens, thereby expanding the boundaries of their cities into the blue. Everyone, even with limited knowledge of marine ecosystems and urban planning, can understand the problems that are occurring with overuse of marine resources. Through the book, Beatley evokes emotions and a will to action amongst his readers. The author describes examples of different approaches that bring marine life closer to cities, including the role of local governments in catalyzing this transition, from San Francisco, USA to Wellington, New Zealand. Further, Beatley has made the effort to personally investigate the examples he describes, lending credibility to his accounts in the book.
This book is intended as a handbook of blue urbanism, a short introduction into the vast possibilities of actions that can expand our vision of cities and help create sense of connectedness to the vast marine area. Beatley does not go into the details and magnitude of the environmental issues concerning marine ecosystems and the problems of current urban planning. Rather, the solutions and examples that are enlisted represent the overall effort of one city or community in bringing marine life into the everyday life of citizens. His examples include all aspects of human actions, from legislative examples of banning plastic bags that eventually harm marine organisms, to architectural solutions that embed the sea into urban planning, to recreational and educational activities of many cities that introduce aquatic life forms in marine parks and aquariums to awaken sensibility within all age groups. The examples of local and national non-governmental organizations (NGOs) are only given as examples of good practices without deeper development of the ideas behind these efforts. This book is intended as a handbook of blue urbanism, a short introduction into the vast possibilities of actions that can expand our vision of cities and help create sense of connectedness to the vast marine area.
The book is written in a concise way and is easy to follow. Beatley opens with an introduction to the urban-ocean connection before taking his reader on a journey through urban life and the incorporation of marine life into urban planning and practical and existing ideas of connecting oceans and cities. In the end, he gives us a glimpse of a blue urban future and recommendations for future work and actions. Beatley supplements his book with pictures; however, it would have been much better if the pictures were in color, since marine life is spectacularly colorful. Nevertheless, this minor glitch can be overlooked in light of the substantial content of the book.
I would recommend this book to my friends, students and people interested in sustainable cities and connecting urban life with nature, both on land and at the sea. This could be a good start up material for getting engaged in local NGOs or civil initiatives that are focused on protection of marine life and ecosystem and brining it closer to general public. Blue Urbanism has the potential to inspire decision makers to start thinking out of the box and making changes–now!
Every month we feature a Global Roundtable in which a group of people respond to a specific question in The Nature of Cities.
show/hide list of writers
Hover over a name to see an excerpt of their response…click on the name to see their full response.
Will Allen, Chapel HillAs a disciple of Ian McHarg, I believe ecology is an essential element of the planning process through the intrinsic suitability of the land driving decision making on land use and design.
Juan Azcárate, BogotaBy taking a socio-ecological approach to child learning and education, ecologists and planners may find common ground and an opportunity to jointly shape more sustainable cities.
Amy Chomowitz, PortlandWhen they work together, planners and ecologists learn about each other and how to build on each other’s strengths, and they can help us all gain a more complex understanding of the world we inhabit.
Katie Coyne, AustinCould urban ecology be the glue that holds everything together? Yes. Atlanta is working on a City-wide Urban Ecology Framework that makes great strides to connect the dots.
Georgina Cullman, New York CityComprehensive inter-agency initiatives provide the opportunity for “ecology” to play a central role in creating a shared infrastructure.
PK Das, MumbaiLets begin our discussion admitting that the failure to achieve sustainable ecology is a challenge to our collective capacity, capability and knowledge sharing ability across multi-sectorial concerns. And not just these two groups, but everyone.
David Goode, BathI can see a time when city planning will be based on ecological principles. Understanding the metabolism of a city, how materials and energy move through the system, is no different from the natural world. Ecologists are well versed in this kind of approach.
Mark Hostetler, GainesvilleThere is a growing body of evidence that one’s psychological and physical well-being is rooted in one’s connection to nature.
Elsa Limasset, OrléansSoils are the foundation for maintaining or integrating nature in cities.
Ragene Palma, ManilaAn ecological perspective towards planning has (or could) improve our approach to tourism and pave the way for the Philippines to integrate climate change adaptation and disaster risk reduction in environmental planning.
Diane Pataki, Salt Lake CityIf planners are willing to embrace uncertainty and negative results, and ecologists are willing to put science to the challenge of envisioning and testing bold new configurations of nature, maybe we can make a joint effort work.
Gil Penha-Lopez, LisbonIntegrating nature-based design into urban planning can be a regenerative pathway to solve something that was done previously, without any good planning, often times done the wrong way and in the wrong place.
Lauren Smalls-Mantey, New York CityComprehensive inter-agency initiatives provide the opportunity for “ecology” to play a central role in creating a shared infrastructure.
David loves urban spaces and nature. He loves creativity and collaboration. He loves theatre and music. In his life and work he has practiced in all of these as, in various moments, a scientist, a climate change researcher, a land steward, an ecological practitioner, composer, a playwright, a musician, an actor, and a theatre director.
Urban planning (and the city plans that express it) is typically focused on coherently organizing city systems, flows of people and resources, where things are and should be. While parks, green and open spaces are usually part of urban plans (but there are exceptions), ecology and process are on the sidelines.
Much of the writing at TNOC addresses the essential ecological and social values that flow from ecosystem services, green spaces, and biodiversity.
So, should not a greater ecological sophistication be embedded within urban planning?
Should there not be ecologists at the center of urban planning teams in cities?
Of course this requires that ecologists get involved, learn about planning and its methods, and invest in the tradeoffs that are inevitably involved in planning something as complicated as a city.
Where are the examples ecology embedded in urban planning? How can it be done?
Will is the Senior Vice President of Strategic Giving & Conservation Services at The Conservation Fund in Chapel Hill, NC. At The Conservation Fund since 1994, he formerly served as the Fund’s director strategic conservation planning and enterprise geospatial services and as an instructor for green infrastructure and conservation GIS training courses.
As a disciple of Ian McHarg, I believe ecology is an essential element of the planning process through the intrinsic suitability of the land driving decision making on land use and design.
It is particularly amusing to me to talk about this idea of whether ecology “could” play a bigger role in planning, since that was the primary motivation for me wanting to attend the City and Regional Planning program at the University of North Carolina-Chapel Hill back in the 1990s in the first place!
My graduate school application essay focused on the concept of sustainable development, and I argued that expanding the use of ecological science into city planning was an essential element in that journey towards sustainability. In undergraduate school at Stanford University, the Urban Studies program exposed me to Ian McHarg’s iconic 1967 book Design with Nature. The book and Ian were the primary reasons that I went into the city and regional planning profession. The book seemed like the fundamental manifestation of what I thought land use and ecological planning should be, where the intrinsic suitability of the land drives the land use tradeoffs between ecology and the built environment.
My graduate studies and professional work at The Conservation Fund have focused on ecological planning with an emphasis on environmental design and sustainable development, in urban and rural environments, and at multiple scales. Inspired by McHarg’s layer cake, I have applied spatial planning using geographic information systems as my fundamental toolbox for thinking about how to protect a city’s green infrastructure and implement a strategic conservation planning approach to our work.
But, I still have a bit of lingering frustration with this topic of ecology and planning. Ian’s book is from 1967. I went to graduate school in the 1990s. It is now 2018. How far have we really come? My short answer is far, but not far enough.
I was reminded of how far we have come, and not come, when I was asked to do a review of the 2016 book entitled Nature and Cities: The Ecological Imperative in Urban Design and Planning by Frederick R. Steiner, George F. Thompson, Armando Carbonell (eds.) from the Lincoln Institute of Land Policy. The book focuses on the role of landscape architecture and its “ever-expanding role in improving urban settings at every human scale.”
Given the topic, I knew that McHarg would be front and center in many of the essays. Little did I realize, however, that some of the chapters would become a referendum of sorts on the McHargian philosophy. In Richard Weller’s essay entitled: “The City Is Not an Egg: Western Urbanization in Relation to Changing Conceptions of Nature”, Weller identifies what I would call the “McHargian Paradox”—that is, any attempt to apply a prescriptive method to designing with nature in cities is virtually impossible given the complexity of natural systems, functions, and processes that make aspects of nature “unknowable”. In a nutshell, while McHarg focused on biophysical data, landscape urbanists utilized a diversity of data from sciences and liberal arts. This chapter captured the essence of the ongoing tension between urban spatial planning through geographic information systems and the landscape architecture profession. Here I am, a McHarg disciple, but thanks to my primarily practitioner-based career, I did not realize the fierce debate in the academic world over his legacy.
So as I continue to think about ecology and planning with my drink in hand at this very nice bar with nine other planners and urban ecologists, I wonder how the rest of the group now feels about the words “ecology” and “planning” and wonder whether, and how much, they now incorporate concepts of green infrastructure, resiliency, adaptation, biophilia, and system approaches into their thinking, and how that might redefine how they “label” or portray themselves. Time for another round, I suppose!
Juan Azcárate is a research at the Humboldt Institute, Colombia, where he works with biodiversity in urban-regional environments. He is an environmental planner with a PhD degree in Land and Water Resources Engineering, and his main interest is to use strategic approaches to enhance decision making and promote pathways towards sustainability.
By taking a socio-ecological approach to child learning and education, ecologists and planners may find common ground and an opportunity to jointly shape more sustainable cities.
Many may agree that the base for a great life is a great childhood. And, when talking about urban planning, many may also agree that cities that cater to the needs of children in their planning processes necessarily become, in the long run, livable, attractive and sustainable cities. However, in practice and despite the enormous efforts that have been invested to address the needs of children in urban planning, that is planning for and investing in accessible social infrastructure such as daycares, schools, libraries, museums, hospitals and recreational centers, various gaps and challenges remain to be tackled in this respect.
One such gap, which directly impacts the needs of children in cities, is the failure to include urban green areas and their associated ecosystem services in urban planning processes. A possible reason for this gap is that green areas and the services they provide city inhabitants, in particular children, are often undervalued in city planning processes. It’s here that urban ecology has focused its efforts, aiming to inform planning by designing tools and scientific publications that explore and explain how nature can be environmentally, socially, and economically beneficial for urban well-being and for child development. However, much of the information on the benefits of nature for urban well-being come, in general, from more developed, politically stable, and equitable societies. The relevance and application of this information in developing, more biodiverse, politically unstable and unequitable contexts, such as those typical of Latin America, can be questioned and encounter difficulties.
In this respect, ecology could contribute to urban planning by working to speak a common language and by providing context-specific solutions. This requires that ecologists be prepared to work across disciplines and in different sectors of society. Additionally, it means that they are ready to undertake the promotion and defense of urban biodiversity not only in the social and political realms, but also in the educational realm, where the focus is on developing the capacities and skills of children. Viewed in this respect, addressing cities and education becomes an excellent opportunity and common ground for planners and ecologists to speak the same language and work together to simultaneously plan for greener cities and cities that serve child education.
If this opportunity is made tangible, especially in developing countries where urban environments usually bring together a wide variety of informal capacities, values and human, natural and economic resources, these informal assets can be well planned and managed and cities turned into spaces for innovation, development, research, and education, where ideas and solutions are generated to address different challenges at different scales.
Moreover, in these contexts, it is important that cities complement the formal education that takes place in classrooms. For instance, cities offering an ample provision of urban green areas, such as parks, trees, hills, rivers, and wetlands where activities such as citizen science (e.g. bird observation and monitoring), ecological walks, urban gardening, and ecological restoration can take place, will allow children to come in direct contact with nature and reach a more relevant learning, one that is contextualized and integrated with the realities of their environments and communities.
As spaces of education and innovation, cities should also strive to contain museums of natural history, zoos, botanical gardens and other educational spaces that allow a large number of children to get in touch with and learn from urban nature. With these spaces in place and through the activities that can be developed in them, cities can act as learning rooms, bringing children closer to nature, in this way creating awareness of its importance and at the same time awareness that they are part of urban nature.
Well planned greener cities promote the construction of knowledge and learning in children through the interaction of their socio-cultural and their natural environments, complementing what they have learned passively in classrooms. This to say that cities may favor a socio-ecological learning in children that is fundamental for environmental education and sustainable development.
Despite these potential benefits of cities, the implementation of socio-ecological learning initiatives has been limited to a very local scale, lacking strategic nature, which means that it has not reached change on a scale of political incidence.
It is here where urban ecologists can make a difference in planning, by linking to networks and associations that, for example, carry out these local activities, as well as with universities and local governments who can share these experiences at other scales and with other actors at national and international levels.
In summary then, by taking a socio-ecological approach to child learning and education ecologists and planners may find common ground and an opportunity to jointly contribute to shape more sustainable cities.
Amy Chomowicz is a board member of the Green Roof information Think-tank (GRiT). GRiT is a Portland non-profit that provides education and outreach to support the use of green roofs.
When they work together, planners and ecologists learn about each other and how to build on each other’s strengths, and they can help us all gain a more complex understanding of the world we inhabit.
Planning is, at its core, a human-based and human-focused exercise. Protecting the environment is a priority in urban plans only if people either make the connection between the environment and human health or if people decide “nature” is intrinsically important to them in and of itself. Ecologists can play a critical role in establishing the importance of the environment and in setting a scientific foundation for environmental protection in urban plans.
Mural at New Seasons Market in Portland, Oregon.
An ecological framework for planning
The Portland Plan, adopted in 2012, provides a good example of using a policy framework as a building block for a citywide plan. The Portland Plan is a wide sweeping strategy that guides Portland in achieving prosperity, education, health, and equity goals. A group of equity advocates successfully argued for including an equity framework in the Plan. The result is that equity isn’t a stand-alone chapter tacked on at the end of the plan. Equity is infused throughout the entire plan, and it is reflected in the plan’s goals, objectives, and actions. We need the ecological equivalent of the equity framework for all urban plans.
An ecological framework would embed technical information about the environment and ecological processes in an urban plan. An ecological framework would identify the root causes of environmental problems, and it would establish a foundation for planning policies and goals that restore urban ecological systems. By working with ecologists, planners gain the technical understanding of the sources and causes of environmental problems, and they can use this knowledge to develop plans that improve the city’s watersheds, transportation, neighborhoods, and economy.
Another example that addresses the environment and economy comes from the Central City 2035 Plan. The City of Portland is poised to adopt a requirement for green roofs on new construction in the central city. It is doubtful that such a requirement would have made it this far without data and information that assured planners and decision-makers that adding a green roof to new construction is not cost prohibitive.
Role of ecologists
Ecologists play many roles in urban planning. In terms of developing the scientific foundation of urban plans, ecologists play two critical and active roles. First, they assemble and translate data into information that can be readily understood by planners and the general public. Planners can use this information to establish the environment as a priority in urban planning. Data by itself is not very useful to planners, but the story the data tells is critical.
Ecologists also help planners and community members understand the connections between ecological processes and human health. For example, stream hydraulics may affect flooding, property values, and human health and safety. Trees and vegetation affect urban heat island and air quality, two processes that can severely impact human health. The presence of trees is associated with improved student performance on tests and improved birth weights for newborns. Ecologists can provide the data and information that show how these ecological processes benefit or harm human health.
Role of planners
Planners are the unifying tie that brings everyone together. They can draw ecologists into the planning process and provide an avenue for them to share their data and information. Using the ecologists’ story, planners can foster an urgency to prioritize environmental health and they help embed ecological information in urban planning policies and goals.
While urban plans set a course for the future, they must also address restoring damage done by past actions. Looming environmental threats such as climate change, the arrival of invasive plant and insect species, and water scarcity threaten our quality of life. Urban planning plays an ever-increasing role in restoring our cities, and ecologists are essential to establishing the scientific foundation for urban plans.
At the outset, any planning process should establish ecology as a foundational principle on which to base the plan. Planners and ecologists can work together to form the ecological foundation for setting planning policies and goals. When they work together, planners and ecologists learn about each other and how to build on each other’s strengths, and they can help us all gain a more complex understanding of the world we inhabit. In doing so, planners and ecologists together can generate urban plans that move our communities toward greater resiliency that protects the environment and human health.
Katie co-leads the Urban Ecology Studio at Asakura Robinson where she is a passionate advocate for design informed by studying the overlap between social and ecological systems.
Could urban ecology be the glue that holds everything together? Yes. Atlanta is working on a City-wide Urban Ecology Framework that makes great strides to connect the dots.
In order to better integrate ecology into planning we need better synergy of the plans and initiatives related to the many different systems at play in a city. The consistent disconnect between existing plans and initiatives in our cities and regions both thematically and across temporal scales is one of the primary barriers to resilience. Without clearly connecting plans to each other, we miss opportunities to maximize collective impact across different systems and are less likely to find ways to integrate ecology in a meaningful and holistic way.
Right now Austin, Texas is in the midst of an extremely contentious land use code rewrite that does not substantively take into account previous plans. Simultaneously, a number of planning processes are underway that have a direct impact on the City’s land use code and/or future fabric of our City, but there is no clear path to making sure there is synergy among all of those efforts. Because of these disconnects, the City’s Environmental Commission recently passed a resolution that recommended City staff work to align and clearly demonstrate connections and synergies between plans, initiatives, and programs across departments to maximize the collective impact of City initiatives; and, work to align and clearly demonstrate connections and synergies between the above plans and tools and the final draft of the land development code.
The following recent or ongoing planning projects and tools are at various stages of development, each shepherded by a different department or entity:
Austin Water Forward Master Plan—Austin Water Utility
Integrated Green Infrastructure Plan—City of Austin Watershed Protection Department
Functional Green Program—a proposed pilot program housed in the City’s Development Services Department
Climate Resilience Action Plan—the City’s Office of Sustainability
Long Range Plan for Land, Facilities and Programs (Long Range Parks Plan)—the City’s Parks and Recreation Department
Equity Tool—the City’s Equity Office
Project Connect—CAPMETRO
Strategic Mobility Plan—the City’s Transportation Department
Austin Strategic Housing Blueprint—the City’s Neighborhood Housing and Community Development Department
Earlier in 2017, I was a proponent for a resolution adopted by the Austin City Council that directed the Watershed Protection Department to come up with a “plan to plan”, outlining the key items necessary to create the aforementioned Integrated Green Infrastructure Plan (IGIP) – the first of its kind in the state of Texas. At the time I was hopeful that this plan could, in the very least, begin to tie together the mess of plans listed above with existing plans like the City’s Urban Forest Plan. I have been repeatedly assured that this plan will be holistic. However, at a recent meeting a well-meaning individual referred to the IGIP as “watershed’s plan”, only affirming my fears that this will likely become too narrow in focus.
There is no formal structure or incentive in place in the City of Austin to promote inter-departmental coordination and collaboration for plans and programs. Not to say this does not happen at all—many staff members at all levels of various departments recognize this need and do what they can to work together. However, the silos that exist and have been solidified over time and result in plans that are “owned” by single departments. Differential budgets, and the resulting surplus/deficit dynamics between different departments make it even more difficult to ask departments to collaborate more. Some departments are (relatively) flush with funds that allow them to be innovative and take risks on novel projects while the for instance, the Parks and Recreation Department’s line item in the City budget does not even cover deferred maintenance of the City’s parks. There are innovative minds, teams, and leaders in PARD but when out-of-the-box ideas come up (or really, anything that does not fit into the status quo of operations) a common reaction is fear and pessimism about the result—which I can only assume is directly tied to budget anxiety. This has a direct impact on the ecological benefits we could garner from our parks system through thoughtful and innovative urban ecological design and planning.
Two questions to end with:
Is ecology able to be meaningfully integrated into cities without synergy among plans and departments? Yes. But it takes a lot more folks who know and understand ecology spread across multiple departments to do so and the impact will never be as great compared to a collective effort.
Could urban ecology be the glue that holds everything together? Yes. Atlanta is working on a City-wide Urban Ecology Framework that makes great strides to connect the dots. In my opinion, short of reimagining the practice of how we manage our City from the top down, an Austin Urban Ecology Framework could be part of the solution if it entailed a combination of Urban Forest, Resilience, Water Supply, Watershed Management, and Green Infrastructure Plans; and meaningfully took into account housing, transit, and equity.
So, what is the next step for planners in Austin, Texas if they are concerned with integrating ecology into planning? Speak up when you see missed opportunities for collaboration. Most of all, in this community, we need to get out of our departmental silos and find the best opportunities for collective impact where we overlap.
Georgina Cullman, Ph.D. is an Ecologist for New York City's Department of Parks & Recreation. As part of NYC Parks Natural Resources Group, Dr. Cullman conducts research and provides advisement to protect and enhance the city's natural areas and biodiversity.
Comprehensive inter-agency initiatives provide the opportunity for “ecology” to play a central role in creating a shared infrastructure.
To meet critical social and environmental goals, ecology must play a bigger role in urban planning. First, better integrating “ecology” in planning fulfills our obligation to protect urban biodiversity and minimize impacts on our cities’ nonhuman inhabitants. Second, incorporating ecology into planning can provide “green” solutions to common urban design challenges, including mitigating negative human health impacts from urbanization. Finally, incorporating ecology in city planning can enable city dwellers to connect to the natural world and ensure a constituency for the environment in a majority-urban world. Because ecology is about how living things connect to one another, incorporating ecology into planning necessitates coordination between different agencies. When well instituted, these approaches create robust co-benefits.
In New York City, zoning regulation is a way to conserve biodiversity through urban planning. Four Special Districts in Staten Island and the Bronx have been designated because of their unique geological and biological features. For instance, Staten Island is home to some of the largest and most-vibrant ecosystems in the city, such as the unique serpentine barrens. Currently the Department of City Planning is working with the Department of Parks & Recreation (NYC Parks) and others to revise zoning regulations for these Special Districts. The goal is to conserve existing habitat on private lands, increase connectivity, and enhance buffering of public protected areas. These regulations are still being revised, but will include minimum planting requirements, lot design rules to optimize habitat conservation, and maximum levels of impervious surface. Staten Island in particular is under increasing development pressure. These zoning regulations will be critical to conserving biodiversity on private lands.
Green infrastructure is a major component of New York City’s strategy for managing common urban problems such as stormwater management and the urban heat island effect. For stormwater management, one challenge is the city’s existing infrastructure, approximately 60 percent of which is a combined sewer and stormwater system. On rainy days, New York City’s system is often overwhelmed from the influx of stormwater. Storms release a mix of untreated stormwater and wastewater into the city’s waterways. This negatively impacts water quality and recreational opportunities. In response, New York City’s Department of Environmental Protection, in partnership with NYC Parks, has installed right-of-way rain gardens to help manage stormwater in areas prone to excessive flooding.
The urban heat island effect is an urban challenge exacerbated by climate change that acutely impacts vulnerable populations. In urban centers, increased impervious surfaces and reduced vegetated areas decrease evapotranspiration, a mechanism that leads to cooling. The reintroduction of vegetation through green infrastructure mitigates this effect by increasing the rate of evapotranspiration, increasing the permeable surface area of the city, and providing shade. The Cool Neighborhoods Initiative—a multi-agency heat mitigation plan for New York City—incorporates some of these strategies.
Finally, NYC Parks works to increase access to high-quality green spaces for all New Yorkers. Through the Community Parks Initiative, NYC Parks identified 35 neighborhood parks for targeted investment to meet the needs of a growing population and rectify past under-investment. If successfully implemented, 200,000 residences will be within a ten-minute walk of an improved green-space.
NYC Parks seeks to increase neighborhoods’ environmental stewardship through public programming. The Urban Park Rangers for example, create tailored nature experiences for school groups, families, and adults in their local parks. To encourage stewardship and advocacy at a citywide level and trigger greater investment in natural areas conservation, the Natural Areas Conservancy (NAC) launched NYC Nature Goals 2050. This initiative brought together over 60 organizations and identified 25 measurable and actionable targets under five main goals. The Parks Stewardship team engages New Yorkers through restoration events and trainings while NYC’s Partnerships for Parks provides workshops, grants, and other resources to neighborhood park groups. NYC Parks’ investment in individual volunteers, community groups, and coalition building is a strategy to enlist New Yorkers as advocates for their parks.
Multiple co-benefits flow from integrating ecology into planning. For instance, the revision of Special District zoning regulations will protect biodiversity, reduce stormwater management problems, and retain neighborhood character in the face of development. These comprehensive inter-agency initiatives provide the opportunity for “ecology” to play a central role in creating a shared infrastructure. This meets the needs of the people and biodiversity while enhancing resilience in the face of climate change.
Lauren Smalls-Mantey, Ph.D is an Environmental Engineer working at the New York City’s Department of Parks and Recreation. As a part of the Division of Forestry, Horticulture, and Natural Resources, Dr. Smalls-Mantey serves as the Urban Heat Resilience Project Coordinator for the Cool Neighborhoods Initiative.
P.K. Das is popularly known as an Architect-Activist. With an extremely strong emphasis on participatory planning, he hopes to integrate architecture and democracy to bring about desired social changes in the country.
Lets begin our discussion admitting that the failure to achieve sustainable ecology is a challenge to our collective capacity, capability and knowledge sharing ability across multi-sectorial concerns. And not just these two groups, but everyone.
As we have now settled down with drinks to begin our dialogue. May I suggest switching roles, the planners speaking as ecologists and the ecologists as planners? Would you agree that such an approach in our dialogue would strengthen our respect for each other and enable a robust collaborative understanding and endeavor for the achievement of a sustainable future?
Isn’t it strange, though not surprising, as to how we specialists are categorized and divided, as much as people and places are constantly divided in the neo-liberalized and privatized world. Planners and ecologists too are assumed to be two separate and independent groups with a skewed assumption that matters relating to nature and environment rest exclusively in ecologists domain and planners are outside that. Shouldn’t planning include and reflect matters relating to environment and ecology? Shouldn’t ecologists engage actively with planning ideas and practices? Haven’t we come to a stage when unification of knowledge and exclusive domains ought to be intertwined producing a paradigm shift in the way we think and understand and classify various matters pertaining to the sustainability question?
That only select individuals and groups have colonised or been trained to colonise the ecologist’s identity is a matter of concern. Similarly the planners, besides lip service, have stood far away from dealing with critical ecological and environmental concerns. The fact is that nature in all its manifestations coupled with human development needs and aspirations ought to be referred to as ecology. This ought to be our worldview and must form the basis for the constitution of a collective identity. For such de-colonisation and comprehension would contribute significantly to the success of a sustainable ecology mission. Also, such de-colonisation would help in breaking the multiple barriers between people and the dominant mindset of segregation between development demands and nature, thereby enabling the democratization of ideas, plans and actions in wider environmental interest.
So lets begin our discussion admitting that the failure to achieve sustainable ecology is a challenge to our collective capacity, capability and knowledge sharing ability across multi-sectorial concerns.
The question that then comes up before us is why just us two select groups? Why aren’t we talking to other diverse people and contributing to wider public engagement and participation, undertaking active public campaign and dialogue? How can public action be mobilized, knowing that is what deeply influences decisions that governments take? How can the idea of sustainable ecology be popular knowledge, going far beyond the short-term daily life needs and demands however important they may be? Our real challenge rests in our ability to break these multiple barriers that we have over time consistently built that have severed the intricate and intimate relationships at all levels that existed.
De-colonisation of knowledge and exclusive domains is the single most difficult task for us, the various segregated “experts” or “specialists”. It would destabilize us in many different ways—settled positions, complacence and our professional arrogance. Similarly, it is the larger phenomenon of constant division and fragmentation of towns and cities that worry us, for that too influences the expert’s individualism. It is the individualism and self-gratification that stand in the way of integration and unification of people and places. We have realized how free-markets and privatization thrust under neo-liberalization and globalization have systematically promoted individualism and self-gratification, thus compelling us to intervene in the current political trend.
Therefore, It is crucial to consider and elaborate the ideas of sustainable ecology as fundamentally being a part of social and political construct. This is to go beyond the stereotypical understanding of many governments and experts in territorializing and barricading natural elements and areas for their protection and conservation. Ecology as a complex cocktail of natural and built environments and a way forward for their integration and unification are indeed our collective priority.
Natural elements and areas have been constantly abused, attacked, damaged, and totally destroyed across vast areas. Land and environment have been damaged to an extent that they have lost their regenerative capacity. As a result, human habitat is under critical threat. Living in towns and cities are increasingly becoming unsustainable, posing a threat to health and wellbeing.
The world over, across nations, we have attempted to confront and tame nature and natural forces, exhibiting our arrogance and power, sadly to miserable defeat every time. Yet we continue with similar effort while pursuing various projects under the guise of development. Governments and the ruling classes continue to plan and implement environmentally disastrous works, be they indiscriminate landfilling, destruction of mangroves, diversion of rivers and landfilling natural river beds, depleting forests, and so on. Build more syndromes led by real estate short-term interest is aggressively pursued with active government support, in spite of those projects in no way fulfilling the larger public interest.
Our challenge is to rebuild with nature and stop defying it. This would mean to re-envision our towns and cities and a paradigm shift in the way various works or projects are conceived and implemented. This would mean that many sections of our cities and towns would have to be done away with or remodeled from their established forms and locations to new ones. We have to together work towards gradually turning around our cities. Let us as a motley group of ecologists in this bar begin our work together by undertaking the task of preparing maps of our towns and cities for a sustainable future. This along with repairing, restoring, reclaiming, conserving, and nourishing all natural areas, elements, and conditions would have to be the immediate action plan.
Natural areas along with the necessary buffer have to be collaboratively mapped and open data relating to ecological relationships, including those that existed, would have to be registered. Development works have to be planned and implemented in response to all of these natural conditions. Re-establishing the ecological networks and relationships, including new ones, would form the basis of land use planning and development works. Carefully scheduled phased implementation based in such a new imagination has to be evolved and aggressively pursued with wider public consultation. There is no alternative but the ecologists together steering a campaign towards the democratization and achievement of this objective.
David Goode has over 40 years experience working in both central and local government in the UK and an international reputation for environmental projects, ranging from wetland conservation to urban sustainability.
From black hole to city metabolism: collaboration is crucial
I can see a time when city planning will be based on ecological principles. Understanding the metabolism of a city, how materials and energy move through the system, is no different from the natural world. Ecologists are well versed in this kind of approach.
Oh no not again! We have been through this so many times during the past fifty years. In the 1970s the UK Government led an investigation into the relationship between ecology and planning which concluded that there was a black hole between the two. The two disciplines have developed from very different roots. One is essentially a science, devoted to understanding how the natural world operates. The other is a process, aimed to fulfil people’s needs in the most effective way. In the 1970s they didn’t talk to each other very much. Planners complained that they didn’t understand ecologists because their reports were full of Latin names, with little explanation of context or significance. In fact, they each have their own language and philosophical standpoint. Ecologists found it equally difficult to know what kind of advice planners really needed. We needed to talk together far more.
In 1982 I found myself in a more productive situation when I was appointed as senior ecologist in the Greater London Council’s strategic planning team. It was my job to produce a set of ecological policies, which would form a crucial part of a revised development plan for the capital. Working with planners to produce policies that would then be implemented was very satisfying. One of the policies relating to flood alleviation stated that “…the Council will define the floodplains of the Thames and its tributaries to be safeguarded from development and London borough councils must accordingly further the protection of these areas through their local plans and in development control.” Another stated that, “there will be a presumption against development within Sites of Special Scientific Interest, statutory Local Nature Reserves and other ecologically sensitive areas.” This was at a time when there was no mention of either ecology or nature conservation in the existing London development plan.
The ecological policies needed to be defined unambiguously as a basis for strategic planning, and they needed to have strong political support. We certainly had that support and alongside it we had the benefit of a groundswell of public support for ecological issues. But I was always conscious that those of us practising as ecologists tended to be regarded as rather second rate in comparison with other land management professions. We didn’t have a Professional Institute of Ecology. Yes the UK had the first Ecological Society in the World, but that was principally an academic body for the study of ecological science. We needed an Institute equivalent to those of planners, architects and surveyors. So a few of the leading practitioners in ecology promoted the idea in the late eighties with the result that the Institute of Ecology and Environmental management was launched in 1991. It has recently gained a Royal Charter which gives practising ecologists similar standing to that of other professions.
There are still antagonisms. Many planners and developers faced with protected species on a high value development site can only see ecology as presenting problems in terms of time-scale and cost. Sadly the benefits of nature are not the first thing they see. But there are some splendid examples where a local planning department has seen an opportunity to cater for nature, rather than see it as a problem. South Cambridgeshire District Council won the best practice award from the Institute of Ecology in 2011 for a village project called Saving the Fulbourne Swifts. All they did was to require nesting boxes for swifts to be built into a large number of newly built houses. Local residents loved the result. The developers are responding too. I am told that one house builder has been so impressed by the positive effect of new natural landscapes, in terms of the public response and possibly also the increased value of the properties, that they now intend to create such landscapes for all their housing schemes.
I believe that the increased stature of ecology and ecologists through having a Royal Charter has had a very positive effect on our ability to promote ecological solutions to deal with some of the key issues facing us today. Planners can no longer be unaware of global climate change. The past twenty years has seen the production of numerous action plans to reduce the impact of climate change on big cities, especially coastal cities. Adaptation options have been considered in considerable detail and it is becoming normal practice for this to be done on a multidisciplinary basis. Ecologists, planners, economists, insurers, and climate scientists work together to find the best possible solutions, based on current scenarios. Ideas that were first promoted by ecologists during the early 1990s, and quite often ridiculed at that time, are now being applied as mainstream solutions by a new breed of ecologist, very often working in collaboration with urban designers, architects, and planners. Green roofs, vertical water gardens, and sustainable drainage schemes are all part of this new urban landscape.
The recognition that natural landscapes within towns and cities provide valuable ecosystem services has already brought ecological knowledge to the forefront in urban design, confirming the need for collaborative approaches. The benefits of natural landscapes are not restricted to ameliorating physical factors, such as ambient temperature, humidity, and flooding. The health benefits of biodiversity to city people are becoming well established, affecting both physical and mental health. The ecology of a city is becoming recognised as crucially important.
But I can also see a time when city planning as a whole will be based on ecological principles. Understanding the metabolism of a city, how materials and energy move through the system, is no different from the natural world. Ecologists are well versed in this kind of approach. It is only a small step from understanding city metabolism to utilising that knowledge in designing a truly smart city. I believe ecologists will have a major role to play in creating our future cities. The ecologists may well replace today’s planners.
Conservation ecology is often translated into conserving plant and animal communities and the synergistic benefits are not often conveyed. Planners may not be aware that incorporating “ecology” into planning has multiple benefits for citizens.
As an ecologist, I would discuss how incorporating ecology into planning does have many synergies with other planning initiatives such as efficient transportation, energy, water, and improved livability and human health. Often, conservation ecology is translated into conserving plant and animal communities and the synergistic benefits are not often conveyed. Planners may not be aware that incorporating “ecology” into planning has multiple benefits for citizens. With this in mind, I will highlight a few synergies below[1].
Conserving Trees and Services: Urban trees can provide many valuable services beyond just wildlife habitat. For example, trees reduce stormwater flow by intercepting a portion of the rain when it hits leaves, branches, and trunks. This can be a significant savings; for example, in the metropolitan Washington DC region, the existing 46 percent tree canopy reduces the need for stormwater retention structures by 949 million cubic feet, valued at $4.7 billion per 20-year construction cycle (based on a $5/cubic foot construction cost)[2]. Trees also benefit air quality as they remove many pollutants from the atmosphere, including nitrogen dioxide (NO2), sulfur dioxide (SO2), ozone (O2), and carbon monoxide (CO). Tree cover reduces energy costs significantly; American Forests found that tree cover in the Atlanta area saved residents approximately $2.8 million annually in reduced energy costs[3].
Natural areas provide shared green space for humans to interact and recreate. Creating green infrastructure, in terms of pocket and natural parks, creates a strong sense of place for residents by incorporating green space and walkability into their designs. This allows residents an opportunity to socialize and watch wildlife in its natural setting. A study found that a sense of place, attachment, and satisfaction were affected by not only social constructions but also the landscape attributes of the natural environment[4]. Many feel that the conventional designs, without walkable neighborhoods or green space, are counterproductive to an individual’s need to experience community[5] and urban residents really desire a sense of community[6]. Nearby natural areas are often used to educate people about their environment and human history. A recent study found that unstructured natural areas helped children, later in life; they had more positive perceptions of natural environments and outdoor recreation activities[7].
Preserved natural areas can increase property values. Most homeowners view healthy natural communities within close proximity to homes as aesthetically pleasing. This translates to an economic value of green space[8]:
“The home-buyer, speaking…through the marketplace, appears to have demonstrated a greater desire for a home with access…to permanently protected land, than for one located on a bigger lot, but without the open-space amenity.”
“Top rank of open space/parks/recreation among factors used by small businesses in choosing a new business location.”
“Percentage of Denver residents who in 1980 said they would pay more to live near a greenbelt or park: 16 percent. Percentage who said so in 1990: 48 percent.”
Preserving natural habitats can decrease irrigation costs. Native plants have adapted to an area’s annual cycling of wet and dry seasons. By reducing the amount of formal landscaping and preserving natural areas, cities can reduce or eliminate the need for supplemental irrigation. This saves money for cities.
Interaction with natural areas promotes better human health. There is a growing body of evidence that one’s psychological and physical well-being is rooted in one’s connection to nature. Conversations about “biophilia” and “deep ecology” discuss the intricate link between nature and humans.[9] Even though many people live in urban environments, and most of their lives are spent in cars, homes, and other buildings, their emotional well-being and health depends on their ability to experience nature. The ways in which cities are built and maintained have direct and indirect consequences for natural environments and human health. People recover from stress more quickly when exposed to natural vegetation instead of urban settings[10]. It is especially important that children play outside. A 2003 Environment and Behavior article found that access to natural areas protects children from the impact of life stress[11]. Stress levels were reduced as kids spent more time playing outside, and this protective buffering intensifies with increasing stress levels within children. Furthermore, the amount of time spent in contact with nature affects a variety of human health factors, such as the level of cognitive functioning[12], the number of physical ailments[13], and the speed of recovery from illness[14].
In summary, planning goals that address healthy, livable cities naturally should include ecology and the conservation of plant and animal communities. I would wager that the diversity of plants and animals is highly correlated to the health and well-being of people within cities.
Notes: [1] Hostetler, M. 2012. The Green Leap: A Primer for Conserving Biodiversity in Subdivision Development. University of California Press, Berkeley, CA [2] Source http://www.americanforests.org/resources/urbanforests/naturevalue.php [3] Source http://www.americanforests.org/resources/urbanforests/naturevalue.php [4] Stedman, R. C. 2003. Is it really just a social construction? The contribution of the physical environment to sense of place. Society & Natural Resources 16: 671-685. [5] Benfield, K. F., Raimi, M. D., & Chen, D. D. (1999). Once there were greenfields: How urban sprawl is undermining America’s environment, economy, and social fabric. Natural Resource Defense Council. [6] Brown, B. B., Burton, J. R., & Sweaney, A. L. (1998). Neighbors, households and front porches: New Urbanist community tool or mere nostalgia? Environment and Behavior, 30, 579-601 [7] Bixler, R.D., Floyd, M.F., and W.E. Hammitt. 2002. Environmental socialization – Quantitative tests of the childhood play hypothesis. Environment and Behavior 34(6): 795-818. [8] Source – Trust for Public Land – https://www.tpl.org/economic-benefits-parks-and-open-space-1999#sm.000q846xjt0ucuv108o2l4few03yr [9] Wilson, E.O., and S.R. Kellert. 1995. The Biophilia Hypothesis. Washington, DC: Island Press. [10] Ulrich, R.S., R.F. Simons, B.D. Losito, E. Fiorito, M.A. Miles, and M. Zelson. “Stress recovery during exposure to natural and urban environments.”Journal of Environmental Psychology 11(3): 201–230. [11] Wells, N.M., and G.W. Evans. 2003. “Nearby nature: A buffer of life stress among rural children.” Environment and Behavior 35:311–330. [12] Kaplan, R., and S. Kaplan. 1989. The Experience of Nature: A Psychological Perspective.New York: Cambridge University Press. [13] Moore, E.O. 1981. “A prison environment’s effect on health care service demands.” Journal of Environmental Systems 11:17–34. [14] Ulrich, R.S. 1984. “View through a window may influence recovery from surgery.” Science 224:420–421.
Elsa Limasset is an environmental engineer at the French national Geological survey (BRGM), based in Orléans in France. She works within the contaminated land team in the department of Environment and Ecotechnology.
Soils are the foundation for maintaining or integrating nature in cities.
Let’s not forget about «urban soils» in urban ecology
Bringing nature into urban planning, hoping to bring more benefits for people, biodiversity, or even the economy, first requires that cities make a place for nature. Indeed, to make that possible, ecologists and ecology must have a bigger role in urban planning and land use regeneration, especially in assisting in a routine assessment of these benefits.
There are already some cities that have integrated the importance of assessing the ecological and social values that come with nature-based solutions. In France, for example, the regeneration of a former military site in Anger city into a combined residential and green innovative landscape has been assessed on such grounds (Ilot Desjardins area). The city has made an effort to evaluate the new developments looking at, for example, its functionality, its accessibility, its capacity for environmental regulation (e.g., ground infiltration capacity), and ecological continuity. Some of the assessed criteria such as aesthetic and effective use were based on the appreciation of local people. Despite more and more French cities demonstrating an interest in the concept of ecosystem services and their evaluation, such considerations are not systematic and no common national framework is yet ready to be proposed. Also, one difficulty in this, is that, conflicts may appear among stakeholders, if expecting different services from the same “system”.
Another specialist that should come and support the urban ecologist is the “soil scientist”. One may forget, but cities and especially nature, or landscaped areas rely on soils. Because their genesis is a very slow process, soils are an unrenewable resource at the time scale of Human being. They are both a supporting element and an inherent component of urban sites and landscape in general. They are fully part of the environment and must be considered when trying to maintain or implant nature in cities. Indeed, soil is also the support for biodiversity, trees, and the fauna that inhabit it. However, if ecology is an afterthought, it can be difficult to create durable co-habitation. One should also have in mind that the long-term soil productivity for a specific plant can decrease with time due the progressive acidification and leaching by rainfall. This is a naturally occurring process, which oblige for example, French farmers to lime regularly the top horizon of their soils to maintain pH near neutral value. Then, soils should be considered as dynamic systems with functions that can change overtime.
Karlen et al. (1997) defined the quality of a soil as “the capacity of a specific kind of soil to function, within natural or managed ecosystem boundaries, to sustain plant and animal productivity, maintain or enhance water and air quality, and support human health and habitation.” It is only in recent years that soil scientists have been taking an interest in the (multi)functionalities of soils in urban areas (in contrast to the importance of agricultural soils that have had more attention), their quality their diversity and the use society is making from them.
Of course, soil has a fundamental role in city planning processes and “expected services” in general. Indeed, planners rely on some major soil functions such as “sealed soils” for roads, “engineering soil properties” for supporting buildings, or simply “constructed soils” for green infrastructures, such as parks, street trees…However other soil functions are becoming of interest, such as “fertility” for urban agriculture that is becoming more and more popular. Also, soil is a fundamental component of continental water cycles. It could contribute to sustainable urban drainage management by encouraging rainwater to infiltrate and recharge groundwater resources (by limiting impermeable surfaces), but also to the regulation of surface water by limiting flooding. Some cities have been rethinking water infiltration and recharge of groundwater, removing existing impermeable surfaces for the benefit of sand, gravel or grass in some areas. Another function of interest for city planners in the context of urban redevelopment, is that soils can have the capacity to retain or degrade some contaminants depending on its chemical and biological composition. Finally, soils are also a sink or a source of calories and can be used as heat exchanger, cooling or heating surrounding buildings.
Therefore, soil functions other than as a support for buildings are the foundation for maintaining or implanting nature or sustaining other services in cities. Soil scientists, urban hydrologists, geo-microbiologists, and ecologists should be definitely involved with planners to enhance soil use, and service provision by understanding, which soil functions, would be mobilised, preserved or reconstructed when feasible. This new way of co-working is fundamental and will make its way forward in cities with the understanding that soil is not a finite resource, and the need to protect its multi-functionality. In France, some cities would be really keen to integrate “soil ecosystem” services into their planning strategies, and rely on R&D to find solutions.
Of course, among all indicators that scientists and planners should define together, i.e. to help showing benefits associated with soil ecosystem services, financial cost is a major one. Also, recent Legislation (Loi ALUR 2014) is pushing for regenerating the cities and limiting urban sprawl. This steers to rethink the cities, and by doing so, to make planners, developers finally aware that if trying to get nature back in town in a sustainable way – as this is a growing demand – , they definitely need to understand and integrate soil in the picture. Efforts ought to be done for example to better quantify the gain that could be made with soil “re-functionalisation”, especially if it helps bringing back the nature in some degraded areas. Last but not least—we could go even further, hoping that in the near future urban areas would have to adapt to nature rather than nature to cities!
Suggesting readings:
2014 Plante&Cité et Val’Hor les bienfaits du vegetal en ville –etude des travaux scientifiques et méthode d’analyse.
2017 M.J. Levin, K.H.J Kim, J.L. Morel, W. Burghardt, P. Charzynksi, R.K. Shaw, IUSS Working group SUITMA Soils within cities – global approaches to their sustainable management SUITMA
Ragene Palma is a Filipino urbanist currently studying International Planning at the University of Westminster, London, as a Chevening scholar. Follow her work at littlemissurbanite.com.
Paradise and wasteland: The importance of ecology in island planning
An ecological perspective towards planning has (or could) improve our approach to tourism and pave the way for the Philippines to integrate climate change adaptation and disaster risk reduction in environmental planning.
Understanding ecology and ecosystems in planning is vital to islands and cities with scarce resources. Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/
In an archipelago such as the Philippines, there can be no real planning without involving ecology. Let’s take an example of an island, which involves the issues of tourism, carrying capacity, waste management, and socio-economic implications: Boracay Island.
The case of Boracay
Boracay used to be one of the Philippines’ most pristine islands. Its powder white sand and clear blue waters made it a paradise to the island locals and the rest of the world. Since the island’s boom in the 1970s, Boracay rapidly drew tourists and steadily urbanized to cater to the international market.
Urbanization coupled with a lack of planning and management, especially in the case of an island with limited land and resources, leads to inevitable ecological consequences. In 1997, a glaring drop of tourist arrivals due to findings of coliform bacteria in Boracay pressured the government and private sector to establish a sewage treatment plant, a solid waste disposal system, and a potable water supply system. In the same year, Ecoplan International, Inc. provided an assessment on the island’s carrying capacity, concluding how in that year, carrying capacities had exceeded thresholds, and that trends (including physical elements, transport, tourist perceptions, etc.) were already unsustainable.
To date, in 2018—more than twenty years after the realization that Boracay was in danger, fecal coliform is still a problem, with “contaminated surface runoff” affecting the coastal waters. “Alarming” coral deterioration and excessive algae growth have also followed suit. The 25,000-person carrying capacity of the island is far exceeded by its 75,000-person tourist-inhabitant state. This is despite multi-decade efforts, such as the island’s declaration as a special tourism zone and national government control.
While efforts are now being announced to address the decades-long issues—a six-month closure of the island (that poses displacement and economic degradation), better wastewater services and sewage systems, needed legislation, and a “masterplan” following numerous other masterplans that were not implemented—we see here how glaring the presence of ecological perspective in planning and developing islands is. The New York Times, way back in 1996, phrased the debate between the economy and the environment pointedly: “…economic progress is fighting with ecology as the Philippines struggles to raise living standards for its population and catch up with booming Asian neighbors.”
In 2014, the Housing and Land Use Regulatory Board (HLURB) issued the guidelines for land use in the Philippines, integrating ecology in the planning process for cities and municipalities. It provided for a reef-to-ridge basis, making profiles and plans inclusive of all types of ecosystems, adequate for islands and coastal areas. This has created more awareness for planners and general stakeholders to consider environmental impacts and consequences, of development, making Philippine planning closer to the upfront natural resources instead of simply conducting planning on maps and political documents.
The ecosystem-based management is a good start and has yet to be realised in the case of Boracay’s planning. Putting ecology first in environmental and urban planning is, indeed, vital to the implementation of development plans, progress, and long-term sustainability.
But it is not only in the field of urban and environmental planning that ecology should be a part. For Boracay, this opens doors for governance, legislation, and the tourism industry to truly embrace what ecological tourism (or ecotourism) really means and move away from its reality which is currently an irony. An ecological perspective towards planning has also paved the way for the Philippines to integrate climate change adaptation and disaster risk reduction in environmental planning.
Ecology’s importance cannot be stressed enough in planning—it is critical to the country’s many islands in determining if, in the long-run, we would be able to retain the paradise we are blessed with or be left with wastelands.
Diane Pataki is a Professor of Biological Sciences, an Adjunct Professor of City & Metropolitan Planning, and Associate Vice President for Research at the University of Utah. She studies the role of urban landscaping and forestry in the socioecology of cities.]
One way that planners need to change to work with ecologists, and one way that ecologists need to change to work with planners
If planners are willing to embrace uncertainty and negative results, and ecologists are willing to put science to the challenge of envisioning and testing bold new configurations of nature, maybe we can make a joint effort work.
In my experience as an urban ecologist, both urban planning and ecology need to change to make this collaboration really work. Here are two of the key issues that I’ve encountered:
Ecologists can be downers: I think many early collaborations between ecologists and planners get stymied because ecologists are pretty typical scientists. We’ve been taught to focus on uncertainty and to test assumptions about how urban greenspace really works or doesn’t work for cities. The truth is that much of what we think we “know” about how urban nature can contribute to better, more livable cities is untested. And some assumptions about how nature works in cities have actually been proven to be false. For example, ecological research has shown that there are few scenarios in which urban greening programs can appreciably mitigate urban greenhouse gas emissions. The empirical evidence for using urban greening to mitigate other pollutants such as PM 2.5 is also much weaker than commonly believed. Discussions of using urban trees, for example, to sequester carbon or mitigate poor air quality are often wildly optimistic relative to our basic scientific understanding of what’s really possible.
This kind of negative feedback for urban greening planners and managers is not often well-received, in my experience, but it still has major policy implications. Together, we all need to discuss recent findings that show that urban greenspace rarely has the much-anticipated pollution mitigation effects that people were hoping for. One conclusion is that programs to reduce urban pollution need to focus on reducing emissions. This is a critical finding for highly polluted cities where air quality is a matter of life and death. (I live in such a city—Salt Lake City rivals the world’s most polluted cities for particulate pollution.) But it’s also just one example of how the sometimes less-than-sunny messages of scientists are needed to make urban policy effective.
Therefore, my first “demand” is that planners be willing to let science overturn convention when empirical data disprove deeply held assumptions. But that doesn’t mean that ecologists don’t need to change as well. There’s more potential for scientists to go beyond simply testing basic assumptions about urban nature. In fact:
Ecologists need help to be more visionary: Having that said, ecologists can get stuck in an overly “critical” mode, and it can be hard to get them unstuck, even when it might greatly benefit cities to incorporate visionary science into urban planning. Ecologists are trained to recognize problems and understand the world they see around them, but they’re not really trained to build, design, or create new things. In fact, many ecologists have an aversion to the notion of building, creating, or designing ecosystems, other than for the purpose of restoring the natural ecosystems that pre-dated cities. The result is that radical new ideas about how to make cities better don’t tend to originate in ecological science, especially right now when scientific visions of the future are not as optimistic as they once were.
So far, it’s been easier to keep ecologists out of the process than to help them transition into thinking more like planners who need to transform, and not just understand, the environment. I totally understand why that’s the case, but there could be great benefits to working with ecologists to help transition them into a more prescriptive mindset, so that they’re willing to put science to the task of envisioning and testing new and exciting outcomes for cities. In my view, we’ve only scratched the surface of how we might apply ecological knowledge to plan better cities. To think big, we’ll need answers to questions such as: what’s the maximum ecological capacity of increasing greenspace as cities densify? What specific types and configurations of nature would most benefit different communities? If we free ourselves from the constraints of current cities and think about novel configurations—extensive green roofs and green walls, corridors, terraces, or other new structural and design solutions—how can we implement these solutions at scale so that they’re not highly resource intensive? What types and magnitudes of biodiversity can they support relative to what’s needed to achieve different goals? Ecologists are not, on the whole, thinking about these questions now, but they have the tools and expertise to address them if they can work in partnership with planners.
That’s the basis for my second “demand,” which is for ecologists to embrace the possibility of using new and emerging science to help envision new scales and configurations of urban nature that we haven’t ever seen before.
So, if planners are willing to embrace uncertainty and negative results, and ecologists are willing to put science to the challenge of envisioning and testing bold new configurations of nature, can we make a joint effort work? What do you think?
Gil is a Portuguese transformative action-researcher on integral sustainability and nature-based design. He is a father, a PhD program lecturer and co-founder of ECOLISE (http://www.ecolise.eu/) a European platform of Community-led initiatives towards a Sustainable Europe.
Integrating nature-based design into urban planning can be a regenerative pathway to solve something that was done previously, without any good planning, often times done the wrong way and in the wrong place.
As a biologist who has worked in applied ecology and now trying to bring nature-based design into local communities and territories, my perspective and line of inquiry for how it could be done is to ask: How would Nature do it? We humans are a part of Nature, so what we do is also natural. It is my belief that if we design cities using the thriving strategies developed by Nature over more than 3.8 billion years we would save time and resources and enjoy a much-improved urban landscape and environment.
Biomimicry 3.8 is an institution that takes into consideration Nature’s six key life principles representing the general patterns that species and ecosystems use to survive and thrive on Earth.
Evolve to survive,
be resource (material and energy) efficient,
adapt to changing conditions,
integrate development with growth,
be locally attuned and responsive, and
use life-friendly chemistry.
I consider “integrating development with growth” to be an obvious principle that we could bring into cities. Having a good understanding of how social and ecological systems work at the city-level, and a shared vision of the cities full potential, would allow us to integrate development of the city with its growth. Some necessary elements would be support for self-organization (building capacity and empowering parishes and neighborhoods), building from the bottom-up (allows us to have urban cells, urban tissues, urban organs and the full body system working in harmony), combine modular and nested components (allowing the city to understand what is needed for each smaller unit of the territory, how these modular units complement each other. For example, having some parishes more involved in food production and others involved in research and innovation in the energy sector).
The other principle that I feel easily applies is to “be resource (material and energy) efficient”. With the smart city concept and circle economy becoming key goals for urban areas, low-energy processes and the recycling of all material ingredients could be integrated. Non-human ecosystems make the most of the structures, using the energy available mainly from the sun, both in colder climates and in humid environments. This principle also encourages cities to think about multi-functional designs, where one place can have different and sometimes simultaneous functions, such as designing green parks to clean the polluted air of the city, allow citizens a place for recreation, provide for improved water retention during storm events, and create organic matter to be used by local urban farms, etc. Fitting form to function is also a great ingredient of this principle, requiring city planners to design the city with sustainability in mind. We need more places that make sustainable behaviors simpler and easier.
Being “locally attuned and responsive” demands cities favor the use of local resources for building material, store and use rainwater, promote the efficient use of local energy sources, build capacity among local citizens to provide the local services needed. Making good use of cyclic natural and socio-economic processes is another way to be attuned and responsive. For example, there are several public buildings that have some resources available outside normal working hours or even during holiday seasons. Gyms of public schools, for example, could be used by local groups to gather and organize their events or meetings.
Trying to work in complex and transdisciplinary challenges, such as climate change mitigation and adaptation in municipalities, I built a team of more than 20 people of varying backgrounds and expertise, from urban planning to biology, anthropologists to engineers, and even artists. I fully agree with building transdisciplinary groups when designing the cities of the future. Natural ecosystems are also complex, interconnected, and interdependent systems. This is an example of why cities need not only to become more self-sufficient but also more collaborative, mainly at the sub-national regional level, where proximity interaction is possible and desirable. Some of the management and planning needs to happen at the bioregional scale whether it is the water basin regarding the water sector, or the coastal territory to deal with coastal dynamics, among others.
I strongly believe that if cities want to thrive in the future it is fundamental to integrate in their genes and memes people that are able to complement the expertise in the urban planning department and that bring more organic, fluid and natural examples to provide inspiring metaphors for the city sustainable development.
When it comes to community murals, nothing substitutes for persistence and perseverance. But the results are worth the effort.
I frequently lead natural history walks around the 160-acre Oaks Bottom Wildlife Refuge, Portland’s first official urban wildlife refuge that lies on the east bank of the Willamette River, not far from the city center. The mural overlooks the refuge and the tale of its origins invariably intrigues my guests. I thought the making of the mural, particularly to those contemplating a large-scale project, might be of interest to The Nature of Cities’ readers. I certainly learned a lot by working with muralists, artists, building owners, foundations, and the public while helping create the 55,000 square foot wetland mosaic.
Origins: a 70-foot heron
The mausoleum exterior. Photo: Mike Houck
In 1986, I had convinced our Mayor, Bud Clark, and Portland city council to adopt the Great Blue Heron as the city’s official city bird. For the past 30 years, we have held an annual Great Blue Heron Week. I had been thinking for several years after the heron’s induction as the city’s nature icon that it would be cool, as those who watch Portlandia will recognize, to “put a bird on a wall, and call it art.” I knew which wall I wanted to put a bird on, but had no idea how I might pull it off. In the winter of 1991, walking along one of Portland’s thoroughfares, my eye was drawn to an enormous, beautiful representation of a forty-foot tall Blitz-Weinhard beer bottle. After much shouting and gesticulating to the painter perched 70 feet above me, I learned that he worked for the Portland-based ArtFX Murals, whose office was just around the corner. Finding the office door wide open, with no one in sight, I left a Post-It note indicating I wanted them to volunteer to paint a Great Blue Heron mural on a huge building overlooking the refuge.
Lynn Kitagawa’s watercolor.
That evening, ArtFX’s Mark Bennett called to say he lived directly across the Willamette River from the building I had in mind, the Portland Memorial Mausoleum. He said he was sick of looking at the “butt ugly,” grey, west-facing wall of the building, which loomed over the wetlands below. Sure, he said, “give me $1,500 to pay an assistant and I will donate my time.” With an artist in hand, I approached the mausoleum’s owner who, knowing the building’s west facing wall was an eyesore to the neighborhood, said he’d consider it, but expressed concern that loved ones whose relatives were interred in the mausoleum-crematorium might oppose the project. Audubon Society of Portland volunteer and medical illustrator, Lynn Kitagawa, donated a beautiful watercolor for the mural template. So, I conducted my own opinion poll. I bought an easel and mounted Kitagawa’s watercolor in the mausoleum’s foyer with a note asking for feedback. Visitors all gave a thumb’s up, which resulted in permission to use one of the mausoleum’s west facing walls as a Great Blue Heron canvas. With artist and canvas on board, I went to the local Miller Paint store, a century old Portland firm, which donated the paint. Finally, a local resident who overlooked the wetlands rounded up the scaffolding. In May of 1991, we dedicated the 70-foot-high, 50-foot-wide heron, and the mausoleum owners received so many thank-you calls and letters that Bennett, along with the owners, asked if we could do the entire building. Mark even drafted up a sketch. Unfortunately, the $20,000 price tag was beyond my means. So, we celebrated the heron mural and left it at that.
Great Blue Heron mural, on the rear of the mausoleum, faded due to age prior to the second phase of the project . Photo: Mike Houck
Painting the Big One
Twenty-seven years later, Bennett called me out of the blue, asking, “When are we gonna finish that building?” A few hours later, as we stood on the bluff overlooking the wetland and mausoleum, kicking the dirt, appraising the size of the project and eyeing the now-faded heron which was framed by dull grey walls studded with quarter-inch rebar. Bennett said, “My son Shane and I really want to finish this job. We’ll do it for $30,000.” Seeing the “sticker-shock” expression on my face, he quickly informed me a commercial project that size would be $180,000. A great deal, but still…time to get to work!
Adopting the design concept
Bennett had worked up a general design with the proviso that it would depict resident wildlife. I asked Audubon’s conservation director, Bob Sallinger, to share a few pints of beer with local artist and muralist Dan Cohen and Mark’s son, Shane, who had been thirteen at the time we did the heron mural. The four of us refined Mark’s rough sketch, creating a wetland motif that featured both the wetland’s migratory and year-round residents. Cohen then created paintings that would provide the concept for each of the eight walls, two of which faced south, while the others faced west and would be visible from across the Willamette River.
Portland Memorial Mural Schematic, Mark Bennett, ArtFX Murals.Scale information, Mark Bennett, ArtFX Murals.
Dan Cohen concept painting.Dan Cohen concept painting.
Fundraising
I then went to work on my least favorite activity—writing grants and begging for money. First stop, the Regional Arts and Culture Council (or RACC), without whose permission there would be no mural. Cohen and I had to attend three meetings with the Council’s mural committee, one of which involved my creating a 3-D model of the mausoleum so that they could get a better grasp of the actual design. Not only did we get permission, but RACC also provided a $10,000 grant, which opened the door to leveraging funds from other sources. Spirit Mountain Community Fund committed the next $20,000, and Miller Paint once again donated $10,000 worth of paint. That left $30,000 to seal the deal. The city’s Bureau of Environmental Services’ Community Watershed Stewardship Program, the Willamette Fun(d) of the Oregon Community Foundation, and Portland Parks and Recreation filled the funding gap.
Mike Houck model of Portland Memorial Mausoleum, with Dan Cohen’s images.Presentation to Regional Arts and Culture Council. Photo Mike Houck
But wait, there’s more!
Now that I had the money, I went to the mausoleum to confirm we were ready to start work, only to find it had been sold! Panic! I had to set up a meeting with the new owners. To my great relief, the new owners had been briefed and not only gave their enthusiastic permission, but kicked in another $2,000. Finally, we were set to begin work in early summer of 2008. We didn’t get started until fall, the first of what would be innumerable delays. What had begun as a three-month project dragged on for more than a year.
I had to remind myself I was getting a deep, deep discount. The Bennetts had commercial projects in Los Angeles, New York City, and Las Vegas. I was in no position to grouse about schedules. Additionally, I had lost my earlier scaffolding donor after all those years, so I still had one big problem to solve. After searching for several weeks, Northwest Scaffolding Services agreed to provide the scaffolding—and although they provided it at a discount, it still turned out to be the most expensive item of the project, given it lay idle while the farther-son team worked on their paying gigs. In fact, by now I was working almost exclusively with Shane, his father having gone into semi-retirement in Costa Rica.
Modeling the Sistine Chapel
The process by which they applied the images to the mausoleum walls was similar to that used by Renaissance painters, and reputedly like Michelangelo’s technique on the Sistine Chapel. Using images I provided, Shane shone them onto paper with an opaque projector. Behind the paper was a metal plate which, when he traced the image—feather by feather—set up an arc with his “electronic pencil.” The electric arc produced thousands of minute holes that were burned through the paper. Once the entire image had been transferred to paper, the gridded out roll was taken to the scaffolding. Shane and his assistants then unrolled the paper, grid-by-grid, and daubed charcoal dust across arc-produced holes, creating a crude outline of the image on the wall. This painstaking process was repeated hundreds of times until the composite image emerged, again, feather-by-feather. The resulting crude outlines guided their more refined painting.
Shane Bennett tracing images. Photo: Mike Houck
Rebar and primer
But, once again, there’s more! As I noted at the outset, every wall was studded with thousands of quarter-inch rebar jutting several inches out from the wall. Before any work could begin, all of those metal rods projecting from the mausoleum walls had to be ground off. Then the walls had to be power washed and a coat of primer applied. Throughout the project, there always seemed to be one more step before work could progress.
Grinding Rebar. Photo: Mike HouckRebar. Photo: Mike Houck
First up to be painted were the Hooded Mergansers, an Osprey grasping a steelhead trout in its talons, and a Red-tailed Hawk. Before long, the uppermost south-facing wall had several huge great egrets, giant great blue herons in flight, and a Peregrine Falcon surrounded by a flock of Vaux’s Swifts. Shane, Dan, and their crew finished two huge black cottonwoods on the largest west-facing wall, with a perching bald eagle and a great horned owl on their branches. Dan took some artistic license by inserting an “eye” in one of the tree’s knotholes and huge, furry feet on the great horned owl, both of which are visible only from the trail that passes at the foot of the building. The most fascinating process, however, was watching the Great Blue Herons and Great Egrets, with their fantastic wingspans, emerge day-to-day.
Great Egret Sequence. Photos: Mike HouckGreat Egret Sequence. Photos: Mike HouckGreat Egret Sequence. Photos: Mike HouckGreat Egret Sequence. Photos: Mike HouckGreat Egret Sequence. Photos: Mike HouckGreat Egret Sequence. Photos: Mike HouckGreat Egret Sequence. Photos: Mike Houck
After disassembling and moving the scaffolding several times, the final south-facing wall was almost finished. As I was photographing Shane on that last south wall, a female Anna’s Hummingbird kept buzzing around his face. He asked what it was and I sent him an image of the more colorful male Anna’s that evening. Two days later, I was delighted to see he’d added another image to the wall—the vibrant Anna’s male, the mural’s final image. Remembering how the original heron had faded, the final touch was a UV coating, ensuring the murals would remain vibrant for many years.
Anna’s Hummingbird male. Photo: Mike Houck
On October 2, 2009 the mural was dedicated, 28 years after the great blue heron adorned the mausoleum. A hundred people walked from Portland Memorial’s chapel onto the roof to view the mural up close. At more than 50,000 ft.2, Shane, Mark, and Dan had installed the largest hand-painted wall mural in North America. What had been a “butt ugly” eyesore for many decades was now a colorful invitation to cyclists, runners, and walkers to slow down a bit as they traversed the newly completed Springwater on the Willamette Trail, which bordered the western edge of the wetlands and afforded a spectacular view of the mausoleum and a chance to appreciate the city’s first official urban wildlife refuge.
Mural and Oaks Bottom Wildlife Refuge. Photo: Mike HouckMural dedication. Photo: Dwight Porter
The final touch was the unveiling and installation of a portrait of the wetland’s early advocate, Al Miller. Forty-six years earlier, Al had recruited me and several other graduate students from a Portland State University seminar to help convince the city not to fill the wetlands, a campaign that succeeded in 1988 with the city council’s adoption the Oaks Bottom Wildlife Refuge management plan, which I and two others had written. I gave pictures of Al to Dan Cohen, who captured Al’s persona, binoculars and all, in a portrait, which was then mounted in one of the mausoleum’s west-facing walls. Today, Al overlooks the wetlands that he and others worked in the 1960s and into the 1970s so hard to protect.
Al Miller’s portrait unveiling by artist Dan Cohen and Beth Parmenter, Al’s wife.
Lessons learned
First and foremost, my motto is “endless pressure, endlessly applied.” Nothing substitutes for persistence and perseverance. You’ve got to believe and create your own reality.
Second, get your permit(s) and first funding and use it to leverage additional funding. If I had not secured the permit and funding from the Regional Arts and Culture Council I do not think the project would have proceeded, both in getting the required permit and initial funding.
Third, “run to daylight”, an old American football adage that instructs a player to find gaps through which to make a play. If the hole the play called for closes, look to “daylight”—another opportunity to get it done.
Fourth, find a partner as passionate as you, or perhaps more so. In my case, Mark and Shane Bennett had at least as much passion for success as I did in this project, which surprised and delighted me.
Finally, I think among the many reasons urban nature advocates need to expand their partnerships is the need to connect art with nature. Look for partnerships with groups such as our Regional Arts and Culture Council. As it turns out, I was unaware that Portland has an active mural culture. Had I known this, I would have reached out to them for support. Later, I testified before Portland City Council to support that community. Diversifying urban nature advocacy should include the arts, which is why I am pleased The Nature of Cities launched Up Against the Wall: A Gallery of Nature-Themed Graffiti and Street Art.
Afterward
Sadly, the same winter that this project was finished, Shane was killed in a Colorado snowmobile accident. Poignantly, as his mourners walked onto the mausoleum roof, a Bald Eagle—one of Shane’s favorite birds and one that routinely flew above him while he worked on the mural—flew directly overhead, circled a few times, and glided west over the refuge and Willamette River. Mark now lives full-time in Costa Rica and Dan continues his artwork in Portland. I, fortunately still lead tours around the two-mile loop trail, and have the opportunity to tell the mural story on each circuit of the Bottoms.
Those last few days in June, we could see Barcelona’s shape in the distance. The three chimneys from the old power plant. The slanted roof of the Forum. The towers from the Olympic village. The long stretch of beach reaching to the glass sail that is the W hotel. The blue of the Mediterranean that always stirs a “Come to me” invitation somewhere deep in my being.
This very long walk—16,000km—has changed my nature, once defined by the rhythm of cities, hurrying from Point A to Point B, barely noticing the beauty around me. I need to pull away from cities, and all their urban-ness. To engage with nature, and a certain slower approach.
We approached these icons with excitement, a sense of accomplishment, a sadness, and a growing feeling of uncertainty.
Our long walk home, which started on 16 January 2016, ended on 29 June 2019. After about 955 days en route (not including three extended breaks)—walking on roads, next to farmlands and rice paddies, in mountain forests, alongside different seas, through desert nothingness, and across chaotic overpopulated cities and tiny quaint villages—we finally put down our 22-kilo backpacks and looked at our lives, once again, with appreciation and gratitude. We had a crazy idea that took seed in 2013, and now, with lots of determination, persistence, patience, and open-mindedness we crossed some 16,000 kilometers and 21 nation/states in Asia and Europe.
Barcelona, along with about 25 friends and family, greeted us with all of her wonder, diversity, and style. We slipped into the familiar back alleys of the Born and Barri Gotic neighborhoods and enjoyed the wide sidewalks of the Eixample, stretching our arms with the satisfaction, embracing a feeling of welcomed back into a city we love.Ten days later, I left Barcelona. While the blaring sirens and constant churning of bus engines, revving mopeds and whirring garbage trucks were enough reason for my escape, I had long-awaited reunions with other friends in family in New York City, New Jersey, and San Francisco, places I grew up in, lived in, and previously worked in.
Walking through those shadows of my past, however, hit me differently than I expected it would. Looping through the concrete caverns, I saw an urban grayness I hadn’t fully noticed before. I missed the sounds of birds singing, something I had tuned into consistently for nearly three years. The faint stench of urine and the unpleasant odor of grit and grime turned my stomach. I pulled out my little bottle of hand sanitizer and wiped away unknown microbes more frequently, something I only did once in a while when I went unshowered for days during our walking journey.
In a rush I could never have anticipated, I needed to pull away from cities, and all their urban-ness. Instead, I sought the protection of redwoods and pine trees and fog horns. I sat in a park and admired sparrows hopping from branch to branch. I sat in a friend’s kitchen and watched with utter awe caterpillars begin their chrysalis metamorphosis, and considered changing my flight so I could see them turn into butterflies.
This long walk has changed my nature, once defined by the rhythm of cities, hurrying from Point A to Point B, barely noticing the beauty around me. Now, I enthusiastically touch and hug trees. I feed wounded animals and talk to stray dogs who follow us. I danceunder the full moon, unafraid of what people think. I learned to listen to the natural sounds around me that went unnoticed a few years ago: a little bird chirping, a big dog barking, a crow stepping on a hard plastic sunroof, the moment crickets and frogs stop singing in the middle of the night and the profound silence that comes in exactly that moment.
Months later, with leaves falling and signs of winter approaching, I’m still trying to make sense of what my footprints have cast on my own life.
I’m haunted by the challenging question, “And, now what?”
For now, I have three manageable goals:
Seek out quieter places
Nurture my relationships with birds
Continue exploring and sharing what I have learned
To the first point, Lluís, my life and walking partner, and I have chosen to move away from Barcelona, his native city and my adopted one. The negative impact noise has on us post-walk continues to surprise us. It’s like our bodies no longer can bear the vibration of millions of people and machines. The nature of cities has darkened our willingness to be a part of them, at least for now.
Today, we are growing accustomed to a more serene lifestyle about an hour away from the city, in a town of 40,000 people. We walk through vineyards a few hundred meters from our house, and buy vegetables from nearby farmers who haul their goods in for Saturday’s vibrant market. I will soon have a few liters of olive oil made by a neighbor who after spending hours teaching children cares for her grove of old olive trees.
In our corner of the world, a few weeks ago, I dashed out to our backyard to watch swallows and bats dive at dusk; I set an alarm on my computer to make sure I didn’t miss those best moments of the day. A few minutes ago, I stood at one of our windows, sipping tea, fascinated by sparrows and magpies, the ones who stay for winter. I feed them sunflower seeds, corn meal, oats and other seeds I bought from the local seed shop. I’m reading about their habits, and am eager to make my yard a place where they want to stay, a place where they feel comfortable, and safe.
To have a justifiable reason to breakaway from the monotonous task of sitting (or often in my case, standing) behind a computer screen for hours on end, I have signed up for an online sketching class so I can begin to draw birds, trees and flowers, things that now matter a great deal to me. When I tell people I want to have a deeper relationship with birds, they chuckle in that curious way they do when they find something strange but interesting. I try to impress on them that we all need to start having deeper relationships with birds to heal ourselves and the planet. They nod, but I don’t think they fully understand. I get it. I didn’t feel so strongly about this years ago before our walk. Our version of a pilgrimage for thousands of kilometers for months and years created this responsibility in me, and now compels to actively seek comfort from our animal and plant friends. I don’t know why. It just does.
Discovering and sharing the lessons we have consciously and unconsciously learned during this rather unique foot journey is still part of our work. It’s a different kind of journey, and conversation we hope to lead or, at least, encourage. To that end, as we ponder the idea of writing a book or taking on some other creative venture, we have sought out and have been invited to speak at libraries, social centers and university classrooms. Our story was picked up by local newspapers, television programs and radio shows. Individuals have come up to us while we were walking down the street of our friendly town, asked us to sit down with them, and, over a coffee, explain the highs and lows of traveling as a couple for such an extended amount of time through parts of the world they didn’t know anything about. It’s flattering, but more, it seems to point to the hope that people so desperately want to have.
In a world where people are becoming increasingly afraid and hateful of “those other people” and the political objective in most places seems to be a deliberate attempt to keep people divided, Lluís and I offer a different perspective: All those years ago, we set out to find goodness in the world, and we found so much of it everywhere. The best thing is that we didn’t have to look so hard to find it. It’s often right there, if you’re willing to see it.
On this note, with a heartful of gratitude, I thank each of you, readers and supporters of The Nature of Cities, for following our journey. Thank you, David Maddox, TNOC founder and editor, for believing in our trek through cities we had never before heard of until we walked through them and for giving us a space to share our evolution from city dwellers to Earth dwellers.
Although the actual walking part of the adventure has ended, we are still writing stories on our blog, http://bangkokbarcelonaonfoot.com/, and posting occasionally on Instagram, @bangkokbarcelonaonfoot.
A positive outcome of being online is the ability to invite environmental activists and leaders from BIPOC-led organizations into our ‘Zoom’ classes from all over the world. The Leadership and Reform class recently investigated environmental problem-solving strategies with doctoral students from the University of Rwanda in a lively exchange of culture and effort.
Our graduate students are figuring out how to best “immerse” themselves in city spaces while staying safe during the pandemic. Students find creative ways to both learn and practice while masked and distanced from community members. A positive outcome of being online is the ability to invite environmental activists and social justice leaders from BIPOC-led organizations into our Zoom classes from all over the world for professional development and antiracist training.
What a different world we live in. About a year ago, I posted in The Nature of Cities about our thriving Master’s program at Antioch University Seattle. The Urban Environmental Education M.A.Ed. program continues to attract a highly diverse group of students who want to study antiracist environmental leadership in urban places.
Graduation Photo: Cynthia Thomashow
At this point in the year, the students are usually out on the streets identifying the ‘big ideas’ that determine how a city runs. They would be standing on street corners asking hard questions about the motivations that shape neighborhoods, prompt civic engagement and lead to environmental investigations with a lens on power, money and privilege. Our students are challenged to quickly immerse themselves in communities by walking through, showing up and talking with residents. They learn techniques that open up the heart of urban communities in order to understand, first-hand, the impacts of environmental problems. “Nothing About Us Without Us is For Us” (African proverb) adorns the t-shirt given to each student upon graduation. The 15-month academic experience reflects this sentiment throughout. We pride ourselves on pioneering pedagogy shaped by an ethic of listening from the ground up and actively unpacking the influences of race, equity and justice on policy, regulations and growth.
In the past, spending time with community leaders in their homes, on the street and the workplace, allowed the students to gather stories and observe the realities of environmental inequities. Now, because of the COVID-19 pandemic, we are online or masked-up and keeping our distance while trying to make the same inroads into building relationships based on trust and presence. Our students are actively figuring out how to best ‘immerse’ themselves while staying safe as they navigate participatory action research and find creative ways to both learn and practice in this new and unsettling world.
Beacon Hill Advocacy Photo: Cynthia Thomashow
Each closely-knit student cohort is as diverse as any urban community. 75% of our faculty are BIPOC (Black, Indigenous, People of Color) practitioners/professionals. 60% of our students identify as BIPOC. Using the rich diversity of perspectives and life experiences present in each student cohort, we aim to cultivate authentic and visceral skills in antiracist leadership. Our courses dive deeply into how race, inequity and social justice impact communities and influence policies on pollution, displacement, access to healthy food, waste management, lack of green space, and the impacts of climate change. For many of our students, our courses are the first experience in a classroom with a majority of people of color. For most of our students, the Urban Environmental Education (UEE) program is their first academic experience with mostly BIPOC instructors. All students are deeply moved by the revelations of how racism, inequity, prejudice and justice have impacted the lives of their colleagues. That growing awareness leads to unpacking the ways that we are governed, how policies are created and how decisions that shape our society are made…it is not easy to realize and demands careful planning on the part of our faculty.
The UEE faculty have rapidly adjusted pedagogical approaches online in order to build a professional learning community that supports antiracist environmental leadership. In the past, faculty have depended on experiential sessions that allow close encounters among students, safely dropping their guard in order to build the trust necessary for honest sharing and supportive camaraderie. In this article, I will talk about some of the methods our faculty have created to overcome this weird reality of ‘screen education’. We have found that melding art and storytelling into our ‘Zoom’ classrooms helps build those bridges among the students and enrich the community of learners. These experiences translate directly into community engagement outside of the classroom and into the organizations where students are placed in practicum situations.
The evolution of a safe space is important for the success of antiracist approaches to learning. We begin in the summer with three face-to-face intensives that meet every day over a span of three weeks. This year we were relegated to virtually gathering on screen. The new students first introduced themselves using ‘spoken word’ poems. The prompts for this activity are: I Am From and If My Voice is Heard. The poems lead to much talking among the group in ‘virtual breakout rooms’, sharing roots and family histories, divides and unity, stepping through doorways so often closed, and setting the stage for interactive community engagement. Some examples:
I am from the Caribbean.
I am from sea gates through which people from all over the world transit in and out, through and past.
I am from the movement of that transience holding on to opposing spaces, native, immigrant, enslaved, my ancestors’ wildest dream of liberation.
I am from the urban and the wild, they have shaped me.
If I am heard, white people will wake up to new ways of knowing. They’ll see what my ancestors always saw, that there’s enough on this planet for everyone. That the contradictions all add up to truth.
If I’m heard, white environmentalists will see that there’s beauty in the struggle of liberation work. Joy in the discomfort of having to share and connections to self in our connections to the other.
I am from generations of African Americans who migrated from the South.
I am from black people who settled in a racially Red-lined District.
If my Voice is heard cities will implement liberal policies with action that can be easily measured by all.
If my Voice is heard cities will devote resources to BIPOC urban liberation.
I am from desert where the heat meets your face and makes you glow.
I am from people who moved north and…
I am from the fields with those who tirelessly grow food for town.
I am from sacrifices that made me resourceful
If I am heard we will all act with compassion.
If I am heard we will all be called to action.
Each student then creates a Sense of Place map to share with the cohort members. The resulting ‘maps’ are powerful examples of connection, experience, values, and perspective. Art enables student expression to soar into places that might not be reached with formal papers. The exhibitions provide the venue to share multiple dimensions of one’s connection to the biosphere, to each other, to land and history, to culture, race and politics. The maps serve as provocative expressions of value and intention expanding the sense of what connects all of us to ecosystems, environmental issues and the tumultuous issues of race, culture and justice. We learn about each other without judgment using art to exhibit the places that have defined us and laid the roots of our journey here.
“The sense of place map is a rite of passage that links ecological identity to life cycle development. What are the feelings, events, and choices that characterize how you see yourself in the biosphere through different periods of your life, through various dwellings and travels in time and space. How will you communicate and illustrate the places where you’ve been, where you live now, and where you see yourself in the future?” Mitchell Thomashow, Ecological Identity, MIT Press, 1995.
The unique culture-building among the students is enhanced by a Migration Map (Thomashow, To Know the World, MIT Press, 2020). Migration is raised as a seminal feature of environmental change. Each student creates and shares a chart of their own family’s history of migration. One student may talk about a farming heritage that has rooted family to a particular place for generations while another may talk about spending a childhood moving up the coast of California from Mexico picking fruit, yet another may have fled political terrorism and come to the U.S. for asylum. Intentional relocation, unresolvable displacement, purposeful migration…all of the students have an experience of moving, uprooting, leaving family, establishing a new sense of place. This activity reveals how common the experience of migration is to humankind. How humans and animals are often on the move to escape drought, ecosystem changes and climate impacts. The study of migration is linked to the dynamics of climate change, power dynamics, health concerns and political upheaval and all are related to environmental integrity. Students engage with each other easily using these prompts as facilitation.
The summer intensives serve to build a strong and open community of learners ready to tackle hard questions, complex issues, and the difficult acknowledgment of systemic racism in organizational structures. Over the 15 months, courses that cover Race, Diversity, Equity and Environment advance into Multicultural Environmental Leadership courses. This critical thread is one of three that serve to integrate environmental leadership with social justice. Students open up by exploring personal identity, historical perspectives, and the patterns of multicultural dynamics in organizations. This thread of outcomes culminates in exposure to strategies that change exclusionary tactics into strategies for inclusion in organizational hierarchies and practices.
Multicultural Class Photo: Cynthia Thomashow
The Participatory Action Research thread of the program explores inclusive and exclusive multicultural practices on the ground by placing students in community-based organizations for 30 weeks of direct observation, deep interaction and investigation into antiracist dynamics, policies and practices. UEE is committed to increasing BIPOC pathways into environmental leadership. To do that means dropping the veil on the dynamics of systemic racism, especially in organizational structures. Our graduates are prepared to help guide organizations in their quest to include multicultural perspectives in decision-making, programming, and action through their research. And, now, with this new challenge of taking a highly experiential learning process to a ‘screen’, we are experimenting with pedagogical methods that translate on-the-ground experiences into Zoom events! Faculty work together throughout the year in normal times to share instructional experiential techniques. Now they are actively experimenting together to translate their unique pedagogy into online approaches. I believe that we all are working to make education accessible, provocative, and inspiring in this new world of ours!
A positive outcome of being online is the ability to invite environmental activists and leaders from BIPOC-led organizations into our ‘Zoom’ classes from all over the world. The Leadership and Reform class recently investigated environmental problem-solving strategies with doctoral students from the University of Rwanda in a lively exchange of culture and effort. This year, UEE will partner with a BIPOC-led organization in Oakland, CA to learn how they have Increased BIPOC pathways into environmental leadership. Youth Outside actively works to change the nature, missions, and practices that have excluded people of color from environmental leadership. They will bring to light alternative strategies to a more honest reckoning with the institutional barriers to recruitment, retention, and promotion for young BIPOC leaders.
Now that UEE is online, we are inviting aspiring BIPOC leaders AND leaders from mostly White-run environmental organizations to participate in antiracist professional development with us. Courses like “Race, Equity and Environment” and “Multicultural Environmental Leadership” can be taken as “Try Us On” opportunities. We work together to deconstruct systemic racism and its impact on the lives of all. Identifying and undoing the legacy of racism within the environmental field is central to our educational model. Part of antiracist work is acknowledging our role in a white supremacist system. From that point, we uncover the intersectionality of social justice and environmental issues. With intentionality, an antiracist narrative emerges where policies, organizational behavior, governance, ways of knowing are investigated for their racist outcomes and we begin to identify ways of working together that are egalitarian, just, and emancipatory.
“Compassion is not a relationship between the healer and the wounded. It is a relationship between equals. Only when we know our own darkness well can we be present with the darkness of others. Compassion becomes real when we recognize our shared humanity.” Pema Chodron
When Darrin Nordahl first published Public Produce: the New Urban Agriculture in 2009, most urban agriculture took place in community gardens, backyard gardens, and urban farms. Since then, local municipalities have developed numerous new programs for growing food in public places. In his updated Public Produce: Cultivating our Parks, Plazas, and Streets for Healthier Cities, Nordahl highlights some of these more recent stories of agriculture in cities. Nordahl begins writing along the same line as many other books on this subject: the first two chapters summarize statistics on food insecurity and our unsustainable, illness-inducing food system and contain obligatory references to the work of Michael Pollan. Public Produce stands out from the rest, however, in its focused plea for municipalities to consider planting edible crops at city halls, public parks, streets, and plazas. Geared towards decision-makers at the municipal level rather than urban agriculture practitioners, Public Produce is a call to action for rethinking landscaping and public space in an effort to solve larger issues of hunger and sustainability.
The most valuable sections of Nordahl’s book are the plentiful examples of successful municipally-driven urban agriculture and the various suggestions for maintenance of such efforts. Fruit orchards in public parks in Calgary, for example, offer lessons learned in picking the right varieties for the climate. The planner who planted vegetables outside of City Hall in Provo, Utah, may have inspired passersby to eat more vegetables. The story of an arborist in Davenport, Iowa—who planted publicly accessible fruit trees because, well, it was his job to plant and maintain public trees anyway—suggests that municipalities may already have the capacity to grow pick-your-own edibles.
One thing quickly becomes clear: Nordahl believes city government is a more effective provider of urban produce for the general public than community gardeners and urban farmers—themselves members of the general public—can ever hope to be. Nordahl makes an inconsistent case against grassroots community gardening, in some places acknowledging its important historic, present, and future role in urban food systems, and in others arguing just the opposite. Nordahl’s ambiguity stems from his disagreement with the misconception that community gardening will feed cities and that municipally-driven edibles in public places can feed cities.
In Chapter 3, he recounts the moment in New York City history when Mayor Rudy Giuliani tried to auction most of the city’s community gardens to private housing developers. Nordahl uses this story to argue that community gardens are too easily barricaded and bulldozed to serve as sites for growing publicly accessible produce. He might just as easily have made the case that municipal governments need to invest in preserving and protecting gardens as obvious locations for growing free and local food. Instead, he threw the baby out with the bathwater—or, in this case, the crops out with the compost. Nordahl believes suburban parks, parking lots, downtown plazas, streets, flood plains, and utility and transport easements are all better, more stable sites for growing food than a community garden. For this idea to work, municipalities will need to plant and cultivate enough edible crops that anyone can casually harvest, completely for free, as they walk by.
I would argue that this type of public produce has far less of a chance of actually building community than do community gardens, and also doesn’t necessarily ingrain food as part of the urban landscape. As Nordahl notes in Chapter 3, Calgary city officials learned that “orchards that are planted in parks without an associative community group don’t thrive like those planted in parks where there is already a large contingent of community gardeners”. A better approach might involve supporting existing gardening groups by providing more space nearby and more resources to plant orchards. With urban agriculture in the hands of city officials and not the community, who’s to say a new administration wouldn’t prefer a return to ornamental plants at some point in the future, such as the example Nordahl describes from the garden at City Hall in Baltimore?
Nordahl emphasizes the potential for alleviating hunger by growing food in cities. Yet none of his examples prove this point. Only City Fruit in Seattle, a group that coordinates and distributes fruit harvests from residents’ backyards, comes close. Yet City Fruit succeeds because of strong community organizing—not because of municipal programming. Once again, a municipality finds real success growing and distributing food in public spaces when a community group takes on the task. The Beacon Food Forest, also in Seattle, has potential due to its sheer size (seven acres), but at the time this book was published, the project had not yet been completed.
Two other examples of successful public produce recounted in the book actually have nothing to do with alleviating hunger. They are, however, viable examples of using publicly grown food to create revenue that can flow back into municipal coffers. In Chicago, apiaries on City Hall provide honey that is sold at the Chicago Cultural Center, the proceeds of which fund the Department of Community Affairs. At UC Davis in California, the University transformed campus olive trees from a nuisance to a source of revenue by producing locally-made olive oil, which funds the UC Davis Olive Center. This could be a great way to convince governments to take on planting edible perennials—but isn’t the point of such programming to make food more freely accessible? How can residents ask for fruit trees in public places without the need for government to harvest the yields and sell them back in order to fund the orchard’s maintenance? These examples disprove the argument Nordahl makes throughout the book—that food grown out in public should be freely accessible to all.
“What if community gardens were to make money?” Nordahl ponders, before discussing Detroit’s growing number of urban farms. Community gardeners are typically neighborhood residents working together to replace a vacant lot with green space, social areas, and/or edible plants. Urban farms, on the other hand, are typically managed by organizations that might grow food for a community, but aren’t usually as inclusive in their decision-making processes as a community garden. There is a grey area between the two, and many urban farms—especially in Detroit—consider themselves to be community farms in which the crops are grown and harvested by the community, often with a social justice and antiracism mission. Nevertheless, calling on community gardens to become urban farms that sell products changes the model of urban agriculture from one that freely provides food and community green spaces to a model that is profit-driven and/or mission-driven and often less focused on self-determination.
Other examples, including converting the ornamental landscape in front of city hall in Provo, Utah to a vegetable garden, were more symbolic than substantive in their impact. While the tiny garden in Provo yielded a surprising 1,200 pounds of produce over the course of a season, the yield was hardly enough to support the needs of hungry residents. Nordahl does admit this inadequacy in Chapter 4, where he explains that public produce can’t provide enough food to feed everybody all the time, but elsewhere he speculates that public produce will help ensure no one will ever go hungry. Which argument does he truly believe?
Nordahl’s case against community gardens as vehicles for alleviating hunger is especially troubling given that the cases he includes in the book suggest otherwise. He assumes that if you are too poor to buy food, you are also too poor to buy lumber, soil, trowels, seeds, and whatever else it takes to start a garden—so city officials should do the gardening for you. Yet on the ground, people with few resources start vibrant community gardens all the time; sometimes, these groups get a little extra help from agencies in supportive municipalities, but just as often they flourish with no external help whatsoever.
One of Nordah’s main critiques of community gardens is that the food they produce is often fenced off and unavailable to the general public—but what’s not mentioned in the book is that community gardeners are often growing produce as a survival strategy. In many cities on the East Coast and Midwest, neighbors build community gardens as a response to urban disinvestment and the blight of vacant lots. Gardeners aim to beautify the neighborhood, create safer blocks, and grow healthy food where healthy food is unaffordable or hard to come by. Gardeners in these cases are not wealthy people with time and money to spare, as Nordahl suggests. And because these gardeners might be relying on that relatively small amount of produce to keep food on the table, it’s no surprise they might not want to give it all away for free (although, amazingly, manydo). In addition, there are plenty of examples of community gardens that garden communally and give anyone permission to take produce, not to mention the scores of community gardens that have both individual and communal plots.
Community gardens will never grow enough food to feed an entire city. Neither will parks, plazas, or other public green spaces. Yet every little bit helps. Why not support both?
Nordahl should include more examples of partnerships between municipalities and communities to grow food, as he does with City Fruit. Seattle’s Parks Department provides funding to the non-profit for their community steward program, which takes care of fruit trees in public parks. Gilman Gardens is almost a good second example: a community garden in a street median in Seattle. This garden lacked a water supply, and Nordahl makes a great case for cities to easily support gardening initiatives by simply providing water. If they can’t do that, however, Nordahl suggests moving the production to landscaping that is already irrigated. It is unclear in this example if he thinks the community will uproot and follow their garden to this new area or if municipal maintenance workers will take over growing the crops. Either way, this strategy would not really help the community and their food-growing efforts.
That Nordahl doesn’t seem to trust community-based urban agriculture efforts as much as he trusts municipally-sponsored initiatives detracts from the effectiveness of his call to action. Municipal support of community-based efforts could help urban agriculture grow and become a more widely adopted and secure land use. Public Produce is valuable for its detailed examples of urban agriculture that go beyond the familiar community garden, backyard garden, and urban farm, and provides numerous ideas for municipalities ready to take a more active approach to urban agriculture. These approaches do not have to be mutually exclusive, however, and Nordahl’s book would have been more productive had he embraced a diversity of possible tactics for cities aiming to feed themselves.
Welcoming non-architecture students to the team at the beginning of the design process creates a rare opportunity for this group to appreciate and challenge concepts of architecture.
Inspiring students to contribute in an impactful manner to their community and society while developing the professional skills needed for their major (architecture) has been my passion for the past nineteen years. The goal all those years ago was to create and execute unique educational challenges, expand the field of architecture and bring hope, healing, and inspiration to the communities we would serve.
The method by which this was explored is Design-Build. In this context, Design-Build is a program in the Hammons School of Architecture at Drury University that challenges students to design and build architecture projects for charities or communities in need.
As Drury Design-Build developed through the years, many lessons were learned, best practices developed, but a significant discovery was made. The inclusion of non-architecture students in the design-build process challenges both architecture and non-architecture students in new ways and enriches the educational and physical outcomes.
A small number of design-build programs exist at universities across the country, all of impressive quality. Each is set in a school of architecture and is open exclusively to architecture students. The whole-school model of the Drury Design-Build program differs in that it opens participation on projects to the entire student body at the institution and encourages students in all majors of the university to participate in all phases of design, construction, and all other aspects of the project.
The theory is that students from varied majors will bring diverse approaches to critical thinking and problem-solving using the perspective of their disciplines in the design and implementation process. Students in liberal arts and professional programs, including fine arts, philosophy, physics, biology, music, communications, business administration, and marketing are commonly involved in our projects. Everyone is encouraged to participate in design discussions and have input and impact on design. The whole-school method benefits students from all disciplines as they take lessons learned from the experiences and apply them to their course work in their respective majors.[i]
The whole-school approach challenges both architecture and non-architecture students through a dialogue that starts with conceptual design and moves forward through completion of the project. The variety of disciplines represented by the participating students result in innovative collaborations as team members learn to solve problems from various approaches and paradigms. The lively dialogue enriches the design and creates life-long connections and friendships.
Photo: Traci Sooter
Welcoming non-architecture students to the team at the beginning of the design process creates a rare opportunity for this group to appreciate and challenge concepts of architecture. Many from this group will go on to apply this experience throughout their lives as they become clients of architects, decisionmakers, and more architecture-aware occupants of the built environment.
Pairing the whole-school, design-build approach with serving communities in need is a unique and effective way to serve communities through the profession of architecture. All fifteen of the Drury Design-Build projects to date respond to a societal need whether it is physical (built), spiritual (uplifting), or personal (healing), but perhaps the most effective in challenging, educating, and inspiring our students have been the whole-school projects in which the liberal arts and professional students collaborated.
The outcome for the communities served by these transdisciplinary groups tends to be projects with broader and deeper conceptual aspirations and more in tune with the variety of outlooks and perspectives that a client (community group) might have.
During the design process, diverse perspectives and approaches to a project are taken seriously, respected and often celebrated during the design-build process. The collaborations often create bonds between students that carry long past graduation.
The recently published book, Exploring, Experiencing, and Envisioning Integration in US Arts Education (The Arts in Higher Education), edited by Nancy Hensel, explores the dedication of the New American Colleges & Universities to the purposeful integration of liberal education, professional studies, and civic engagement through the performing, literary, and visual arts. The authors believe that the development of professional skills in combination with the theoretical aspects of liberal arts curriculum, which traditionally including music, theatre, art and literature, provides a high quality undergraduate educational experience that uniquely prepares students for adaptability in their careers and engaged citizenship grounded in the ability to think creatively, critically, and ethically.[ii]
Photo: Evan Melgren
The whole-school, design-build approach is a mashup of Hensel and the author’s arguments that developing professional skills through a liberal arts education prepares students for adaptability in their careers and creates a more engaged citizen. The educational approach here is to actively combine and create collaboration between liberal arts students and professional students on a single project.
Today’s architect is expected to understand the perspectives and needs of a broad, never-ending range of clients. The problem is that architecture students have minimal opportunities to be challenged by external points of view while in school. Collaboration on an architecture project with a history, literature, theatre, or environmental biology major will further expand the education and perspectives of architecture students. The whole-school approach challenges students to think through the visions and perspectives of others. Partnering with other professional schools and liberal arts disciplines across campus allows this important interaction.[iii]
A student in a professional school such as management and a theatre student in the liberal arts will be trained to think critically and creatively in very different ways; their perspectives differ yet again from those of an architecture student. In their professional careers, non-architecture students may later become the clients of architects, collaborating at some level with an architect on the design of a building. In our academic setting, the business, theatre, and architecture students are all equally responsible for the design-build outcomes.[iv]
This whole-school method also gives liberal arts and other students not majoring in architecture an opportunity to put their ideas, knowledge, and skill sets to the test in a very different way than the typical engaged-learning experience provides, enriching students’ preparation for their particular careers and delivers a richer project to the community.[v]
The influence and effects on design of such diverse groups of students can be rich and rigorous. Working with transdisciplinary teams has steadily increased the rigor of our work and improved design outcomes. New friendships have formed and long-term professional connections have begun for students. This inclusive strategy of cross-pollination of liberal arts and professional students has had overwhelmingly rewarding results for students, professors, stakeholders, and recipients of the projects.[vi]
The experience of designing and building these projects has educated and hopefully inspired hundreds of students in and outside the profession of architecture, aided communities in great need, and instilled hope and healing in many who have participated in and been recipients of the work.
[i] Exploring, Experiencing, and Envisioning Integration in US Arts Education (The Arts in Higher Education), Nancy Hensel editor, Palgrave Macmillan; 1st ed. 2018 edition (February 12, 2018), Chapter 3, Architecture and the Liberal Arts: A Whole-School Approach to Community Engagement, Traci Sooter ISBN-10: 3319710508; ISBN-13: 978-3319710501
[ii] Exploring, Experiencing, and Envisioning Integration in US Arts Education (The Arts in Higher Education), Nancy Hensel editor, Palgrave Macmillan; 1st ed. 2018 edition (February 12, 2018), ISBN-10: 3319710508; ISBN-13: 978-3319710501
[iii] Exploring, Experiencing, and Envisioning Integration in US Arts Education (The Arts in Higher Education), Nancy Hensel editor, Palgrave Macmillan; 1st ed. 2018 edition (February 12, 2018), Chapter 3, Architecture and the Liberal Arts: A Whole-School Approach to Community Engagement, Traci Sooter ISBN-10: 3319710508; ISBN-13: 978-3319710501
[iv] Exploring, Experiencing, and Envisioning Integration in US Arts Education (The Arts in Higher Education), Nancy Hensel editor, Palgrave Macmillan; 1st ed. 2018 edition (February 12, 2018), Chapter 3, Architecture and the Liberal Arts: A Whole-School Approach to Community Engagement, Traci Sooter ISBN-10: 3319710508; ISBN-13: 978-3319710501
[v] Exploring, Experiencing, and Envisioning Integration in US Arts Education (The Arts in Higher Education), Nancy Hensel editor, Palgrave Macmillan; 1st ed. 2018 edition (February 12, 2018), Chapter 3, Architecture and the Liberal Arts: A Whole-School Approach to Community Engagement, Traci Sooter ISBN-10: 3319710508; ISBN-13: 978-3319710501
[vi] Exploring, Experiencing, and Envisioning Integration in US Arts Education (The Arts in Higher Education), Nancy Hensel editor, Palgrave Macmillan; 1st ed. 2018 edition (February 12, 2018), Chapter 3, Architecture and the Liberal Arts: A Whole-School Approach to Community Engagement, Traci Sooter ISBN-10: 3319710508; ISBN-13: 978-3319710501
The Venetians built a remarkable city made up of close-knit island neighborhoods within a briny lagoon, centered on fresh ground water cisterns in the middle of sand filled public plazas called campi. There are few cities where one feels so in touch with nature, in the stone of the buildings, the light bouncing off the remarkable reflective water of the lagoon and canals. This is the special nature that envelops one’s body moving through that great city.
New Yorkers built a grid of reflective towers, which offer residents the pagan delight of “Manhattanhenge,” when the sun sets directly at the perspective endpoints of its 155 parallel cross-town streets. On ordinary days, light bounces mysteriously from high towers blocks away into narrow airshafts of old-law tenements. Its grid slopes to two arms of the Hudson/Raritan estuary, and a bike riding tenement dweller knows how to escape the seasonal extreme heat or cold precisely according to a local knowledge of the glass-canyon microclimates.
Nature loving Bangkokians believe all things are alive, and offer food, flower garlands and incense to the ghosts that inhabit their city. As part of their animist roots, nature is an invisible force only partly felt through sensations of hope, dread or fear. Buddhist practice places nature in a realm beyond form and sense, but manifest in temples designed as models of the cosmos.
What all three of these cities face is the uncharted future of dramatic shifts in climate. Traveling between Venice, Bangkok and New York in 2011, I have seen the plight Venetians face with the high water of each high tide, a devastating flood in Bangkok that crippled a global industrial supply chain, and a ‘what if’ collective breath holding in New York as Hurricane Irene approached. Clearly urbanists and naturalists need to immediately address the dual challenges of rapid urbanization and climate change from a diverse range of cultural practices globally. In order to meet these pressing challenges we need to get beyond the ways we mentally separate nature and culture.
Philosopher Brian Massumi has introduced the idea of the nature-culture continuum (2002) to provoke us to go beyond the Enlightenment idea of a human/nature divide. He asks us to examine ourselves as moving, sensing beings within a surrounding Nature directly present as flowing matter-flux. The energy source of the sun together with water, the dominant element of the planet and our bodies, are the sources of life. Humans are mobile subjects in continuous interaction of sun energy and water evident in atmospheric deposition, transevaporation, photosynthesis and microclimates. Great city designs such as Edo-era Tokyo make physically evident in public life the natural-cultural continuum of maintaining energy, food and water supply, and the healthy reuse of waste.
Anthropologist and Sociologist of Science Bruno Latour (2004) asks us to abandon the idea of a big universal Nature in order to create a truly micro politics of ecology. For him Big Nature dominates the political project of ecology and prevents citizens from taking nature and science in their own hands from their own experience as a common and immediate project. Big Science, in its search for universal truths, tries to be above politics, but as a consequence removes nature from the cultural continuum of public life.
In spite of four decades of environmental achievements in the United States, urbanization since the 1970s has mostly taken the form of a massive oil-based, highly dispersed conurbation of consumption. According to The Global Footprint Network the U.S. now exceeds its bio-capacity by four times. Our new sprawling cities in the U.S. are consuming more and more diminishing resources, and since the 2008 economic crisis have become even economically unsustainable. Our contemporary cities may look greener, but they have displaced energy sources, food supply, water sources and waste streams beyond our immediate sensate experience as well as the public life.
The Architecture of the Nature of Cities
As an architect, I am fascinated by the ways the cities have been designed to variously reinvent, rename and reinterpret nature throughout history. Cities help us understand nature’s terrors and benefit from its immense resources. Humans are born and gain consciousness within the vast pre-existing and ongoing reality of nature, and now most humans are born in cities of one form or another, many in the U.S. growing up in the backseat of an SUV, watching a green world quickly fly by. In spite of the proliferation of vast artificial environments, we can never be separated from how we culturally interpret the nature that surrounds us and that constitutes us as living beings.
This blog presents a great opportunity to begin to find better ways of understanding the Nature ofCities as a natural-cultural continuum instead of the act of separating out examples of nature incities. The operative word in this title of this blog is of.The definitions of both “nature” and “city” are inherently political and open to a wide variety of interpretations based on our particular inherited culture and way of living.
The important book by Italian architect Aldo Rossi, (1966, translated to English in 1982) The Architecture of the City repositioned the way architects saw cities. His simple title contains a radical criticism of modern architecture’s focus on object buildings set in a naturalized landscape. Instead, he taught us to readcities as collective cultural-natural artifacts with both fixed and changing elements.
Morphological and typological analyses were Rossi’s tools, much like a botanist he taught us to study and classify the spatial and temporal aspects of the city. He lead the way for generations of urban readers of American cities – including Reyner Banham (1971) finding The Architecture of Four Ecologies in Los Angeles, Robert Venturi, Denise Scott-Brown and Steven Izenour, (1972) Learning from Las Vegas, Rem Koolhaas’ (1978) Delirious New York, and Albert Pope’s (1997) Ladders of Houston. These studies reveal the different nature of city cultures.
My own work began with a comparative mapping of New York and Rome as cities in the process of adaptation and change over time due to various political and economic ruptures (Transparent Cities, 1994). When I conducted the research in the 1980s New York was just recovering from the economic crisis following the oil shock. I found inspiration in the resilience of Rome, which collapsed in the 6th century with the destruction of the road, food supply and water infrastructure of the imperial city, but over the next millennium developed a self-sufficient urban model where half of the city within the old walls was devoted to food production, and the river became the source of water and hydropower.
Transparent Cities is a boxed set of hand drawn maps of layers of historical and environmental information of Rome and New York reproduced as acetate plates. The publication is a tool to understand how cities adapt and change over time.
The Ecology of the Nature of Cities
With the emergence of digital technology changing the means and tools for communicating and designing cities, I founded urban-interface, an urban design consultancy specializing in the relationship between design, ecology and media. One of the first projects in this area was an interactive on-line analysis of the formation of Manhattan’s central business districts for the Skyscraper Museum called Manhattan Timeformations, a project that makes legible the esoteric knowledge of speculative real estate development.
In interactive maps, time lines and 3-d views, Manhattan Timeformations allows the browser to understand the genealogy of New York’s two central business districts. Courtesy of urban-interface.
After Timeformations was published in Wired magazine in 2001, I got an e-mail from Morgan Grove of the U.S.D.A Forest Service. It seemed that the project resonated with scientific researchers at the Baltimore Ecosystem Study (BES), who were examining the processes of urban patch dynamics and succession. Since then, I have lead an Urban Design Working Group at BES, where Massumi’s natural-cultural continuum is most evident in the watershed continuum and patch-dynamic theories for the research, while Latour’s political ecology plays out with the collaborative work between social scientists, local non-profits and ecologies under the Human Ecosystem Framework.
There is an architecture of the city, as well as an architecture (physiognomy) in natural processes such as ecological succession (Picket, et al 2011). Ecologist Steward Pickett also uses the preposition ofas a provocation when he asks us to consider the ecology of the city rather than ecology inthe city (S.T.A. Pickett, W. R. Burch, Jr., and S. E. Dalton ‘Integrated Urban Ecosystem Research’, Urban Ecosystems, vol 1, 1997, pp 183–4). Together with Pickett, I have postulated a metacity theory as a way to bridge the gap between the architecture and ecology of the city. In this approach the entire city is relevant for analysis by a wide array of actors. The ecology of the city becomes the driving cultural metaphor for citizens and architects as well as scientists. My interest in the metacity is to understand how the ecology and architecture of the city can co-evolve as part of a natural-cultural continuum.
For example, as part of a N.S.F. Biocomplexity study, we worked with a team of social and bio-physical scientists to study how changes in peoples vegetation and water management habits could lead to larger structural changes in the form of the city to mitigate non-point nitrogen pollution in the Chesapeake Bay, the largest estuary in the U.S. east coast, downstream from Baltimore and Washington, D.C. We looked at three sample sites that represent completely different ideas within the evolving natural-cultural continuum of Baltimore.
The Gwynns Falls Watershed, stretching from the City of Baltimore to the outer fringes of Baltimore County where every household in the region is part of a watershed continuum. Courtesy of urban-interface.
Our design work at urban-interface tried to imagine the choices each resident could make individually, or in partnership with neighbors, or at a municipal level to enter into a nature-culture continuum to improve the quality of Chesapeake Bay. We created a matrix of best water management practices, and presented three options for each neighborhood: what you could do yourself on your own property (me), what you could accomplish in shared backyards or by cooperating with neighbors (us), and what was possible to do on public infrastructure and right-of-ways (ours).
Urban-interface developed a simple matrix of best water management practice options everyone in the Chesapeake watershed could understand, debate and chose from. Courtesy of urban-interface.
Homes in Baisman Run are within subdivisions regulated by Clean Water Act mandates, and are set back along cul-de-sacs from protected streams on five-acre lots. The large five acre lots can accommodate septic systems which were designed to manage bacterial contamination, but do not prevent nitrogen export. Additionally, riparian setback regulations place the development along stream ridges, and fire access regulations and multiple car ownership means that there is large up-slope impervious pavement that accelerates rainwater into the streams, excising the streambeds.
The cultural choice to live in such close contact with a highly scenic nature is having severe unintended consequences on the watershed as a whole.
Large estates on five-acre lots in Baisman Run have many options open to them on their own private property, but much of the most potentially productive landscapes for nitrogen retention are between properties. Also, the public right of ways of both the hillcrest road and streambed suggest the possibilities of publicly funded solutions. Courtesy of urban-interface.
The older suburb of Dean Run consists of ranch houses on ¼ acre lots with separated sanitary and storm sewers. These communities were built between the two World Wars when a progressive era of provision of sanitary infrastructure and public parks was paramount. Here the stream is partially piped, but comes to the surface to flow through neighborhood parks, where water monitoring has shows a great deal of nitrogen processing is taking place in slow moving, organic litter-filled pools.
This block in the Dean Run sub-watershed has more restricted private property, but shared driveway and backyard spaces where common rain gardens could be developed. The neighborhood park just downstream manages the public street rainwater runoff. Courtesy of urban-interface.
In the City of Baltimore, row-house blocks dominate. All streams are piped, and parks and open spaces, such as residential squares, were designed for passive recreation, not for ecosystem functioning. With a history of urban renewal and disinvestment in these old neighborhoods, vacant land and buildings, however, as Timon McPhearson has shown in New York, allow for new natural-cultural resources. Harlem Park is a neighborhood in West Baltimore called Watershed 263, where many community green infrastructure projects are working towards taking advantage of the open land as a community natural resource.
The Harlem Park neighborhood in west Baltimore was a site of an experimentally urban renewal project in the 1960s, which removed low quality housing in the inner block, creating parks. Together with the vacant lots in the neighborhood there is a significant amount of open space to mix cultural activities with surface water management gardens. Courtesy of urban-interface.
Embracing the Nature-Culture Continuum of Cities
Both ecologists and architects need to together embrace the nature-culture continuum and to examine all the ways Nature is imagined, framed, viewed, cultivated, and used by city dwellers, as well as when it refuses to be tamed the way we expect it to. Our own intimate engagement with Nature emerges inside a particular natural-cultural continuum. Various human social groups construct different views of nature and act according to their particular sets of beliefs. This is the basis of the micro-politics of ecology. Some of us see the trees, some the shadows of passing figures on the sidewalk, and some watch the way the rain gathers litter in the curb. The political ecology of the cultural/natural continuum is multi-layered, multi-nodal, overlapping, conflicting, always evolving and increasingly limited.
In addition to marveling at the different forms the nature-culture continuum have taken in Venice, New York and Bangkok, I have also been working with colleagues at New York’s Parsons The New School for Design, Università IUAV Venice, and Chulalongkorn University in Bangkok on the challenges of climate change across huge mega-regions. BES provides a model of how science and design, ecology and architecture, might work together as part of a nature-culture continuum. Its focus, which is quite different from the search for abstract universals of Big Science, is on action based knowledge production and design based research.
I encourage all readers of this blog, whether you think of yourself culturally as a naturalist or an urbanist, to participate in the nature-culture continuum in order to better understand and participate in the ongoing process of the Nature of Cities.
Every month we feature a Global Roundtable in which a group of people respond to a specific question in The Nature of Cities.
show/hide list of writers
Hover over a name to see an excerpt of their response…click on the name to see their full response.
Marina Alberti, SeattleInstead of aiming at control, we must embrace uncertainty and redefine principles of design to acknowledge the complexity of hybrid ecosystems—expanding the heterogeneity of forms and functions in cities to support both human and ecological functions.
Erik Andersson, StocklolmMore organic, constantly changing and evolving cities could help to shift worldviews back to being grounded in change and changeability rather than control and permanence.
Sarah Dooling, Austin/BostonThe danger of an object-oriented systems approach to urban ecosystems is that it is inattentive to consequential political conflicts arising from competing values and unshared goals.
Paul Downton, MelbourneThe complexity of extended organisms and cities in particular make it difficult to demarcate inviolable distinctions between when it’s an organism and when it’s an ecosystem.
Thomas Elmqvist, Stockholm What we really need is closer collaboration among a diverse set of knowledge holders in natural science, social science, humanities, and among practitioners. The term ecosystem, originating from natural sciences, may alienate groups we need to include in diverse city-building conversations.
Nancy Grimm, PhoenixAs ecologists we would be arrogant to assume that our models alone suffice to understand the multifaceted drivers of change. It’s imperative to continue to expand the concept of the urban ecosystem to incorporate a multidisciplinary view.
Dagmar Haase, BerlinCo-evolutionary planning and governance means the elimination of sectoral thinking and actions that favour more holistic concepts of urban, regional and local regeneration, resilience and adaptation.
Dominique Hes, MelbourneCities are ecosystems but they are not well adapted to place; indeed, we have displaced their ecological functions. For this reason, cities have not yet reached their full ecological maturity or potential.
Kristina Hill, BerkeleyCities meet the definition of ecosystems, with important limits—understanding urban ecosystems must start with an awareness of the ethical and conceptual pitfalls of studying human behavior without considering human values.
Madhu Katti, RaleighOf course cities are ecosystems. More interesting is to ask what kind of an ecosystem cities can be rather than worrying about how unnatural a blight they are on more “natural” landscapes.
François Mancebo, ParisCities are ecosystems and a lot more than that: they are social-ecological systems.
Clifford Ochs, OxfordYour habits are our habits, your throwaways are our takeaways, and while you’ve done all the work to make the city for yourselves, we could not resist moving in, migrating across the grid, and settling down.
Steward T.A. Pickett, PoughkeepsieThe deep definition of the word ecosystem is notable for what it leaves out—the minimal baggage carried by the idea makes it nimble and broadly applicable.
Stephanie Pincetl, Los AngelesThe danger of an object-oriented systems approach to urban ecosystems is that it is inattentive to consequential political conflicts arising from competing values and unshared goals.
Rob Pirani, New YorkConsideration of the social benefits of resilience technology, and the civic ecology that it can engender, may well determine whether our urban ecosystems and all of their inhabitants can successfully adapt to a changing future.
Richard Register, OaklandComparing our cities to complex living organisms seems much more fruitful—in other words, to our own bodies, our organ systems, our limits. I think of this as the “anatomy analogy”.
Eric Sanderson, New YorkA city is an ecological landscape—and a landscape, to scientists like me, is the particular pattern of ecosystems, their composition and arrangement, that forms a habitat for plants and animals. Even for people
Alexis Schaffler, Berkeley/Cape Town/JohannesburgPerhaps our insight is not really in viewing cities as ecosystems, but instead lies in how the cities-as-ecosystems idea causes our urban thinking and designs to evolve.
Vivek Shandas, PortlandWhat then can be done to address the historical inequities of applying urban ecological knowledge to exclusionary planning practices? First is the recognition that urban ecological research is not value-neutral.
David Simon, GothenburgPerhaps in the future, the ecosystem analogy might become more apt, but at present it is unhelpful and inaccurate, obscuring or concealing far more than it might superficially promise as heuristic device.
Jane Toner, MelbourneCities are ecosystems but they are not well adapted to place; indeed, we have displaced their ecological functions. For this reason, cities have not yet reached their full ecological maturity or potential.
Yolanda van Heezik, DunedinThinking about a city as a collection of ecosystems influenced by their surrounds could be a more helpful way to inform urban design, and make it easier to identify the elements that make up each particular ecosystem.
Ken Yeang, Kuala Lumpur/LondonWhereas ecosystems are living entities, our existing towns and cities are, in effect, inert structures unlike living things, and have operational and industrial systems that give nothing of biological value back to nature.
David loves urban spaces and nature. He loves creativity and collaboration. He loves theatre and music. In his life and work he has practiced in all of these as, in various moments, a scientist, a climate change researcher, a land steward, an ecological practitioner, composer, a playwright, a musician, an actor, and a theatre director.
Are cities ecosystems in the senses in which we think of classic natural and ecological areas outside of cities? After all, urban spaces are connected mosaics of green space, biodiversity (including people), non-biological structure, biophysical processes, energy flows, and so on. That sounds a lot like a natural ecosystem.
For example, here is one definition of a natural ecosystem (from sciencing.com):
An ecosystem is comprised of all the non-living elements and living species in a specific local environment. Components of most ecosystems include water, air, sunlight, soil, plants, microorganisms, insects and animals.
That could be a description of a city. Or not (perhaps depending on the city).
But perhaps more importantly, does thinking explicitly about cities as ecosystems help us? Does it offer us any insight into urban design? For example, are our goals for cities—sustainability, resilience, livability, and justice—advanced by an urban eocsystem concept?
Many of these contributors say, yes, certainly, cities are ecosystems. Not all, though. A few more are skeptical that an ecosystem concept is central to planning better cities. The more common belief among this group might be that a socio–ecological and landscape approach to cities is more important, and one that is imbued with values.
Marina Alberti is Professor of Urban Design and Planning and Director of the Urban Ecology Research Lab at the University of Washington. Her research focuses on complexity, resilience, and eco-evolutionary dynamics in urban ecosystems.
Cities are in fact ecosystems. Tansley (1935) defined an ecosystem as a community of living organisms in conjunction with the nonliving components of their environment interacting as a system. Eugene Odum (1971) expanded the definition, calling it “a unit that includes all the organisms, i.e., the community in a given area interacting with the physical environment so that a flow of energy leads to clearly defined trophic structure, biotic diversity and material cycles, i.e., exchange of materials between living and non-living, within the system” (p.12).
But one key element—the dominance of humans—makes cities different from many other ecosystems. And that changes everything: composition, processes, dynamics, functions (Alberti 2016). By building structure and infrastructure in cities to support their needs, humans redistribute organisms and the fluxes of energy and materials leading to a distinct biogeochemistry (Picket et al. 2001, Grimm 2008), biotic diversity (Groffman et al 2014), and energy and material cycles (Bai 2016).
All organisms modify the environment to create their habitat and facilitate their survival, and humans are no exception. Darwin (1881) spent his final years observing and describing the effects earthworms had on soil formation. Earthworms feed on plant debris and soil. Because they concentrate the organic and mineral constituents of what they eat, their casts contain more available nutrients than surface soil. Beavers build dams that dramatically alter riparian landscapes across North America—and thus maintain and increase both species richness and habitat heterogeneity (Wright et al. 2002). Ecologists have documented how the changes of many organisms—the ecosystem engineers– can influence organismal distribution and abundance and ecosystem processes at the local and larger scales (Wright and Jones 2002).
So what makes cities different? Although we do not yet have conclusive evidence on whether species diversity and energy flows in cities are qualitatively different, or simply an end point of a continuum, urban ecosystems operate outside the envelope of values observed in natural systems (Grimm et al 2008). Compared to systems not dominated by humans, urban ecosystems are highly disturbed environments (Grimm et al. 2017), very heterogeneous in both space and time (Pickett et al. 2016): complex mosaics of biological and physical patches in a matrix of infrastructure, human organizations, and social institutions.
The ecology of urban ecosystems is only one of the elements that makes cities different. Humans and their communities add a new level of complexity. Humans design and build cities on the basis of their preferences and values. Urban ecology lacks a theory and science of human habitats comparable to those used to study other species’ habitats that fully acknowledges the complexity of the human species and societies. Often we study cities as ecological systems, disregarding the fundamental fact that they are built for humans. Developing a theory that fully includes humans as key agents of ecosystems will require an extraordinary new collaboration among a broad range of disciplines.
Instead of aiming at control, we must embrace uncertainty and redefine principles of design to acknowledge the complexity of hybrid ecosystems—expanding the heterogeneity of forms and functions in cities to support both human and ecological functions.
The ecosystem concept in ecology does not fully reflect our current understanding of dynamic human-dominated ecological systems that may operate far from equilibrium (O’Neill 2001). In his MacArthur Lecture in Ecology, Robert O’Neill (2001, 3276) argued that the assumptions behind the ecosystem paradigm limit our thinking and the questions we ask because they emphasize some properties of nature while ignoring others (Alberti 2016). Crucially, ecosystems can change state in response to a spectrum of variable conditions (Holling 1973); they have evolved over millions of years through changes in biotic-abiotic interactions. But since the Industrial Revolution, humans have increasingly dominated such interactions, creating novel ecosystem functions never observed before (O’Neill 2001; Tilman and Lehaman 2001). Yet in ecology, humans are the only species considered to be external to ecosystems. Furthermore, emphasis on the self-regulating nature of ecosystems has limited the view of disturbance that we now know is critical to understanding stability and ecosystem function.
During the past hundred years, advances in the scientific understanding of ecological systems have called for integrating humans into ecology (Alberti et al. 2003). In ecology, scholars no longer see ecosystems as closed, self-regulating entities that “mature” to reach equilibrium. Instead, they acknowledge that ecosystems have multiple equilibria and are open, dynamic, highly unpredictable, and subject to frequent disturbance (Pickett et al. 1992). But only in the past decade have scholars of urban ecology started to expand their conceptual frameworks and methods of analysis to better represent socioecological interactions (Pickett et al. 2013). To study urban ecosystems, we must integrate multiple agents and boundaries and analyze processes at multiple scales, ranging from local to metropolitan, regional, and global. We must also explicitly represent human agents and link urban structures, biophysical processes, and human behaviors to ecosystem functions.
Cities as hybrid ecosystems
In my recent book, Cities That Think like Planets, I advance the hypothesis that cities are hybrid ecosystems: the product of co-evolving human and natural systems. Urban ecosystems emerge from complex interactions and feedbacks between the human, natural and technological system components of urban ecosystems (Alberti, 2016 (figure below). From an ecological viewpoint, they differ markedly from historical ecological systems (Milton 2003). But urban ecosystems also differ significantly from historical human settlements: they are novel habitats and contain both natural and human historical features.
Credit: The Urban Ecosystem, Alberti 2017, in Press
I suggest that if we are to understand ecosystems in which humans are the key players, we need a paradigm shift in the way we study these ecosystems (Alberti 2016). As hybrid ecosystems, cities operate at the border of a phase transition between alternative behavioral states governed by either historical or novel feedback mechanisms. As ecosystems are increasingly dominated by human action, they move toward a new set of feedback mechanisms. Their state is unstable. We can drive them to collapse or we can consciously steer them toward outcomes we desire. But what is a desired outcome? Desired by whom? What is the role of human values in urban ecosystems? Framing a new science of hybrid ecosystems implies addressing the diversity of human values, their conflicts, and the ethical dimensions.
Designing urban ecosystems
We also need a paradigm shift in system design to accommodate the complexities in these highly interdependent and adaptive hybrid urban ecosystems. Myths and uncorroborated assumptions about how nature works, have led to failures in designing and managing urban environments (Holling et al. 2002). The assumptions that the elements of a system can be controlled and their boundaries can be defined have dominated system design and engineering for a long time influencing both the field and the practice. Urban designers and planners, for example, have assumed for a long time that ecosystems are stable and that their processes and dynamics are relatively well understood and predictable, thus one can find an optimal solution among a set of possible alternatives—but that is clearly not the reality in urban ecosystems.
How do we design complex hybrid systems in which the components are highly diverse, interconnected, and interdependent? (Alberti 2017, In Press) How can we design and build infrastructures that are resilient to unexpected and uncertain environmental change? How can we coordinate the interventions of diverse institutions operating at many scales under a diversity of constraints? How can we resolve conflicts among multiple stakeholders?
Instead of aiming at control, we must embrace uncertainty and redefine principles of design to acknowledge the complexity of hybrid ecosystems. This implies expanding the heterogeneity of forms and functions in urban structures to support both human and ecological functions and supporting modularity of infrastructures to create interdependent decentralized systems. We need to expand our capacity for experimenting and learning. And most of all we need to find new ways to creatively engage the communities in designing the cities of the future.
Reference
Alberti M. 2017, In Press. Simulation and Design of Hybrid Human-Natural-Technological Systems. Technology | Architecture + Design
Were cities ever anything other than ecosystems? With additional layers of complexity added to them, of course. I like to think in terms of principles, connections and functions, and they relate to systems, across systems. When we get down to basics, cities are made up by components reacting and acting on their surroundings. We navigate the physical structure and interact with the biological components, although the functional pathways and drivers behind dynamics may have a strong human flavour and a high degree of facilitation. Reframing urban studies in ecological terms may be more or less informative. There certainly are cases where I think ecology can help highlight implicit or neglected system characteristics that would merit more attention. Cities have been conceptualised as ecosystems before, but digging deeper into ecological theory exposes a number of insights and considerations that could be interesting for a broader discussion of what cities are and how they work. And, as the logical follow-on, how they could work differently.
More organic, constantly changing and evolving cities could help to shift worldviews back to being grounded in change and changeability rather than control and permanence.
I will limit myself to two points here, one on time and one on space, and both concerned with function. Space first. Connectivity and the flows and exchange it facilitates is a central concern in cities, and one most obviously manifested in different infrastructural systems. With an emphasis on structure, physical structure. Ecology emphasises that connectivity has two aspects, structural and functional connectivity. I think we sometimes believe that structure is everything; instead, our perceptions, and how we act on them, may be quite as decisive. Connections exist where we understand them to exist, barring some clear misunderstandings. And connections are not just about getting from A to B; while we believe in our maps, sectoral divisions, and clear delineations ecological theory and research points to the importance of edges not as lines but as zones of mixed influences and different functionality.
Then there is the issue of time and our preference for clear and bounded functionality. There is a potential clash between the selective forces at work in and on cities. Considerable human effort and ingenuity have gone into trying to make cities into something other than ecosystems, yet perhaps now is the time to allow them to be ecosystems. Why? Ecosystems come with temporal dynamics, change, cyclicity and evolution. Cities have been prime examples of command and control approaches where built infrastructure is intended to last, and often to support the same function throughout its lifespan. Evolution has proven the utility of open-ended functionality by showing how tweaking the same design just a bit can provide a different, or added, functionality. Invention is more often a case of bricolage and making use of what is already there, with a clear parallel to evolution, than a result of intentional creation of something truly ‘new’. Making urban design a bit more open-ended would do loads of good for cities’ capacity to adapt.
The city, perhaps even more than most other social-ecological systems, suffers from a conceptualisation where we see ourselves as somewhat external observers and users of the system. Yet they are lived-in systems where our presence and long-term exposure and interaction with our surroundings actually is the system. A functional understanding of the city, one based on interactions, similar to that of ecosystems could provide a fresh perspective on design needs and ways we could think about our cities. It is no news that experiences and perceived qualities depend on multiple, interacting factors, where individual components may change. For example, we don’t really want the physical streets and roads when we build infrastructure, we want the function of mobility, which is generated by our understanding and use of structure. Which may shift much more rapidly the structure itself. More organic, constantly changing and evolving cities could help to shift worldviews back to being grounded in change and changeability rather than control and permanence.
Sarah is an interdisciplinary urban ecologist, with 17 years of experience in urban ecology, social work, and wildlife management. She works on colaborative design projects and policy development efforts that integrate ecological design, environmental planning and social equity issues.
Beyond progress and ruin: an empowered urban ecology for the Anthropocene
To think of cities as ecosystems is an ecologically radical idea. Declaring places profoundly altered by human construction as ecological holds the potential for transcending the binary, and sometimes oppositional, categorization of people versus nature characteristic of most Western world’s knowledge domains. Yet, the idea of urban ecosystem contains the histories of Cartesian dualities. Recognizing the reciprocity between many different human communities and their non-human neighbors means rejecting nature as independent of urbanization. Social issues, like poverty, become environmental issues. But we’re not there yet.
The danger of an object-oriented systems approach to urban ecosystems is that it is inattentive to consequential political conflicts arising from competing values and unshared goals.
Ecology developed as a science of categories and classifications, committed to revealing patterns with wide applicability. Understanding urban ecosystems as places where people and nature co-evolve is difficult for ecologists because these particular co-evolutionary partnerships upset stable Linnaean categories that are used to organize the world’s life independent of humans. Communities and species were, and continue to be, considered objects of study, separate from and undisturbed by investigators.
The idea of urban ecosystems challenges the anti-urban bias among 19th and 20th century ecologists who considered urbanizing landscapes void of ecological value, degraded by pollution, and cut up by networks of infrastructure. With the eradication of nature the concept of ecosystem in the urban context had little purchase among ecologists. Today, many urban ecologists draw from systems theory to link social and ecological components through themes of connectivity, emergence and contingency. Cities are now considered hybrid systems, a designation undergirded by the pervasive binary categorization held so dear by natural scientists.
Yet, the urban ecosystem concept is insufficient because it leaves out urban realities, such as racism, poverty and criminal justice, because they fall outside conventional topics of ecological investigation.
Cities have developed out of unique urban histories. The legacies of urban renewal and racist policies reinforce pathways of urban development marked by exclusive beneficiaries. Modernity’s narrative of urban progress is undercut by the logic of disposability and excessive surplus that plays out in the dynamics of urban homelessness, multi-generational poverty and racism. Despite conceptual advancements, current ideas of urban ecosystems among urban ecologists remain analytically silent on the power of politics and economics to organize relations between people and nature. They remain silent about the need to understand how humans organize themselves and enroll nature in their power relations. In our era of deepening inequities, questions about the transformation of nature, by whom and for what purpose are increasingly salient as urban patterns of economic and racial segregation intensify while cities are simultaneously held up as the salvation of global sustainability and climate resilience. As many critical thinkers have reminded us, social changes always have ecological consequences, and environmental changes are never socially neutral.
Cities are places of growth and decay, chaos and patchiness. The objective stance of systems theory towards this unpredictable and untamed environment is insufficiently capable of questioning dominant urban scenarios. The danger of an object-oriented systems approach to urban ecosystems is that it is inattentive to consequential political conflicts arising from competing values and unshared goals. Where then do we find the theoretical justification that motivates eliminating practices of disposability and excessive surplus? As researchers, our challenge in these times of uncertainty and loss is to attend to significant moments of difference and variation in co-evolutionary relationships, which may point to a transformative re-imagining. We offer a way forward.
We consider cities as subjects, full of diverse living networks and marked by inequities harmful to communities of people and biota, rocks and soil. We intend to build a science of cities from the inside out, where the historical richness, contradictions and inequities of each city informs context-specific understandings of urban ecosystem. We urge justice and equity — for people, biota and rivers — as central starting points for research, policies and place making. Making equitable urban societies becomes the common goal underlying efforts to become resilient and sustainable. We call for developing a post-Cartesian science that recognizes contingency and mutual construction of the places we live: humans-in-nature, nature-in-humans.
An empowered urban ecological science recognizes the limitations of systems thinking, Linnaean classification, and ecological ideas of ecosystems. Boundaries between humans and environment are dissolving into multitudes of diverse communities interacting across patches of relational intensity. Empirical work, liberated from constraining scientific ideologies, can aid in nurturing collaborative survival by coordinating disturbance and conservation across patches.
The Anthropocene is an Epoch of Reconfiguration. We are being called to develop creative alliances that cut across politics and knowledge domains. Re-building analytic categories starts from the ground up, and involves exchanges across formal and vernacular ways of knowing, where arts, sciences and design converge on pressing issues. Most critically, we must start telling stories that carry us beyond progress and ruin, into the possibilities of ecologically vibrant and socially equitable communities that can sustain in a precarious world.
Pincetl has written extensively about land use in California, environmental justice, habitat conservation efforts, urban ecology, water and energy policy.
Writer, architect, urban evolutionary, founding convener of Urban Ecology Australia and a recognised ‘ecocity pioneer’. Paul has championed ecological cities for years but has become disenchanted with how such a beautiful concept can be perverted and misinterpreted – ‘Neom' anyone? Paul is nevertheless working on an artistic/publishing project with the working title ‘The Wild Cities’ coming soon to a crowd-funding site near you!
Ecocities and the extended organism or what the hell has the evolution of cells got to do with social justice?
Are cities ecosystems? Yes. And maybe.
If an ecosystem is “a biological community of interacting organisms and their physical environment” it is also a baseline description of any city. My understanding of ecology is that, for the purpose of studying interactions and interdependencies between organisms and their environment, any set of creatures and their habitat can be understood as an ecosystem once a logical boundary is set. So you can study the ecosystem in an unwashed five day old coffee cup, or someone’s mouth, or a savannah. Or a city.
Logically, the interacting organisms in a city ecosystem include all its humans and non-humans, and the interactions might be as prey and predator, or human-to-human relationships that can be expressed in ways ranging from kinship ties to law suits. All are interdependent. Social concerns, including goals of livability, justice and equity, have to be considered integral to the making and ongoing life of a city and why the ecosystem concept and its paradigm of interdependency advances our understanding of how those goals might be reached.
The complexity of extended organisms and cities in particular make it difficult to demarcate inviolable distinctions between when it’s an organism and when it’s an ecosystem.
Earth’s biosphere is the biggest ecosystem we are able to study but even its boundary is hard to determine exactly as it includes the moon, without which there would be no tides (and like the child working out their first address, you can go on to include other planetary motions, the sun, without which there’d be no life at all, and the rest of the galaxy). Regarding the Earth as an ecosystem hasn’t prevented theorists, including the redoubtable Margulis, from proposing that it also operates as a self-regulating organism (the Gaia Hypothesis).
Cities are organisms too. An organism isn’t conventionally thought of as an ecosystem, but it is. We human organisms carry within and upon us any number of thriving ecosystems, some healthy, some less so, but we are not mere hosts for ecosystems, we are things made up from all our intermingling ecosystems from the bacteria in our mouth and guts to the mites that crawl around our skin. Each of us is an individual and each of us is a legion of organisms. We are only healthy when they, and their relationships with each other, are functioning in an ecosystemically healthy way.
Calling a city an ecocity sets up expectations. It implies a relationship between ecology and the city that isn’t conveyed in terms like sustainable and green except by ponderous definition. That relationship is the key to understanding that even if a city is not, by itself, an ecosystem, it can exist only because of its relationship to living systems. Once you’ve got the message that an ecosystem is integral to the city’s existence you have to pay attention: if the city is to be healthy, then the larger ecosystem that contains it has to be healthy.
Are cities’ ecosystems like a natural ecological area? If there’s life, that’s nature at work, that’s “natural”. Humans manufacture cities, but they are still part of nature – as far as we know we haven’t been teleported from some abiotic planet of pure machine intelligence elsewhere in the galaxy and even if we had you’d have to start arguing about what constitutes life and where it comes from… as Barry Commoner said “Everything is connected to everything else”.
Defining the health of a city ecosystem means defining the health of its constituent organisms, and in the city the dominant organism is us. So a healthy urban ecosystem requires healthy people and healthy people require a healthy urban ecosystem.
An ecosystem contains a collection of interdependent organisms; an organism is a collection of interdependent ecosystems. Very fractal. It goes on down to the scale of individual cells, where the very existence of cells with nuclei (eukaryotes) is now understood (thanks to the work of Lynn Margulis) as dependent on a symbiotic relationship between organelles that are descended from bacterial species that were once independent.
Building on Richard Dawkins’ “Extended Phenotype”, J. Scott Turner observes that many species make artefacts that are essential to their capacity to survive, be it through creating places in which to birth and succour their young (bird nests) or air-condition their colonial habitat (termite mounds). He calls this species+artifice an “extended organism”. Our species has evolved to be dependent on making the complex artificial habitat we call a city. We need cities to survive, people+city is, arguably, an extended organism. In all cases, with all species, the extended organism has to be able to function without damaging its environment, it has to evolve in a way that sustains the operation of the larger ecosystem within which it resides. Beavers cut down trees to build their extension but, over time, the impact of their dams and lodges has resulted in the beaver+lodge organism evolving as a positive contribution to the overall functioning of its local environment—it has evolved to become a healthy part of a larger ecosystem. Which is exactly what the human+city organism needs to do. Although cities are massively complex compared with birds’ nests, they are just as essential. One could study the life of organisms that reside in and depend on the nest as an ecosystem. One could study the life of organisms that reside in and depend on the city as an ecosystem. The complexity of extended organisms and cities in particular make it difficult to demarcate inviolable distinctions between when it’s an organism and when it’s an ecosystem.
Relationships and symbiosis are key. If the interdependent parts of a city have a functionally symbiotic—as in mutually beneficial—relationship with other parts, that is a part of being healthy and will enhance social cohesion. Relationships are about the exchange of information. Both the quality of that information and how it is exchanged affects the consequent relationship. And those relationships are at the core of how city ecosystems work.
In a city, virtually all relationships are made and mediated by people. That includes relationships between individuals, between people and their institutional and physical artefacts, and between people and the rest of nature. (Shall we bulldoze that wetland because it’s worth more as a building site, or protect it because its role in our ecosystem is greater than anything that money can value?) The values, aspirations and attitudes of those people are paramount in determining the type and quality of those relationships. (Do we bulldoze that run-down part of town because it’s worth more as a building site, or redevelop it to provide a healthier environment for its residents even though they’re not individuals of high net worth?) That’s why purely mechanistic approaches to city making can’t work in the long term. It’s why cybernetic systems (including smart city algorithms) can work, but all such systems rest on assumptions embedded in value-based decisions. Information connects everything and in an urban ecosystem what constitutes good or bad depends on the exercise of a set of values. Bulldozers, hammers, trucks, cars, big data, zoning laws—anything can become a weapon. Tools will do what we want them to do. To deal with the information flows and interdependent nature of an urban ecosystem its planning and management must transcend disciplinary boundaries.
Cities are human constructs and for justice and equity to be part of the city, they have to be considered and included from the outset and consciously maintained as part of the life of the city regardless of whether we define it as an ecosystem or an extended organism.
Thomas Elmqvist is a professor in Natural Resource Management at Stockholm University and Theme Leader at the Stockholm Resilience Center. His research is on ecosystem services, land use change, natural disturbances and components of resilience including the role of social institutions.
What we really need is closer collaboration among a diverse set of knowledge holders in natural science, social science, humanities, and among practitioners. The term ecosystem, originating from natural sciences, may alienate groups we need to include in diverse city-building conversations.
Although I fully agree that the current framework of cities as social-technological systems is too narrow and should be complemented with the view of cities as complex social-ecological-technological systems, as recently advanced within urban ecology and based on social-ecological systems perspectives. This advance is critical given that the continuum of urbanity includes many characteristics and processes other than the particular density of people or land area covered by human-made structures. However, I remain skeptical that the use of the concept of ecosystem to depict cities and urban regions will be of help in this regard.
The ecosystem concept has a precise meaning in ecology and was originally defined by the British Ecologist Sir Arthur George Tansley. In 1935 Tansley published The use and abuse of vegetational terms and concepts, in which he introduced the ecosystem concept: “An ecosystem is a community of living organisms in conjunction with the nonliving components of their environment interacting as a system”. This may look like an attractive way of viewing cities and urban regions as a system of interacting living components (humans, plants, animals, microbes) as well as non-living components (buildings, soil, water, etc.), and would imply a holistic view and a systems perspective. However, I am skeptical. The reason is that it may be counter-productive. What we really want to achieve is a closer collaboration among a diverse set of knowledge holders in natural science, social science, humanities and among practitioners. By using the concept of ecosystems of a city or urban region, originating as it does from natural sciences, we may alienate exactly the group of people we want to include: the social sciences, humanities, practitioners, etc. I fear that it may simply put some people off, when in fact we want to reach out and be inclusive.
What should we use instead? I think that we should define an Urban Sustainability Science and develop a new framework that explicitly addresses the question of multiple-scale interactions, feedbacks, tradeoffs, and synergies among components (human and non-human) in complex urban systems. The challenge is still, however, how do we integrate diverse scientific approaches and knowledge domains grounded in multiple epistemologies and how do we further integrate with other non-academic knowledge systems.
Nancy B. Grimm is an ecologist studying interactions of climate change, human activities, resilience, and biogeochemical processes in urban and stream ecosystems. Grimm was founding director of the Central Arizona–Phoenix LTER, co-directed the Urban Resilience to Extremes Sustainability Research Network, and now co-directs the NATURA and ESSA networks, all focused on solving problems of the Anthropocene, especially in cities. Grimm was President of the Ecological Society of America (ESA) and is a Fellow of AAAS, AGU, ESA, SFS, and a member of the NAS. She has made >200 contributions to the scientific literature with colleagues and students.
Are cities ecosystems? Of course they are. But does this concept satisfy the requirements for understanding these complex, heterogeneous, adaptive, self-organized systems? Over the past twenty years, urban systems have come to be seen as complex, adaptive, social-ecological-technological systems (SETS). Yet the core ecosystem concept remains fundamental to understanding them. It is a simple idea that can accommodate the complexities of diverse components arranged in space in a variety of ways, as well as dynamic change, that are hallmarks of urban systems.
As ecologists we would be arrogant to assume that our models alone suffice to understand the multifaceted drivers of change. It’s imperative to continue to expand the concept of the urban ecosystem to incorporate a multidisciplinary view.
The ecosystem concept is the foundation of my thinking, originally as a stream ecologist but then as an urban ecologist. An ecosystem is a piece of Earth (writ large) with biotic and abiotic elements (i.e., the structural components of the system) that interact within a boundary. The interactions involve energy, matter, and information; ecosystem ecologists often refer to these as function but a more general term is processes. The boundary idea sets some folks off: if we can’t see a clear, unvarying boundary, then the ecosystem can’t be a real thing. But in fact, the fluidity of the boundary (and our ability to define it to suit our purposes) is perfect for urban ecosystems—systems that have massive throughput (movements of materials into and out of the ecosystem) and large dependencies on external, connected ecosystems. If we identify a boundary for convenience sake (for example, a jurisdictional boundary or a transport boundary), we can quantify these movements across the boundary and that dependence becomes a definable characteristic of the system (i.e., internal stocks relative to import rate gives us residence time for a material).
Ecosystem structure in urban ecosystems is unique. Not only do we have the organisms within populations that are structured and located in space; we also have the artifacts of human enterprise: the built environment. And we have unseen structure, for example of culture, government, economic systems, and power hierarchies. These additional elements of structure don’t negate the idea of cities as ecosystems but they cause us to ponder the types of biotic and abiotic elements that make up these ecosystems. The SETS concept helps to incorporate the built environment and social institutions; I would argue that SETS is a sub-set of the more general term, ecosystem, even though in common usage ecosystem refers to named biome types like forest, desert, or lake (so why not city?). Cities are SETS, and so are parts of cities like neighborhoods, parks, and infrastructure of various kinds. Perhaps the most important thing about SETS is that they are systems. This means that we cannot consider the parts in isolation, since they interact to form the whole.
As with structure, some of the processes and material, energy, and information flows of cities are unique in character. For example, the exchanges of information in social networks via the internet are phenomena that change so rapidly today they defy understanding using traditional ways of knowing. Yet these information pathways may drive dynamic change in urban ecosystems. A key characteristic of ecological processes in urban ecosystems is the degree to which human decisions control them – usually, quite a lot! For example, we know that instead of traditional biophysical variables that determine rates of primary production in Phoenix, it is the amount of outdoor irrigation, which is subject to the whims, desires, financial capacity, and access to infrastructure of urban residents that sets the rate of production.
Traditionally, the ecosystem concept hasn’t handled spatial heterogeneity well (think of the classic ‘black box’ approach to ecosystem energy budgets). The rise of landscape ecology, with its recognition of multiple systems arrayed in configurations that could affect process, was therefore a boon to understanding our world. And so it was for urban ecology: urban ecosystems are very heterogeneous on some scales, more so than many ‘native’, non-urban systems, and urban ecologists have recognized that heterogeneity as key to understanding cities. Deciphering how the configuration of parks, rivers, transportation infrastructure, housing developments, and central business districts affects biodiversity, ecosystem function, or ecosystem services is an important frontier for building sustainable cities.
Change is ubiquitous in the Anthropocene. Urban ecosystems are subject to massive change driven by social, ecological, and technological processes. Ecological theory—for example, disturbance theory (Grimm, Pickett, Hale, and Cadenasso, 2017, Ecosystem Health and Sustainability 3(1):e01255. 10.1002/ehs2.1255)—can contribute to our understanding of change. Yet as ecologists we would be arrogant to assume that our models alone suffice to understand the multifaceted drivers of change. The imperative is to continue to expand the concept of the urban ecosystem, bringing in the extensive knowledge of cultural and social systems, values, and hierarchies that has developed through the work of our social-science colleagues, the knowledge of infrastructure needs from our engineering colleagues, the creativity and vision of our design colleagues, and the practical understanding from practitioners who work and make everyday decisions in cities. An inclusive concept, the ecosystem can accommodate these ideas and diverse perspectives toward a better understanding and ultimately a pathway to transformative action for our cities.
Dagmar Haase is a professor in urban ecology and urban land use modelling. Her main interests are in the integration of land-use change modelling and the assessment of ecosystem services, disservices and socio-environmental justice issues in cities, including urban land teleconnections.
Does thinking explicitly about cities as ecosystems offer us any insight into urban design? Are our goals for cities—sustainability, resilience, livability, and justice—advanced by an urban eocsystem concept? Some reflections based on my research on urban ecosystems in national and international contexts: Over the last two centuries, both scale and rate of change of cities have developed rapidly. Yet in terms of space, less than 5 percent of the Earth’s surface is urban. And not all urban areas are expanding or expected to grow in the future.
Co-evolutionary planning and governance means the elimination of sectoral thinking and actions that favour more holistic concepts of urban, regional and local regeneration, resilience and adaptation.
Cities are unique among all landscape types because they are where the human-inhabited, built, and ecosystem services provisioning spaces overlap and interact. Cities are rich in the niches for organisms they provide, such as almost invisible spaces between buildings and open soil or unused constructions and in the number of species that use them such as raccoons, the green woodpecker, Acer species (maple), or cactus species. What has become clear in recent decades, starting with the Millennium Ecosystem Assessment and strongly supported by the Economics of Ecosystems and Biodiversity-TEEB-process and protocol since 2009, is that ecosystems in and of urban areas—urban ecosystems—can provide a range of benefits that include recreation facilities, local food production and, most importantly for coastal cities, storm water control, to sustain and improve human life, health and well-being.
Understanding how such urban ecosystems function, how they change, and what limits their performance can add to an understanding of ecosystem change and governance in an ever more human-dominated world. Is there a novel concept or a new way to approach this? Recent ways of thinking combine both to promote dialogue between academics and practitioners in the field of urban ecosystems and ecosystem services and to build a novel framework of co-evolution in today’s cities. It is vital to recognize that urban systems are both highly complex and a product of ongoing emergence, suggesting the need for co-evolutionary approaches to managing the city as a social-ecological system and the integration of ecosystem approaches into spatial planning frameworks. For example, plans encouraging a compact city model could be used in combination with interim-use sites designated in the inner city as temporal refuges for nature, ecosystem services and nature experience by urban residents in the form of a participatory co-development process and multi-stakeholder usage. Thus, the rather static compact city model also includes temporal-spatial windows of green, spatial flexibility and land-use dynamics. Co-evolutionary planning and governance also mean the elimination of sectoral thinking and actions that favour more holistic concepts of urban, regional and local regeneration, resilience and adaptation; this approach includes the global context and network, which involves many and varied actors.
Not exclusively in shrinking cities, but most notably, the concepts of green and blue services provide the potential to move from a comparatively simple “land-use view” of green, brown, and blue areas in cities toward a valuation of ecosystem goods and processes and spatial potentials for each piece of land. A co-evolutionary approach also needs to explicitly address the technological, transport and built system/sphere of the city, as these include important aspects of and opportunities for co-design and co-development. In cities, the built and technical infrastructure is often viewed as the most important line of defence against natural hazards and disasters.
By contrast, more flexible ecosystem-based solutions include elements and processes of urban nature, such as green and blue infrastructure, permeable pavement, and nature imitations such as bioswales and wetland-like constructed retention basins, to name a few. They afford both city dwellers and planners a new way to think about risk and safety based on the dynamics of nature and ecosystems. For example, an ecosystem could be designed so that it does not completely prevent water from entering an urban environment but instead reduces the amount and velocity of the water and thus the risk to people; the same design keeps water in the city as buffer in times of drought and heat.
Thus, in the long run, nature-imitation, or biomimicry designs help cities live with nature and become more resilient and prepared for different types of hazards. Such nature-based solutions mediate the relationship between human activities and ecosystem processes in urban landscapes and, if developed appropriately, could mitigate human impact. In developing nature-based solutions for a city, including the co-existence of built, grey, brown, green and blue places, it is essential to include the full spectrum of urban land uses.
Despite the considerable progress in urban planning, governance and land management, a fundamental rethinking is urgently needed regarding what makes both the natural—urban ecosystems—and built “infrastructures” of the urban community adaptive and resilient to current and future social-ecological challenges, such as flood and storm hazards, other climate extremes, air pollution and large-scale economy-driven land-use interventions such as densification and gentrification.
The Clara Zetkin Park in the city of Leipzig, a wonderful expression of the human habitat in urban areas. Photo: Dagmar HaaseA green roof in the city of Leipzig—another wonderful expression of the human habitat but also flora and fauna habitat in urban areas. Photo: Dagmar Haase
This short paper is based on the work of practitioners and academics in biomimicry, biophilia, positive development and regenerative development. We cover 4 points in response to the above challenge. We argue that cities are ecosystems but they are not well adapted to place; cities have not learnt from the nature of place and have displaced its ecological functions; cities have not yet reached their full ecological maturity or potential; and, how our cities can learn from nature strategies to benefit all life.
Imagine walking through a tropical rainforest. Light is dappled and muted, the air is warm and steamy. Trees reach for the sun, harnessing freely available energy that nourishes the whole system; they provide support and scaffolding for mosses, lianas and epiphytes that add complexity to the forest’s architecture and they in turn provide habitat and niches for other organisms. Water is a precious commodity that is harvested, filtered, stored and cycled through the system. Below your feet, the ground is moist and teeming with unseen life breaking down forest debris, silently cycling nutrients that promote the growth of the rainforest. Mycelial networks connect the trees below the soil, transferring information and resources between them. Everything is intertwined and interdependent; all elements of the rainforest inadvertently collaborate to nurture a thriving system greater than the sum of the parts.
Cities are ecosystems but they are not well adapted to place; indeed, we have displaced their ecological functions. For this reason, cities have not yet reached their full ecological maturity or potential.
Our cities are ecosystems too but they are currently not as well adapted or resilient as the ecosystems they’ve disrupted and are nested within. While life abounds in cities, diversity is limited and dominated by one species. Cities are the culmination of our species’ survival strategies, helping us mitigate the extremes of environment, shaping our culture, and extending our range on the planet.
There is no doubt that humans are clever ecosystem engineers. We have transported, accumulated and consolidated many resources to shape our cities and yet, for all our cleverness, we have forgotten that we are part of nature and subject to the same rules as the rest of life.
Rather than creating conditions conducive to all life we have been focused on our own species’ needs and spent excess energy and resources in maintaining stasis (even if we label that as growth). Cities could currently be viewed as being biophobic, or manifestations of our disconnection from nature.
What if our cities learnt from mature ecosystems like the rainforest? Photo: Jane Toner
Cities have often replaced the ecosystem services freely supplied by nature with engineered systems that are more energy intensive, less effective and that create other problems solved in a similar fashion.
Ecosystem functions are biotic and abiotic processes involving the exchange of energy and nutrients that contribute to the health of an ecosystem, while ecosystem services are what our ecosystems “do” for us, the benefits they provide our species. These include: providing habitat, sequestering and cycling carbon, trapping nutrients, decomposing matter, recycling waste, filtering water, and pollination.
If we view cities as ecosystems yet to reach maturity, we can plan to enhance their capacity to support life, human and non-human by learning from organisms and systems adapted to the same place and have solved the same challenges. For urban design, this means that our cities need to evolve symbiotic relationships with organisms that provide ecosystem services. We can do this by creating a complex array of varied niches at different scales, different levels of contribution to increase the emergent evolutionary potential of cities.
Lichen is a mutually beneficial symbiotic relationship between algae and fungus. Fungus provides the structure while algae provides energy harvested from the sun.What if our cities had a mutually symbiotic relationship with nature? Photo: Jane Toner
For urban design, the implications are transitioning the city to be better adapted and more resilient. By integrating nature to restore ecosystem services we also meet our own biophilic needs, increasing the potential for human health and happiness. We are a young species still learning how to fit in and it is time we remembered that we are nature and that connection with it promotes our own well-being.
What needs to be valued is that, as Australian indigenous culture suggests, cities also have a potential role in benefiting nature. That is, the human capacity within the city can understand future change and therefore support nonhuman systems to better adapt. Designing this mutual reciprocity into our cities is the challenge of the future.
We have countless opportunities for our cities to become mature ecosystems embrace this relationship by relearning and applying the deep patterns that nature has evolved to survive and thrive on Earth.
Life builds from the bottom up. Layer by layer, ecosystems have evolved from bare rock, concentrating and transforming locally available, easily accessible, abundant resources into dynamic complex systems that promote and reward interconnection and interdependence. Cities have also evolved in a similar way, the layering here is historic and often based on ways of economic and industrial change. The challenge then is for the urban designer to think of a city as a constantly evolving co-managed rainforest, savannah or reef, intrinsically intertwined with the ecosystem in which it resides.
Hill works on adaption to climate change in biophysical and social systems at the University of California, Berkeley. Her focus is on design for sea level rise and flooding.
Cities are a type of ecosystem, because they contain all the components and connections we use to define such systems. But since they both include and are shaped by people, urban ecosystem research is more akin to medical research than to traditional ecological studies. Like medical research, urban studies require the articulation of an ethical framework before questions, methods, or conclusions can be developed. The scientific method should not be applied to cities without the use of an explicit ethical frame.
Cities meet the definition of ecosystems, with important limits—understanding urban ecosystems must start with an awareness of the ethical and conceptual pitfalls of studying human behavior without considering human values.
Urban ecosystems have been studied for more than a century. For more than 100 years, urban ecological theories have developed from the idea that natural processes, built environments and human communities are part of an interacting system of stocks and flows. As early as 1829, J. C. Loudon proposed a design for London using concentric greenbelts to improve air quality and human health. Large-scale urban design interventions were constructed in New York and Boston by Ellen Swallow Richards and Frederick Law Olmsted, with the explicit aim of influencing human health and urban ecology as early as the 1870’s. These projects launched the American professions of landscape architecture, environmental engineering and public health. Current urban design efforts based on Olmsted’s early examples often contribute to urban stratification by social class. In the 1960s, Donella Meadows and her colleagues at MIT applied the system concept to human populations, economies and natural resources, in order to model the possible consequences of the over-use of natural resources. Their results have often been used to argue for limits on population growth in developing countries, with negative consequences for women. Herbert Sukopp studied ecology in cities, focusing on the microclimates and species distributions of West Berlin’s confined spaces in the 1970s. Sukopp arguably introduced the field of urban ecology. He did it within the nexus of a tense geopolitical conflict, but tried to restrict his questions to non-human species.
In contemporary ecology and planning, a group of scientists and planners in the San Francisco Bay area are actively using the concept of “Operational Landscape Units” (OLU’s) to build a map of estuary shoreline reaches in which processes establish a pattern of connections, similar to a watershed but based on nearshore geomorphic and hydrologic processes as well as upland flows. These OLU maps will become the basis for planning urban adaptation strategies for sea level rise. They are based on the concept of an ecosystem, with stocks and flows, as well as theories about spatial connectivity that come from landscape ecology. Urban OLU’s are becoming an important vehicle in the SF Bay region for understanding linked systems driven by groundwater dynamics, sediment transport, wave energy regimes, sewer pipes forming “sewersheds,” and gradients in salinity and water quality, among other human and non-human drivers. This approach will help us come up with urban designs for coastal adaptation to flooding while supporting biodiversity and ecosystem services, which we would otherwise lose if we protect cities with new storm surge barriers, seawalls and levees alone. It will also identify surprising vulnerabilities in our existing underground infrastructure systems, and allow us to predict new contamination risks that will affect many lower-income communities.
I argue there are important limits to the successful application of ecosystem concepts to humans and the built environment. When E.O. Wilson sought to extend evolutionary genetic theories to human societies in the 1970s, critics were quick to point out that culture and social environments also shape human behavior to a very significant degree. Ethical questions immediately emerged about the scientific characterization of human behavior, and the extent to which it is determined by processes of natural selection or by individual choice and social communities.
Anyone who studies urban ecosystems today must start with an awareness of the ethical and conceptual pitfalls of studying human behavior without considering human values. Applying the concepts of dominance and competition to human social and biological diversity provides a case in point. Research shows that exposure to lead in soil reduces learning ability, and that exposure to air pollution causes genetic damage in human children. If those children are subsequently disadvantaged in social competition, implying that this is “natural” (i.e., the result of natural selection), would be both incorrect and reinforce the repressive dynamics of the economic concept of social class. If urban ecosystem studies are used to naturalize social dynamics, the science will be seen as justifying social hierarchies that restrict social movements in pursuit of greater equity. Particularly in an era of increasing economic and ethnic divisions, studies of urban ecosystems that include human health and behavior require a clear ethical foundation. The limits in this context reveal the limits of scientific method generally, which is that our selection of research topics, our approaches, and the uses of scientific findings are all influenced by power dynamics within human societies.
In summary, I would argue that while urban systems can be studied as ecosystems, an ethical framework is required a priori. Ethical perspectives will change over time, as culture changes. But the need to understand social influences on scientific research – both in development and in application – is acute. Without a clearly articulated ethical framework, scientists should recognize the philosophical limits of the scientific method by restricting themselves to the study of ecology “in” cities, not “of” cities.
Grunewald in Berlin was the kind of landscape studied by Herbert Sukopp in the early days of urban ecology, circa the mid 1970’s. It was a politically symbolic landscape as well as an ecosystem inside the city walls.
Madhusudan is an evolutionary ecologist who discovered birds as an undergrad after growing up a nature-oblivious urban kid near Bombay, went chasing after vanishing wildernesses in the Himalaya and Western Ghats as a graduate student, and returned to study cities grown up as a reconciliation ecologist.
It is a hard nonliving complex three-dimensional structure built by living beings, often covering extensive areas of habitat, and unlike anything else naturally found in the vicinity. It is the product of the labor of an organism that has evolved to transform the materials in its surroundings into a protective home for itself and its progeny. It is built in layers, growing upon itself as its occupants continue to build it over generations. It does the job of protecting its inhabitants well enough to outlast them, standing firm over scores of generations, thousands of years. It helps concentrate the flow of energy and materials from its surroundings to make life more efficient for its denizens, thriving sometimes even in places that otherwise seem deserted.
Of course cities are ecosystems. More interesting is to ask what kind of an ecosystem cities can be rather than worrying about how unnatural a blight they are on more “natural” landscapes.
It not only provides shelter and resources and a supply of energy to the species that built it, but also supports a wider range of other species that may come seeking its riches and adapt to new ways of making a living in this strange new construction. It can vary in appearance and color and occupants from one part of the world to another. It is large enough in some places to be visible from space. It is resilient to a surprisingly wide range of environmental variation, yet vulnerable to catastrophic collapse under conditions such as rising sea levels and warming ocean temperatures. And even when it collapses, and is no longer able to support its creators and main occupants, it continues to loom in its place, casting shadows deep into history, until the patient forces of water and wind and temperature wear it down and its remains wash up on some shoreline in the sands of time.
It is a coral reef, built by ingenious soft-bodied, tough little creatures that can scarcely survive on their own in the vast ocean outside its protections. It is a city, also built by ingenious creatures with bodies softened by civilization, too clever by half, but creative and tough as hell, that may also struggle to survive outside the city walls.
Coral reefs are ecosystems rich in biodiversity, often concentrating biological productivity and wealth amid relatively poor waters. Coral reefs are described as rainforests of the ocean, harboring as much, if not more biodiversity underwater as tropical rainforests do on land. They stick out in the underwater landscape as distinctly as forests full of tall trees do in terrestrial landscapes, marvelously unlike anything around them, but teeming with a richness of diverse marine organisms that have evolved to be uniquely adapted to life in the coral reef, lured by its richness to tie their evolutionary fate to that of the reef itself.
Explaining to children how a coral reef functions like a city. Photo:
It may seem odd, but coral reefs are also often likened to cities. The City, that quintessential “artificial” construction by human beings alienated from nature, symbolic of how we pave over natural ecosystems, is often used as a metaphor to understand and explain the complexity of coral reefs. There are even children’s picture books full of wonderful artwork that explain how coral reefs function much like cities: where tall structures rise up from the ocean floor like skyscrapers; where schools of fish and mollusks and crustaceans scuttle about busily at work commuting among productive nooks and crannies where they can feed and nest and raise babies securely; where diverse species evolve to specialize in different tasks, much like guilds of craftsmen and workers in medieval cities divided up human labor to make it more efficient, enabling us to produce ever more wonders of craft and art and technology, diverse and creative, and also sometimes horrific.
We have never debated whether coral reefs are complex ecosystems in their own right, worthy of protection. We should also be long past debating whether cities are ecosystems. Of course they are, unique ones described in much of the recent literature as complex social-ecological systems, because we like to pull the human social elements apart from the “natural” in our cartesian ways of thinking. A much more interesting exercise is to ask what kind of an ecosystem cities can be rather than worrying about how unnatural a blight they are on more “natural” landscapes.
As they stand, and unlike coral reefs, cities are not founts of biological diversity amid less diverse landscapes. In the relatively short timespan of human history, cities have become known more for destroying biodiversity rather than enhancing it anywhere, although more recent work in urban ecology is finding a surprisingly high diversity of species in many cities. Do cities destroy other habitats and ecosystems? Of course. Do cities cause local extinctions of many species? Undoubtedly, because we never built them as habitats for any species other than ourselves. Indeed it would seem that we build cities as places where we seek refuge from “nature” in all its vagaries and its “red in tooth and claw” horrors. Yet, we also bring a lot of that nature, and many other species, with us into the city, planting some in our gardens, growing others on our walls and balconies, feeding and watering many with intent or benign neglect, and willingly or unwittingly sharing the bounty of resources we concentrate for ourselves in cities. We know now that we depend on many of these other species for food, water, and air, for our bodies and our minds, and for our culture and artistic inspiration—even though we never built cities for anyone but our own selves. Just like the mindless tiny organisms that build coral reefs.
But unlike the coral organisms, we have minds capable of reflecting on our own actions, and of imagining different futures. Imagine building cities more intentionally like coral reefs on land. The oldest cities are just a few thousand years old, an order of magnitude younger than the oldest coral reefs. That deeper span of time has allowed coral reefs to evolve into the diverse ecosystems we now celebrate and whose decline through our actions we dread and lament. Yet, to borrow that tortured phrase from urban land developers, the coral organisms simply built their little shelters, and they came: all the diverse algae and plankton and fish and mollusks and crustaceans in the ocean to evolve together into a diverse ecosystem thriving under the ocean. A growing body of research on urban wildlife is now showing us that many species on land are also coming into our cities once we build them, so long as we leave enough of our surplus of resources for them. Recognizing the value of nature and wildlife, the biological and cultural ecosystem services they provide us in the current jargon, we are also actively bringing other species into our cities. Why not go all the way and reimagine our cities as bustling diverse coral reefs on land?
Surely, if we build cities with intention, with niches full of unique resources, many other species will come on their own, and over time will adapt and evolve into unique urban creatures, tying their fates to ours just like the house sparrow or the chimney swift have done. Even underwater, our artifacts, like sunken ships, can act as surrogates for species fleeing damaged coral reefs, and are being used intentionally to restore reef ecosystems threatened by warming oceans and rising seas. It is not hard to imagine some of our major coastal cities also turning into such surrogate reefs as they submerge under the rising oceans. So let us also reimagine and reinvent our cities as terrestrial reefs, as rich and full of other species as we can learn to coexist with, becoming not just their competitors and killers, but also their gardeners and nurturers and symbionts. Let us think as deep into the future as the coral reefs teach us about the past, and turn the metaphor of the coral reef as a city into the real city as a coral reef, diverse and resilient and full of evolutionary ferment to match the tides of our changing world.
Almost everybody agrees on the fact that cities can be considered as complex systems. Are they ecosystems? Proving it is another kettle of fish altogether. The idea that cities are complex systems took shape in the sixties from two standpoints:
Cities are ecosystems and a lot more than that: they are social-ecological systems.
On the one hand, the very idea that cities are complex systems originated in the seventies with the article of Eugene Odum “The Strategy of Ecosystem Development”, which describes urban areas as ecosystems. Many authors continued in this vein later, one of the more famous being Wackernagel and Riess with their book Our Ecological Footprint. In this sense we can consider—as far as cities are concerned—complex system and ecosystem are used synonymously.
But on the other hand, at approximately the same time, many authors developed the notion of cities as complex systems from a completely different perspective. The general system theory from Ludwig Van Bertalanffy combined with Norbert Wiener’s cybernetics and Warren Weaver’s organized complexity to provide a conceptual framework to another vision of the city as a complex system. This vision described the city mainly through mobility and transport, energy and financial flows, logistics etc.
Thus, in the eighties, two distinct visions of cities as complex systems were encapsulated in two metaphors: The machine metaphor, usually associated with rigid urban projects, and hub and spoke transport models—which eventually generated dysfunctional social design, ineffective land use, pollution and congestion—and the organic one, built in analogy to organisms—the city as an ecosystem. Well, that would be too simple! Two more visions emerged then: The first one developed by Jane Jacobs considered cities as social-economic systems, while second one, supported by Manuel Castells, primarily saw cities as networks for information exchange.
Later, urban planners and scientists began to realize that cities could not be modeled as equilibrium systems changing smoothly and progressively. Discontinuous and chaotic change reigned everywhere in urban areas. New structures and behaviors emerged constantly, in an unpredictable way. A consequence of this new insight is that urban planners started focusing on how emergent patterns could be generated in the city, by examining how people make decisions—or even micro-decisions—and how local actions confront and aggregate into global patterns. To do so, it proved necessary to consider cities not only as complex systems, but also as complex adaptive systems as mentioned by Michael Batty.
Mitchell Waldrop explains in his key book Complexity—The Emerging Science at the Edge of Order and Chaos, that complex adaptive systems can learn from experience and change accordingly. Two characteristics of complex adaptive systems are of significant importance to the structure and functioning of the cities: simple decisions made by individuals aggregate to give rise to complex global patterns, and each agent is co-evolving with the structure resulting from the actions of all the others; change stays dormant up to a tipping point at which these systems flip dramatically and irreversibly into a different state, which is almost impossible to predict. Many irreversible futures are possible.
The agents that interact in the complex adaptive systems of the cities are social and biophysical by nature. From this point of view, cities may be considered as social-ecological systems. What differentiates social-ecological systems from non-human complex adaptive systems is that the former deals with humans who apprehend their world through abstract thought. This symbolic construction is based on the ability to use language and symbols, to communicate across space and time. It has to do with the capacity of human beings to learn from the past, imagine the future, and finally materialize these thoughts in new types of entities that only exist in the noosphere (institutions, political and economic structures, as well as values, norms and beliefs). Erik Swingedouw highlights the circulation and metabolism of nature in urban areas, the role of history in producing them, and how this production drives, and is driven, by unequal power relationships, economic inequities, and competing knowledge. Marina Alberti demonstrated in her article “Integrating Humans into Ecology: Opportunities and Challenges for Studying Urban Ecosystems” that it is impossible to explain how human societies can be integrated in the ecological systems of a city, except by considering the city as a social-ecological system.
Clifford Ochs, Ph.D. is Professor of Biology at the University of Mississippi. He is an aquatic ecologist and conducts research on the Mississippi River and other aquatic ecosystems. Additionally, he is Director of the Mississippi Water Security Institute.
The city ecosystem—the street view of a common resident
Sometimes we move alone, other times we move en masse, after the sun has set, a migration from street to dump, and back to safety. If you stay in the light, you may not notice us. But pay attention when passing a dark alley, and you may see our glowing eyes, and hear our high chirps of communion.
Your habits are our habits, your throwaways are our takeaways, and while you’ve done all the work to make the city for yourselves, we could not resist moving in, migrating across the grid, and settling down.
Perhaps you think we are out of place in your city, that we don’t belong. Oh, please. As someone has said: “If you build it, they will come”, and so we came, and we’ll stay. How could we resist? It’s like you created this place to meet not only our needs, but our desire.
It’s dark. Mostly, it feels safe. And everything we could want is nearby. The pantry is always stocked, with crusty bagels, a piece of hot dog, sometimes with a little cheese sauce, pigeon tartare. Garbage, spillage, dusky stormwater, toasty sewer pipes, plenty of pack mates. Like you, we are yearning to be free, and here in the city you have built for us, we surely are.
Warmth is appreciated, and thanks be to you, the city is a heat generator. Pavement catching sunlight, taxies and furnaces burning oil, its organic flotsam and jetsam radiating heat into the atmosphere. Baby, even when it is cold outside, we stay warm and cozy in our rent-controlled little homes, we and our passenger fleas snoozing the day away.
Come darkness, when we do venture out, we must be cautious. Many rewards await us, but all is not safe, the city is also home to terrible predators. Cats are the worst, quiet, leaping, crazy, red in tooth and claw. When we see a cat, a cry goes out, run, find a crack in a wall, stay still until the danger slinks on. With patience and luck, we will survive another night, and tomorrow there will be even more of us!
It is our secret weapon. With all the nibbles you leave behind, a warm nook, and the right kind of company, make room for babies. Lots. A dozen at a time is not unusual, and it takes only a few weeks to make them, and shortly after birth, we are ready to make some more. Really, if it wasn’t for the cats, an occasional terrier, the diabolical contrivances of human pests, and an unfortunate tendency for internecine conflict, how much faster our family would grow.
People, thank you for the city. Your habits are our habits, your throwaways are our takeaways, and while you’ve done all the work to make the city for yourselves, we could not resist moving in, migrating across the grid, and settling down – waiting each day for the sun to set, and the streets to be our playground.
Steward Pickett is a Distinguished Senior Scientist at the Cary Institute of Ecosystem Studies in Millbrook, New York. His research focuses on the ecological structure of urban areas and the temporal dynamics of vegetation.
The fundamental idea of the ecosystem is one of the clearest in contemporary ecology. It has survived intact since it was introduced by Sir Arthur Tansley in 1935. Few scientific concepts have such longevity.
The deep definition of the word ecosystem is notable for what it leaves out—the minimal baggage carried by the idea makes it nimble and broadly applicable.
According to Tansley, and leaders in ecosystem ecology since his time, an ecosystem occupies an area and comprises the complex of biological organisms in that place along with the physical environment complex, and the interactions among these two complexes. The use of the word “complex” indicates that there are interactions within the biological and the physical parts of an ecosystem as well as between them.
So an ecosystem is a place that combines interacting biological organisms and physical features. The biological includes the conspicuous plants such as trees and herbaceous species, the microbes such as fungi, bacteria, and viruses, the animals ranging from large carnivores and scavengers, to the inconspicuous creatures like worms and insects. But the key word—interacting—is what makes it a system.
The deep definition of the word ecosystem is notable for what it leaves out. Indeed, the minimal baggage carried by the idea makes it nimble and broadly applicable. The definition of the ecosystem does not require things like closed boundaries, stability or equilibrium; nor a focus on any particular time or spatial scale. It doesn’t require or deny directional changes through time, or an inevitable terminal condition of diversity or productivity.
The sort of things the definition leaves out, however, become the fodder for research questions or applications. The features absent from the definition can be addressed in specific ecosystem models that apply to certain broadly distributed conditions, or to particular locations or time periods. A researcher or practitioner can always ask, what if the ecosystem I’m studying or designing were in equilibrium, or had closed boundaries for some material? The model that an investigator creates would take the basic idea and add the constraints she wanted to investigate. But notice that in this application something new becomes apparent: the fundamental definition is free from most assumptions, whereas the specification of the basic concept in a particular model states explicit assumptions, exposing them to test. The ecosystem concept and its specification describe a two tiered strategy: concept as clear but lightly burdened generalization, applied though many different specific models that state the precise assumptions they make. This is a common strategy in science.
As specific ecosystem models have proliferated and been tested, ecosystem thinking has broadened in practice. In some ways this evolution has confirmed the wisdom of avoiding assumptions in the definition, such as equilibrium or closed material boundaries, or strict spatial isolation among ecosystems. The breadth of models has demonstrated that actual ecosystems can have an amazing variety of forms, contents, and dynamics. For example, various specific models have documented that ecosystems are three dimensional bodies, extending deep within terrestrial soils or aquatic substrates, and high above the canopies of tall trees. Other modern insights include the widespread role of natural disturbance in shaping ecosystems, or the almost universal presence of humans, human effects, and human legacies in ecosystem structure and function. None of these conditions is required, but neither are they excluded by the fundamental definition—which brings us back to cities.
How could a city, or a suburb, or a town, or an agricultural village not be an ecosystem? Cities have biological components—including of course humans—but also wild organisms passing through or adapted to the new range of conditions that exist in cities. Organisms long-adapted to and dependent on human largess and waste are a part of urban ecosystems as well. Soil invertebrates, fungi, and bacteria inhabit urban soils and waters. Urban organisms are as involved in the transformation of energy and matter, and the transmission and receipt of information, as are their wild cousins.
Urban systems of course contain the particular physical environment within which and with which the organisms interact. Sunlight for photosynthesis, the cues of daylength and the seasonal swings of temperature, the exaggerated heat budgets, the stresses of low humidity, the soils, rubble, and fill as substrates, the rush of wind through the streets or the stagnation of air in deep street canyons, and the alteration of topography, with its importation of stone and the alkaline ingredients of concrete, are among the many aspects of urban physical environments.
All of these interacting components define an urban instance of the basic idea of the ecosystem. And all of these components reflect the desires, plans, mistakes, accidents, and unintentional effects of decisions made by individual people, households, and institutions. Clearly the physical environments of cities are constructed by or profoundly modified by people. Equally clearly, the biological complex of cities where humans are the predominant actor, has social features as well as compositional and spatial biodiversity.
All of this complexity and dynamism fits easily within the basic definition of the ecosystem, and invites the burgeoning of specific models that contribute to surprise, delight, and utility in the urban sciences and design professions. In an era of global urbanization, climate change, and deepening social inequity, urbanists must recognize the many jobs that even the inconspicuous biological elements of the urban ecosystem perform.
But beyond recognizing the role of the biological component of urban ecosystems, it is imperative to increase the ability of these systems to do ecological work. This means leaving or making space for organisms, which are the creators of ecological work, in new or retrofitted cities. It means allowing streams to interact with marshy banks. It means growing trees to form connected canopies for reasons of aesthetics and climate moderation. It means supporting food webs that generate local crops and control problematic species. Finally, it means sharing benefits equitably among empowered and marginalized people. These are important outcomes that can come from acting on the idea that any city must be an ecosystem.
Robert Pirani is the program director for the New York-New Jersey Harbor & Estuary Program at the Hudson River Foundation. HEP is a collaboration of government, scientists and the civic sector that helps protect and restore the harbor’s waters and habitat.
Cities are ecosystems! Let’s help them adapt and evolve
Cities are ecosystems! Affirming that people and our culture cannot be considered apart from nature offers both useful metaphors and new urban practices. But just as people are a particular and complicated part of the biota, cities are ecosystems with some particular and complicated characteristics. Improving our understanding of those details can certainly improve urban planning and design.
Consideration of the social benefits of resilience technology, and the civic ecology that it can engender, may well determine whether our urban ecosystems and all of their inhabitants can successfully adapt to a changing future.
What is less clear is whether human-dominated ecosystems, like cities, can successfully evolve in the rapidly changing world we have created. Rapid population increases, urbanization, introduction of novel contaminants and species, and now climate change all pose challenges to both people and other urban inhabitants.
Consider how understanding cities as ecosystem improves both the built and natural worlds.
By definition cities are a human adaption to help produce and distribute energy, transform materials, and shape their consumption. Healthy ecosystems have a balance of production, consumption, and decomposition. Cities can promote virtuous cycles that return these materials and energy to new uses. Whether building soils by composting organic waste or creating buildings that recycle and reuse the rain, urban planners and designers are fostering a host of more sustainable practices.
Understanding cities as ecosystems can also help us conserve and restore valued ecological characteristics and services. The ecological structure and functions of our urban greenspaces and waterways provide people with a wealth of services, from moderating air temperatures to producing fish. Defining these ecological characteristics is an important way of improving management and defining restoration goals. Identifying the value of these services is a critical piece of information that can help us locate and design buildings and infrastructure so that they positively contribute to nature. These ecological characteristics also define place, the genius loci that makes each city special and valuable.
But can understanding cities as ecosystems change the way cities adapt and evolve? The evolution of ecosystems is shaped by life histories, natural selection and the biological evolution of organisms over time. Cultural forces guide the evolution of cities. These individual and group decisions operate for the most part on the time scale of markets and politics, and do not always account for ecological considerations. In particular modern society tends toward silo management and investment by sector and by jurisdiction, making it difficult to advance integrated decisions at an ecosystem scale.
Consideration of how we can successfully employ natural and nature-based coastal features to increase the resiliency of our waterfront cities offers some specific lessons for what is needed to move forward.
The health of our coastal cities/urban ecosystems are increasingly vulnerable to the impacts of flooding, due to the combination of human population growth, real estate pressures, sea level rise, and coastal storms. Here in New York and New Jersey, Hurricane Sandy and its aftermath continues to pose challenging questions of how to mitigate mounting hazards to people and property along our urban shorelines. Such challenges will only increase with a rapidly changing climate.
One set of answers is the increased use of natural and nature-based features for coastal adaptation (NNBFs). Such strategies recognize that natural features along our urban shorelines, like beaches, coastal dunes and wetlands, have evolved over the years to survive and indeed thrive in face of changing sea levels and storms. Nature-based features are engineered infrastructure designed to employ the characteristics of these coastal landscapes, specifically offering services such as coastal risk reduction, restored habitat, and stormwater management. The US Army Corps of Engineers (http://www.nad.usace.army.mil/Portals/40/docs/ComprehensiveStudy/Bridges-Wagner_Natural_and_Nature-based.pdf), US Housing and Urban Development (http://www.rebuildbydesign.org/), National Oceanic Administrative Agency (http://sagecoast.org/), state and local agencies (for example see the Coastal Green Infrastructure Plan for New York City at http://www.dec.ny.gov/docs/remediation_hudson_pdf/cginyc.pdf ), and academic partnerships such as Sustainable Adaptive Gradients in the Coastal Environment are actively promoting these concepts.
The promise of NNBFs, like other green infrastructure and green building technologies, offers a kind of symbiotic evolution. That adapting our cities can meet the linked challenges of more people and a changing climate in a way that improves or at least sustains the rest of the ecosystem.
To meet this promise will require new metrics for success and the means of adaptively managing these living shorelines. It will require the will to cooperate across boundaries. It will require the science needed to understand whether such infrastructure does indeed provide an ecological lift. It will require rethinking permit guidance to allow for this hybrid infrastructure. There are many efforts to better define these metrics and monitoring requirements, and consider needed policy and management changes.
But perhaps most critically, successfully deploying such technology will also require designers and engineers and decision makers to consider how to better integrate long term monitoring, community stewardship, and social resiliency into engineering decisions and practice. NNBFs, like most green infrastructure, require time for plants and animals to establish themselves. Monitoring and in many cases active stewardship is critical for their enduring success.
This need for stewardship offers an opportunity for engaging community and building the social resiliency critical to mitigating coastal and other hazards. Consideration of the social benefits of this technology, and the civic ecology that it can build, may well determine whether our urban ecosystems and all of their inhabitants can successfully adapt to a changing future.
Are cities ecosystems—analogous to natural ones—of nature, infrastructure and people? Not so much.
There is a better comparison: with complex living organisms in all their three-dimensional glory.
Ecosystems are certainly crucial to the health of their living inhabitants. And certainly lessons like “conserve energy and utilize renewables primarily” and “recycle assiduously” are good lessons for the functioning of cities as well as relevant models for our education about biological systems of rich biodiversity and high biomass. As individuals and groups of people, we are fed by the environment and by observing, say, trees that grow great and provide shelter from rain and wind in their hollow trunks, or under their big branches, we can learn something leading into architecture, for example. Maybe that’s where architecture started.
Comparing our cities to complex living organisms seems much more fruitful—in other words, to our own bodies, our organ systems, our limits. I think of this as the “anatomy analogy”.
But where cities have come to date is something far more complex: add to buildings systems of transportation, paved and rail, supply delivery, recycling and waste disposal back into the environment, public open spaces such as parks and plazas, designed treatment of elements of nature from river and water fronts to rooftop gardens and window box gardens attracting hummingbirds and bees. Then there are special function organs like restaurant, arts, education and medical districts and the various zones of built infrastructure for various other functions, neighborhoods of different cultural emphases. So though there is much to consider regarding designing healthy cities to be gained by looking at the way our all-embracing environments work, there is much more to be learned from complex living organisms.
Nature hints architecture
In fact, the more I think about it the more I think we are off on the wrong foot to make a big deal of the analogy between cities and ecosystems. In a sense, that’s what sprawling suburbs do. Comparing our cities to complex living organisms seems to me much more fruitful, comparing cities, in other words, to our own bodies, our organ systems, our limits. I think of this as the “anatomy analogy”.
There is a basic mathematical truth at the heart of the universe here, a geometric truth: complexity becomes well ordered in three dimensions, like the compact ultra efficient form of living beings like us. The “environment” models scattered two-dimensional layouts such as hyper inefficient car-dependent, land, resources and energy squandering sprawl development. That two-dimensional layout of ecosystems is not purely so–of course. Take a kelp forest 250 feet from anchorage to top, or a redwood forest towering almost 390 feet tall, more including roots, 3-D to that degree. But the general and overall form, covering vast areas of land and waters of these environments is basically 2-D.
At the core of the issue is that three dimensions works—overlapping lines of connection, either by simply “bumping up against one another, one function to another” and with overlapping veins, nerves, lymph ducts, digestive/excretory tubes, etc. But try to squeeze it all down to the flats like suburbia tries to do and you have a tangled mess of concrete and steel freeway over- and underpasses, miles and miles of pipes and wires that in the compact form of highly mixed uses well organized is much, much shorter, more materials and energy conserving.
This is the basic formula also expressed as “access by proximity.” My father, a sailor and a pilot, liked to say, imagining tacking toward the finish line, “the shortest distance between two points is a straight line”.
But the more fundamental truth is “the shortest distance between two points is moving the points close together”. You can’t get more basic than that and that’s exactly what’s at the basis of the preference for using the complex living organism as an urban model over the much more fundamentally two-dimensionally semi-organized environments of various ecosystems.
Eric Sanderson is a Senior Conservation Ecologist at the Wildlife Conservation Society, and the author of Mannahatta: A Natural History of New York City.
Cities are not so much ecosystems as they are ecological landscapes
In the biological sciences, we think of life as a set of Russian dolls, with different kinds of scientist to examine each type of matryoshka. Cells are made of molecules, and so there are molecular biologists (and biochemists) to study them, and cellular biologists to study the cells. Cells are organized into tissues studied by histologists; tissues are assembled into organs, which are studied by anatomists and physiologists. (For the human organism, you see a cardiologist for your heart and a nephrologist for your kidneys.) Organs in turn make up organisms, the province of classical biological types: mammologists for the mammals, ornithologists for the birds, herpetologists for the reptiles and amphibians, ichthyologists for the fish, entomologists for the insects, botanists for the plants. Each branch of science has its own division of the evolutionary tree to care for.
A city is an ecological landscape—and a landscape, to scientists like me, is the particular pattern of ecosystems, their composition and arrangement, that forms a habitat for plants and animals. Even for people.
Once we start to nest organisms into the environment, we enter into the realm of ecology. Community ecologists study the interactions between and among different kinds of organisms; ecosystem ecologists study the interactions of ecological communities with the non-living aspects of the environment: water, air, soil, nitrogen, energy, and so forth. And landscape ecologists, my particular tribe, study the assembly of ecosystems into mosaics that vary in space (i.e. what you see looking out of an airplane) and in time (i.e. what you see in a time lapse movie.) One could go on to speak of regional ecology (and ecologists) and planets and their devotees, and eventually, if we find life on another world, then exobiology and trans-planetary ecology will be latest academic fad, but we’re not there yet. For now, when it comes to cities, I think landscape is the doll on which we should focus our energy. Because cities are not singular ecosystems, they are ecological landscapes composed of many kinds of ecosystem.
To landscape ecologists, a landscape is not just a considered view of the outdoors (as seen in a landscape painting), nor is it a manicured garden (as created by a landscape architect); a landscape, to scientists like me, is the particular pattern of ecosystems, their composition and arrangement, that forms a habitat for plants and animals. Even for people.
—from Mannahatta
And what are these urban ecosystems? Buildings, streets, sidewalks, gardens, empty lots, baseball fields, parking garages, bridges, ponds, lakes, streams, forests, grasslands, beaches, marine waters, and so forth. Since an ecosystem is itself a composite of living and non-living elements, one can distinguish them by their different biotic and abiotic components. A forest is not only the trees, shrubs, herbs, squirrels, fungi, bacteria, etc. but also the soil, water, and energy. A building also qualifies as an ecosystem by this definition, inhabited by living people and our commensal pets and also composed of non-living walls, floors, ceilings, insulation, furnishing, electrical wires, and so on. Just because an ecosystem is designed by a human being doesn’t mean it’s not an ecosystem. Indeed if we began to think of buildings as the ecosystems they are, we might design them better.
More to the point, urban ecosystems are arranged in distinct and recognizable patterns as landscapes. Just take out your phone and look at a mapping application of your favorite city neighborhood. Rarely does nature compose such exquisitely structured and rigorously enforced patterns. Hardly does nature lay down such straight lines or place such elements of fundamental difference in such close proximity. And never does nature let a singular idea (the city grid, impervious pavement, the motorcar) run roughshod over all others as we have it in most 21st century cities.
To the extent that we want to find and restore nature in urban landscape, landscape ecology must be our essential framing discipline, embracing of many disciplines, and yet providing its own tools and thought processes. Remember within the landscape are all of nature’s other Russian dolls and their devotees: ecosystems, communities, plants and animals, and so on, down the biological hierarchy to the molecular level. Landscape ecologists integrate across these ways of imagining nature and then bring to bear our own expanding bag of tricks. On the theoretical side, landscape ecologists might wax eloquent about how disturbance processes (e.g. fires, floods, gentrification) change the urban form or habitat models can be deployed to predict where different species (or subsets of a species, drug dealers, philanthropists, potential sweethearts, etc.) hang out. Landscape ecology helps us see the urban mosaic in terms of its connectivity for not one or a few transportation modes, but for the many different types of organisms co-inhabiting the city, and for energy, biogeochemicals, sewage, and other materials, intentionally or inadvertently passing through. Landscape ecology opens us to explore the complex scaling rules that explain how the ever-changing interactions of the city work themselves out at different levels and for different reasons and into different spatial forms. Similarly, the tools of a wildlands landscape ecologist can provide insights for the technologically-minded urban planner, who deploys GPS, GIS, satellite imagery, aerial photography, computer modelling, visualization, and so forth to make a better landscape of ecosystems, that is, a city.
Alexis is a doctoral student from UC Berkeley's Department of Landscape Architecture and Environmental Planning, at the College of Environmental Design. Her research interest is the shift towards multifunctional infrastructure, a framework that connect commonplace services such as transport, potable water, sanitation, housing with other functions, such as ecosystem services, climate action and sustainable resource use.
As an academic and occasional policy advisor from the Global South, “cities as ecosystems” has been an attractive metaphor. Intellectually, I was brought up by what I call academic activists or planners, taking on the challenge of urban sustainability in a context of familiar development struggles. Our context commonly appears in terms of ‘unprecedented’ urbanization, often without the necessary growth; inequality and unemployment; and perverse infrastructure legacies of unsustainable resource use and environmental degradation.
Perhaps our insight is not really in viewing cities as ecosystems, but instead lies in how the cities-as-ecosystems idea causes our urban thinking and designs to evolve.
Retrospectively, cities-as-ecosystems was a natural step on my journey investigating options for more sustainable urban futures. In 2013, I led a Green Infrastructure research project at the Gauteng City-Region Observatory (GCRO), a partnership between academic institutions and governments in South Africa’s smallest, but most densely populated urban region. Green infrastructure offered exciting analytical opportunities—we could develop impressive maps, visuals and economic values—to show how the region’s green assets form a network that provides ecosystem services in the same way as conventional grey infrastructure. In 2013, the GCRO published a State of Green Infrastructure, the first of its kind to visualize and assign economic, as well as cultural values to green infrastructure, the “interconnected set of natural and constructed ecological systems, green spaces and other landscape features.
The indigenous and planted trees in Gauteng, strikingly showing the extent of tree cover within the urban core, roughly covering Johannesburg. Although the majority are planted and non-indigenous, the trees in Gauteng provide important services, such as air purification and erosion control. The map also demonstrates the power of high resolution satellitle imagery in mapping individual ecological assets such as trees (Khanyile, 2017).
Like other similar endeavors, there have been necessary evolutions to the GCRO’s green infrastructure work. Much of this evolution rests on the ecosystem services metaphor, which helps us to understand the benefits provided by ecosystem to society. This metaphor is the basis of impressive work around the world that assigns green infrastructure a monetary value, with the ultimate goal of incorporating these values into municipal budgeting and accounting procedures.
The endurance of the GCRO’s green infrastructure work is inspiring. Compared to my preliminary, and admittedly naïve work, their current green infrastructure engages spatial, economic and social analyses that contain more of the necessary detail for understanding cities as ecosystems. While innovative at the time, our 2013 State of Green Infrastructure report encountered major data challenges as we learnt about the deficiencies of our local government datasets. This was illuminating, highlighting the critical role of data consistency and capacity, but it was also very costly, requiring the services of external data contractors with the requisite data and technical capacities.
Perhaps most importantly, the GCRO’s Green Infrastructure City-Lab facilitates the sharing and co-production of knowledge between government officials and other stakeholders to develop green infrastructure within municipal planning (Culwick & Bobbins, 2014). This is a welcome resolution to our early situation with local government databases. The connection and interest between scholars and government practitioners may well prove the most important anchor in future work. There are important movements to watch within some of Gauteng’s local governments expressing interest in green infrastructure as a more formal strategy for urban planning.
Yet, I am also cautious of the above in my current role as a PhD scholar at UC Berkeley’s College of Environmental Design. In part, there is a romanticism in thinking about cities as ecosystems, particularly whether green infrastructure can truly contribute to meet our ever-demanding human needs. We also have to be wary of the attractive, yet rather ambiguous, renditions that use ecology to model urban processes. This is most clear in the North American discourse, Landscape as Urbanism, with a following of ‘intellectual’ designers, eluding to ecology in their vocabulary but largely producing intriguing visual renditions and models of cities as complex ecosystems (Duany et al., 2013; Corner, 1999: Waldheim, 2008).
I do find conciliation in remembering the linage of ‘bringing nature back in’ to urban design and planning. Olmstead’s ‘parkways’ concept, Howard’s Garden Cities, proposals in Spirn’s The Granite Garden (1965), McHarg’s Design with Nature (1969), and Hough’s City Form and Natural Process (1984) are important examples in history showing both the intellectual and strategic power of viewing cities as ecosystems. The GCRO’s green infrastructure work is certainly part of this global lineage and experimentation with what it means to articulate, and invest in, cities as ecosystems. Yes, this casts a wide net of intellectual idealists and activists, but perhaps our insight is not really in viewing cities as ecosystems, but instead, lies in how the cities-as-ecosystems ideas causes our thinking and designs to evolve.
One of the best lessons we receive is, of course, from practice. Portland, Oregon, presents a unique case of two sustainable urban design experiments attempting to integrate social and ecological functions. The New Urbanist project, Jamison Square, includes an iconic fountain, a boardwalk, an outdoor gallery and often features in media as a socially vibrant, active and lively public space” (Senville 2015). In contrast, Tanner Springs Park, emerging later in the city’s history as a Landscape Urbanist project, primarily a stormwater project that transitions from a relaxing meadow with stone walkways, a cleansing biotope and wetland plantings (Senville 2015). Duany et al. argue that Tanner Park is largely devoid of humans, rather focusing on maintaining prairie grasses and preventing the adverse aesthetic effects of citizens’ and animals feet and posteriors (2014).
The social and ecological differences of Jamison Square and Tanner Park are not necessarily unhelpful trade-offs. There is immense value in foregrounding the vital functions performed by landscapes, such as mitigating climate or providing drainage. Highlighting landscape infrastructure as well as the more commonplace, albeit often invisible networks of transit or waste disposal systems also opens urban design to the crucial sustainability question of how to sustain urban functions given available resources. The conundrum in designing more sustainable urban forms is therefore how to provide for social and ecological urban functions in a way that resonates with humans, without comprising affordability nor the requirements for density, mix and scale (Kelbaugh in Duany et al., 2014, Hill & Larsen, 2014). As Thompson reflects, while working through the nature-cultural dichotomy is complex and challenging, urban design experiments are an essential part of responsive, creative and catalytic thinking about the major structuring elements of urban form (2012). While sustainable urban design experiments often reveal the discontents of paradigmatic thinking, they are also significant as empirical opportunities to critically reflect on the realities of ecological and social integration in urban form.
References
Corner, J. 2006. Terra Fluxus, in The Landscape Urbanism Reader, edited by Charles Waldheim, 21-33. New York: Princeton.
Culwick, C., Bobbins, K., Cartwright, A., Oelofse, G., Mander, M. and Dunsmore, S. (2016). A framework for a green infrastructure planning approach in the Gauteng City-Region, Johannesburg: Gauteng City-Region Observatory.
Duany, A. & Talen, E. 2013. Landscape Urbanism and its discontents, Dissimulating the
Sustainable City. Canada: New Society Publishers.
McHarg, I. 1969. The Plight, in Design with Nature, 31-41. New York: The Natural History
Press.
Schäffler, A., Christopher, N., Bobbins, K., Otto, E., Nhlozi, M.W., de Wit, M., van Zyl, H., Crookes, D., Gotz, G., Trangoš, G., Wray, C. & Phasha, P. (2013) State of Green Infrastructure in the GCR, Johannesburg: Gauteng City-Region Observatory.
Spirn, A.W. 1965. The Granite Garden: Urban Nature and Human Design, Basic Books, Inc.,
New York
Waldheim, Charles. 2006. Landscape as Urbanism, in The Landscape Urbanism Reader. NewYork: Princeton Architectural Press.
David Simon is Professor of Development Geography at Royal Holloway, University of London and until December 2019 was also Director of Mistra Urban Futures, an international research centre on sustainable cities based at Chalmers University of Technology, Gothenburg, Sweden.
I have always been wary of organismic analogies seeking to compare human artefacts such as urban systems or individual cities with the human body or natural systems because they never stand up to inspection. Even possibly the most famous analogy of natural systems across very different scales, namely James Lovelock’s Gaia hypothesis, which likens Planet Earth to the human body, is analytically problematic despite its innate appeal as a rhetorical device.
Perhaps in the future, the ecosystem analogy might become more apt, but at present it is unhelpful and inaccurate, obscuring or concealing far more than it might superficially promise as heuristic device.
Fundamental to natural systems, including ecosystems as variously defined (including the Science.com version cited in the curatorial note) is the holistic integration of all their components within a system which makes the whole more than the sum of its parts and is normally sustainable. That said, ecosystems are not closed systems since they exchange nutrients with adjacent systems through different mechanisms, in part through being open to the atmosphere, soil and groundwater.
Individual cities are also open, indeed, far more so than ecosystems: there are constant inward and outward flows of resources and wastes of various sorts, commodities, people and finance. Despite our current and very necessary preoccupation with urban sustainability, no individual city or even system (network) of cities is sustainable in the sense of being autochtonous. No matter the extent of nutrient and water recycling and waste reduction, progress towards carbon reduction and renewable energy, or shift towards integrated and efficient public transport, cities are necessarily open and reliant on such fluxes and flows. Indeed, it is important to acknowledge that this is not a failing but both by necessity and design. No city anywhere has ever been able to survive for an extended period when cut off from its hinterland and isolated, as in a siege.
My scepticism about the analogy rests on three main factors. First, no existing city is fully internally integrated and harmoniously or efficiently functional. The extent of dysfunctionality, or harmony versus conflict, varies greatly but the diversity of urban residents in terms of both visible and invisible markers, and their divergent or overtly conflictual interests, militates against this. Second, with very few exceptions like mining company towns, urban areas are not designed and built at one time to a comprehensive plan with the explicit intent of becoming a “complete” entity in any way comparable to an organism or ecosystem. Instead, they grow in phases, usually incrementally or with distinct new neighbourhoods being added, at different rates at different times. Over time there is also periodic decline, dereliction and eventual redevelopment of areas or neighbourhoods that become obsolete as a result of technological change or shifting trade and political relations, or become depopulated or economically or socially undesirable through changing income or social profiles and preferences. Third, governance is often deficient or dysfunctional, with urban politics revealing differing degrees of contestation among different stakeholders and tensions between social welfare and private or corporate profit.
That said, current urban greening initiatives, often including wetland and river rehabilitation; rewilding of derelict or biologically degraded areas; networking of open space systems; water reuse and recycling; and small-scale renewable energy generation are increasing urban biodiversity, enhancing climate change mitigation and adaptive capacity, and providing more “green” jobs and livelihood opportunities. To some extent, then, these may be integrating urban areas in novel ways, also softening or blurring some of the sharp discontinuities referred to above, and enhancing urban liveability and wellbeing.
Furthermore, some critiques of technocentric visions of smart cities and urbanism are beginning to gain traction and might shift the focus towards more locally appropriate and sustainable interventions. Perhaps in the distant future, the ecosystem analogy might become more apt but at present it is unhelpful and inaccurate, obscuring or concealing far more than it might superficially promise as heuristic device.
Yolanda van Heezik is currently exploring children’s connection with nature, and how ageing affects nature engagement. She is part of a multi-institutional team investigating restoration in urban areas, and cultural influences on attitudes to native biodiversity.
The notion of the city as an ecosystem is not new—“the ecology of cities” as a paradigm was introduced in the late 1990s and the holistic nature of this paradigm implies that the city itself is an ecosystem. But how is a city ecosystem defined? It is difficult to define the spatial contours of any ecosystem, and this is certainly the case in cities, where the ecological footprint can be many times larger than the geographical boundary of the city itself. The quantities of food, energy and other natural resources and products that flow between the city and its surroundings are very large relative to that which is cycled within the city. Environmental philosopher Mark Sagoff (2003) argues that we need to be able to define an ecosystem before we are able to understand it, to manage it, and to develop general theories of ecosystem functioning, but that in fact we lack the “criteria that determine what kinds of things count as ecosystems”. The challenge for urban areas is how we can define a single ecosystem that encompasses all the variability that characterises any given city. If we are unable to identify a single ecosystem we can’t then re-identify it over time and in the face of change.
Thinking about a city as a collection of ecosystems influenced by their surrounds could be a more helpful way to inform urban design, and make it easier to identify the elements that make up each particular ecosystem.
An analysis by Cadenasso and Pickett (2008) of urban principles for ecological design and management, applies a widely-used definition to assert that cities are ecosystems; i.e. that they have “interacting biological and physical complexes”. The additional complexity added through acknowledging the role humans play in urban ecosystems, and the patterns and processes that result from interactions between social, built, and ecological components of the system, are seen as extensions of the basic ecosystem concept. It is possible though, that such an over-inclusive definition, which implies that the ecosystem can be of any size, with boundaries defined only by the research questions, might hinder the development of theories of ecosystem functioning that could be generalised across many cities.
Cities vary hugely in size, spatial form, and history. I live in a city in New Zealand that is so small that people from more populated countries might consider it not to even be a city. In contrast to the high-density megalopolises, New Zealand’s cities do not contain many millions of people, high-rise living, dense housing blocks, or extensive industrial and commercial area—rather they are cities of sprawling suburbs. A lack of clarity around what is considered ‘urban’ was identified by Pickett et al. (2009) as a challenge to developing an urban ecosystem theory.
Can ecosystem theory developed for huge cities, or very old cities, be generalised to newer small cities such as those in New Zealand? Perhaps it would be more useful to think of cities as collections of ecosystems. After all, if no settlers had arrived to occupy the space where I live, ecologists would not treat the area covered by my city as one ecosystem, but as coastal, sub-alpine, swamp, mixed-podocarp forest, and freshwater ecosystems, to name a few. Cities often occupy large areas and show very high cultural and socio-economic heterogeneity, as well as heterogeneity of land covers imposed on a variety of natural landforms. Treating the city as one ecosystem overlooks this variety.
Cities are usually characterised by significant dynamic change. Rapid changes in human population size and composition are followed by major changes in land cover characteristics and built infrastructure, which affect processes such as primary production and nutrient assimilation, as well as biodiversity characteristics, connectivity, and the production of goods and services. Interactions and feedback loops between social and ecological factors continually evolve in response to different cultural and socio-economic influences. In the face of constant and massive change, that can occur at different rates and in different ways across a city, is it appropriate to consider the city as one and the same ecosystem over time?
Does thinking explicitly about cities as ecosystems offer us any insight into urban design?
The holistic approach that is implicit in our understanding of ecosystem function, which recognises interactions and connections between constituent living and non-living parts, should provide pathways for better, more liveable urban design. The paradigm “ecology for the city” (Pickett et al. 2016) recognizes the applied role of ecological research and a responsibility to create a sustainable, liveable and resilient urban environment, and the term ‘ecological urbanism’ has been adopted to describe a more holistic approach to the design and management of cities. Resilience goals might be met using a socio-ecological approach, which acknowledges the unpredictability and complexity of city systems. This kind of holistic approach has been used at least in the short term in New Zealand, after the 2010-2011 Christchurch earthquakes, to not only restore the city to its previous state, but also to introduce regulations to ensure that the city would be better able to endure future disturbances.
Conceptualising cities as a series of ecosystems, rather than just one, could make urban design more tractable, since it wouldn’t be necessary to try to manage everything all at once. Much of my research has focused on private green spaces in suburbs or neighbourhoods. A focus on a coherent sub-area, such as a collection of suburbs or a neighbourhood as an ecosystem, would be useful, as ecological concepts could then be applied to urban design within and immediately around that space. For example, urban design could accommodate connectivity across suburbs and between other parts of the city in the spatial configuration of public and private green spaces and the location of highways and other transport corridors. Urban design could mitigate the impacts of hard edges, where suburbs abut onto other, less biodiverse, land covers. A holistic approach would accommodate the significant and dynamic human influence on management of private green spaces, and recognise important interactions, such as those potentially existing between human well-being benefits and biodiversity benefits. Thinking about a city as a collection of ecosystems influenced by their surrounds could be a more helpful way to inform urban design, and make it easier for us to identify the elements that make up each particular ecosystem.
References
Cadenasso, M & Pickett, STA. 2008. Urban principles for ecological landscape design and management: scientific fundamentals. Cities and the Environment 1(2): article 4, 16pp.
Pickett, STA, Cadenasso, ML, Childers, DL, McDonnell, MJ, Zhou, W. 2016. Evolution and future of urban ecological science: ecology in, of, and for the city. Ecosystem health and Sustainability 2(7) e01229. Doi 10.1002/ehs2.1229
Sagoff, M. 2003. The plaza and pendulum: two concepts of ecological science. Biology and Philosophy 18: 529-552.
Sanchez, AX, Osmond, P, van der Heijden, J. 2017. Are some forms of resilience more sustainable than others? Procedia Engineering 180: 881-889.
Whereas ecosystems are living entities, our existing towns and cities are, in effect, inert structures unlike living things, and have operational and industrial systems that give nothing of biological value back to nature.
Are our existing towns and cities ecosystems? Cities are referred to by many as ecosystems, but in reality and systemically they are not. Cities are far from ecosystem-like, being almost entirely inorganic and abiotic, mostly bereft of nature and biotic constituents (except for the occasional park, green squares, hedges, roadside trees and verges). Simply stated, cities do not have the complete biological structure of abiotic and biotic constituents acting together to form a whole that is the fundamental characteristic of an ecosystem.
Whereas ecosystems are living entities, our existing towns and cities are, in effect, inert structures unlike living things, and have operational and industrial systems that give nothing of biological value back to nature. Humanity’s existing towns and cities are mostly inorganic, synthetic, biologically inanimate and are parasitic and dissociated from nature yet dependent on its bioregion and its hinterland for providing the vitally crucial ecosystem services, for its food (mostly transported from distant sources), for its source of energy (which in most instances is not from renewable sources as in naturally-occurring ecosystems), for its water, for the raw materials that it needs for its incessant production of artefacts for humanity’s benefit for its everyday domestic and commercial existence.
Professor Vivek Shandas specializes in integrating the science of sustainability to citizen engagement and decision making efforts. He evaluates the many critical functions provided by the biophysical ecosystems upon which we depend, including purifying water, producing food, cleaning toxins, offering recreation, and imbuing society with cultural values.
Nature-Based Segregation: The inequitable ecological turn in planning practice
Walking down the residential streets in Seattle, Washington or Portland, Oregon, one cannot help to notice several small and vegetated areas that occupy portions of the street right of way. These minor changes to the urban landscape represent a physical manifestations of what I call an ecological turn in urban planning practice. This ecological turn refers to a change from two centuries of urban development that emphasized the importance of engineering systems for roads, buildings, and the myriad layers of infrastructure that make up our cities, to a recognition that patches of nature can provide services previously taken for granted or dismissed. Arguably, these attempts to change the gray infrastructure of roads and pipes to green receptacles to collect and infiltrate strormwater were the earliest modern examples of planning practice taking seriously the contributions in the field of urban ecology. As a result, cities around the world are attempting to reintegrate nature into human habitation, and increasingly looking to urban ecology for principles to inform planning practice.
What then can be done to address the historical inequities of applying urban ecological knowledge to exclusionary planning practices? First is the recognition that urban ecological research is not value-neutral.
While others on this blog are describing specific examples of nature-based solutions for cities, I argue here that the emerging ecological turn in planning practice remains conceptually and spatially a movement that benefits communities with privilege. Those who are white, higher-income, and educated have greater access to and benefits from urban nature, while those communities of color and lower income face a disproportionate burden from environmental pressures. These communities often live in “nature deserts” or places that are replete with the biggest disasters of planning practice, such as strip malls, big box stores, and/or mega transportation projects that least benefit communities most need. To take for example, evidence from around the U.S. that suggests an inequitable distribution tree canopy among cities, which as a simple yet poignant indicator offers a window into planning system that has not taken seriously the centuries of exclusionary practices that privilege the few.
While the history of U.S. planning practice is replete with stories of segregation, whether of schools, housing, or services, yet today, we face an ongoing ecological segregation that is amplifying environmental pressures to those most vulnerable in our cities. As many communities grapple with the foreboding challenge of managing the increases in frequency, duration, and magnitude of extreme climate events, we need now more than ever to integrate our knowledge about urban ecosystems into planning practice. As way of example, our research team at Portland State University is engaging with an international network of practicing planners — as part of a National Science Foundation Sustainability Research Network (SRN) — to understand the implications of extreme climate events on vulnerable populations. The project begins with the idea that all urban communities differ in terms of their knowledge of, access to, and control over resources, and that to create transformational change in cities we need to co-produce knowledge by engaging practitioners with researcher. Although the SRN is a first step and relatively limited in terms of the communities we can transform, a lot more needs to be done.
So what then can be done to address the historical inequities of applying urban ecological knowledge to exclusionary planning practices? First, is the recognition that urban ecological research is not value-neutral, and we have a responsibility as scholars, practitioners, teachers, and citizens to highlight those inequities. In our own work, we are attempting to understand how heat waves impact those most vulnerable and supporting climate action planning through identifying urban development projects that can reduce temperatures in low-income multifamily developments, while reducing expenditures on energy. Second, we must participate in the political process to ensure that science is part of any decision making process. Albeit a generally progressive Mayor and city council, Portland’s decision makers have been highly receptive to a scientific argument during public testimonies.
Finally, urban ecologists must engage in social movements that support the rights of communities that have been (and will continue to be) disproportionately impacted by the climate crisis. While ecologists applying their tools to urban systems may help to advance the ecological turn occurring in cities, without explicit and concomitant aims to restructure exclusionary planning systems, our work will not be transformational. Increasingly community groups with interests outside traditional environmental concerns recognize that climate change will amplify inequities (e.g. housing, transportation and employment access, education, etc.). By engaging with “non-environmental” organizations, urban ecologists can help to empower organizations that are reducing nature-based segregation, and improve the public goods upon which we depend. Indeed, thinking about cities as ecosystems can be transformational for building more resilient, livable, and just communities.
This is a book that seeks to highlight the heroic efforts of individuals to make a difference in the quality of life of their neighborhoods and to advance sustainability-oriented activities. It shows the importance of dedicated leadership and extraordinary people stepping in to address environmental problems. It assumes, for the U.S., that the Tocquevillean impression of the U.S. of civic engagement is a useful compass, especially if based in a Leopoldian ethic of nature. However, the authors go beyond the U.S. to also include examples from across the world.
Civic ecology, for these authors, focuses on hands-on stewardship practices that integrate civic and environmental values (from the introduction). They argue for the importance of people acting as stewards within a social-ecological systems framework, putting the human and nonhuman pieces back together. Their emphasis is on volunteers who perceive problems and who set about trying to repair the damage — both to the people and the environment. Not entirely naïve, the authors acknowledge that civic ecology fills gaps left by the state, that it can be problematic that unpaid volunteers end up working to address the voids, and that these activities can accelerate neighborhood gentrification. Still, Krasny and Tidball wish to celebrate and honor people who defy harsh realities of poor and blighted cities, and who do so out of a sense of civic commitment to fellow residents and the planet.
The book has 10 chapters that showcase people’s work across the globe. I found the organization of the chapters and themes a bit confusing because they alternated between thematic chapters (Stewardship, Health, and Well-Being), which provided a discussion of the topic, examples from different places, and then a specific Steward Story of an individual. I could not tell how the examples were chosen among the many initiatives globally. Were these the most representative? The most transformative? Still, the point of the book is that people care and are committed to doing things to make their communities better, often on a shoestring or volunteer basis.
The book does not provide insight into the scalability of these initiatives and efforts, nor their relative impact. Herein lies the deeper set of questions. Can individual, ground-up efforts, distributed throughout cities, lead to more fundamental transformations? The authors seem to think so and point to the policy entrepreneur as a key element, a person who navigates between expert knowledge and the community, to make more substantive regulatory or institutional change. This is an optimistic message — the individuals and groups exist; they are effective. Yet those persons are rare, and the role is challenging and difficult to sustain.
For me, what was missing in the conversation was a frontal discussion of power and politics. How do these efforts coalesce into social movements that demand changes in cities, changes that offer people paid and meaningful work in creating livable cities that make space for nature throughout? How do we create real funding streams that change infrastructure and enable new work that is rewarding and restorative to the neighborhood and to the locality?
I like to talk about “changing the world” because it cuts to the heart of our purpose as educators, as institutions of higher education, and as individuals and citizens. Many eyes are rolled when they hear this phrase, yet nothing less is needed right now.
At a time when many national governments fail to recognize the urgency of climate action, universities have emerged as key subnational actors, well positioned to bring knowledge to action around this issue. While governments debate whether and how to act, universities can educate, empower, and inspire a new generation of wise and thoughtful leaders, while simultaneously reducing their own investments in fossil fuels.
But are we, who work in the Academy, moving fast enough? Are we exchanging mixed messages with our students?
At first glance, the role that universities can and do play in addressing the climate crisis appears self-evident and natural. By design, universities generate and house all sorts of knowledge that can and must be leveraged to address the climate crisis. Whether it is in the natural sciences, the applied sciences, the humanities, or public health, university researchers routinely describe how and how much the climate system is changing, and to what extent these changes could affect the health and well-being of people, infrastructure, and ecosystems. These facts and causal relationships establish the intellectual basis for climate change science, resilience, and advocacy for sustainable development.
However, in the increasingly compressed period of time in which we can avoid the worst, and mostly irreversible, impacts of climate change, this knowledge is only valuable if it begets action—and in this area, I believe, many universities fall short. The challenges before us require radical, decisive, and disruptive actions, unprecedented and transformative shifts in direction that are currently perceived by many entrenched interests as counter-cultural and threatening. It is the very students who listen to our lectures and who do our homework problems who will be asked to make these decisions in the critical decades ahead of us. Are we equipping these students with the skills needed to be persuasive in spoken word, in writing, and through application of the laws of supply and demand that reign in the circular economy? Are we exposing them to a wide range of divergent perspectives, and making sure they understand contemporary dynamics of power and systemic oppression? Are we being honest about the uncertainty associated with future projections, the divergence of many mainstream interpretations of the past from reality, and the implications of contemporary lifestyles on earth’s life support systems and the lives of the poor and marginalized? Are we equipping them with consensus building and conflict resolution skills necessary to act coherently and cogently when they encounter resistance? Are we teaching them techniques in multi-parameter decision analysis? And most importantly, are we inspiring them to care and to believe that through their work they can change the world?
I believe that if our students do not graduate feeling energized, excited, and well versed in the scale and the scope of the problems that we have left them, they will not only fail to sufficiently change the world, but will also be psychologically burdened by the intractability of these problems. That outcome bodes very badly for the rest of us. I like to talk about “changing the world” because it cuts to the heart of our purpose as educators, as institutions of higher education, and as individuals and citizens. Many eyes are rolled when they hear this phrase, yet nothing less is needed right now. A key question we should be asking ourselves is: are we graduating individuals who will be our future enemies in the climate crisis—individuals who either through their cynicism, or through their faulty conceptualization of the causes and implications of human activities, or through inadequate skills, are making our problems worse? Or are we graduating empathetic and strategic partners—individuals who through their formative academic experiences understand that the constraints on future decisions need to be very different from those of the past?
On the flip side, I feel compelled to ask, are we, today’s decision-makers, thought leaders, and educators in higher education, the enemies of our students? Through omission, sanction, or silence, are we not sufficiently challenging the problematic paradigms of the past, reducing the opportunities that these individuals will have in the future? Are the investments of our university endowments, our procurement decisions, and our pedagogical priorities actually perverse subsidies on an outdated global order? Are university policies, classroom discussions, and grading rubrics truly and comprehensively inclusive, and appropriately scaled to the scope of the global dilemma? And are the socioeconomic barriers to higher education so high that only an elite few are equipped with the knowledge and skills so urgently needed to avoid global catastrophe?
As we all know, a sustainable future is one in which future opportunities match or exceed those of the present. History sets the trajectory that the present generation can intentionally choose to alter, or not. I believe that we need to graduate students who, looking at a parking lot, see a former forest or prairie which could be restored; we need to graduate students who, upon becoming aware of the systemic and persistent poverty in society, see a failed economic system and instinctively seek out ways to modify it to better serve all of us; and we need to graduate students who, when they experience extreme weather, close their eyes and see images of tailpipes, smokestacks, and oil wells, as the left hemisphere of their brains starts to develop viable strategies for replacing them.
I submit that, in view of the science of climate change, these are not radical statements. Indeed, it is only by acknowledging these associations that we will graduate students who can conceptualize, and subsequently work to realize the sustainable future that we have thus far failed to deliver them.
Franco Montalto
Philadelphia
with Inspiration from Hugh Johnson and Korin Tangtrakul
In September last year, the IUCN World Conservation Congress—Planet at the Crossroads—brought together in Hawai’i more than 10,000 participants from 180 countries, including top scientists and academics, world leaders and decision makers from governments, civil society, indigenous peoples, and business. It presented a unique opportunity to discuss the unprecedented challenges facing our planet.
If we don’t maintain our connection to nature, our desire to protect it could disappear.
The Congress made clear that our future depends on tackling numerous challenges, including unsustainable food systems, the health of oceans, wildlife trafficking, business engagement, and climate change. A central theme throughout the 10 days was the need to restore the connection between people and nature in order to tackle these challenges and secure a healthy and livable planet. The Hawai‘i Commitments capture the key messages from the Congress as well as ideas for turning them into action in the coming decades.
Traditional Hawai‘ian dancers at the opening ceremony IUCN World Conservation Congress. Photo: IISD
Reconnecting people and nature
Something that became very clear during this Congress was the deep connection the people of Hawai’i have with their natural environment—the land, the ocean, the wind, and the stars.
Ancient Hawaiian life held a deep reverence and strong sense of responsibility for the natural world. Hawaiians saw themselves as part of, not separate from, nature, and as the direct kin of the plants and animals that shared their world. The people of Hawai’i understand the interconnectedness, the interrelatedness, between themselves and the natural world. This contrasts greatly with the Western style of thinking of nature as something to be dominated and consumed, a manner of thinking which has created immense pressure on our finite natural resources.
To create new momentum for people in cities to reconnect with nature, there are various entry points, starting by unleashing opportunities for local experiences with nature and bundling forces for creating new ideas in the neighbourhood. This means that all of us have to reach out to others, also to those we normally may not talk to or engage with, e.g. scientists, business, government representatives, local NGOs, the media, artists, or private investors.
Education and arts can be a powerful way to create better understanding of nature, and if children have the opportunity to play outside and spend time in nature, they will naturally start to care for it and protect it the rest of their lives. As highlighted by this Nature of Cities article on leveraging arts for education, “this cultivates imagination, engagement, connection, and reflection, artists help us to think critically and creatively about our environment”.
Another entry point for restoring the connection with nature is by creating business opportunities through investing in green spaces in urban areas. An example I referred to in one of my previous essays is the Green Infrastructure Audit, which was developed in London’s Victoria Business District to identify options for installing new green spaces and improving the value of existing areas. Seeing nature as an essential provider of social connections, business opportunities and well-being starts with considering nature as part of one’s own life.
The Story of Nainoa Thompson Nainoa Thompson, navigator of the Polynesian Voyaging Society who addressed the IUCN Members during the General Assembly, made a deep impression on me. He spoke about the danger of forgetting our history, and losing the connection to our world and to nature. In 1980, Thompson became the first Hawaiian and the first Polynesian to practice the art of wayfinding on long distance ocean voyages since voyaging ended in Polynesia around the 14th century. Thompson has developed a system of non-instrumental navigation, drawing on traditional methods of Pacific navigation, guided by the stars and modern scientific knowledge. He explained that nature has a way of telling us where to go and drawing on the ancient methods of sea navigation can help to restore our connection to our ancestors and renew the spirit of who we are as people today. He is currently on a 37-month long ocean voyage around the earth with a replica of an ancient canoe, the Hōkūle‘a, to raise awareness of the threat that extinction is posing to so much of life on Earth. According to Thompson: “The ocean is a great classroom for all of us to understand the issues of sustainability and understand that we do not dominate the world, we are only part of it. And for our world to be of high quality, so does the environment in which we live” have to be of high quality.
Thompson also said: “We learn differently when we are young, intuitive and unencumbered.” This is something we should all take to heart—the way children grow up, how they connect with nature and what they learn to value determines their future. This is why every child should have the opportunity to learn about nature in school and be given the chance to experience nature, to play outside, climb a tree, grow plants and watch them grow.
Nainoa Thomson. Photo: IISD
If we want to protect nature, we have to restore this connection and educate people all around the world as to why it is special. Initiatives such as Nature School in China can help with this. It is a national programme to build capacity to grow nature education which aims to nurture talent, provide training and guidance, build a network of nature schools and promote exchange and cooperation between nature and other fields, targeting not only teachers but also government staff, communication professionals, NGO representatives, and students. This creates the basis for increased awareness of the values of nature across society and
If we don’t maintain our connection to nature, our desire to protect it could disappear. The revival of Monterey Bay, on the Californian coast, known for its abundant and iconic wildlife, is a great example of what can happen when people choose to work with nature rather than against it. Industrial development and commercial interests had a devastating impact on the environment and the local community of Monterey. In the late 19th century, the fishing industry became the area’s most profitable and important economic sector and the once plentiful otters were almost trapped to extinction, followed by the abalone, whales, squid, and finally, the sardines. The bay was dying, fish disappeared, local inhabitants became sick as a result of the polluting sardine canneries; the ecosystem was on the verge of collapse. However, all was not lost. Several actions helped to turn the tide: the creation of two marine refuges along the coast, the establishment of sustainable fishing practices, the involvement of local fishermen who are an excellent source of firsthand knowledge of the marine environment, and the creation of the Monterey Bay Aquarium, educating inhabitants and visitors about the unique ecosystem and its values. The restoration of Monterey Bay is a great example that shows how the efforts of passionate conservationists and the dedication of the local community can turn things around.
Speaking the same language
Before I joined IUCN, over 10 years ago, I studied International Business and worked in the private sector as a consultant for PricewaterhouseCoopers. This experience has helped me to reach out to those who are not part of the nature conservation community and speak the language commonly understood in the business world. I have found that bridges between the conservation world and the private sector are largely lacking and there is a need to create dialogue and trust between the scientific community, the business sector, nature conservation, and government representatives at all levels. Making these connections work is the only way to make sure that all actors in society can do the right thing and make their contribution to a better world. We need a language that everyone can understand.
Children playing on a log. Photo: Shutterstock
As Marthe Derkzen points out in her recent contribution The Nature of Cities, there are very promising dynamics between ecology and society; there are some remarkable stories of people and communities who are changing their world for the better and sharing their messages in ways that can be understood at multiple frequencies.
For example, the city of Ghent, in Belgium, aims to create more green areas in response to climate change and actively seeks citizen involvement to achieve this through a crowdfunding platform. Citizens can share their ideas and raise the necessary funds to support their initiatives, and the city also offers initiators the opportunity to apply for municipal subsidies to fund their projects. One of the projects that was funded is developing mini-gardens on balconies of social housing, creating more green areas to help mitigate extreme temperatures in urban areas and promote local food production, which reduces the need for long-distance transportation and therefore reduces carbon dioxide emissions. Social integration is also enhanced by stimulating cooperation between residents from various cultural backgrounds.
Another example from Southern Portugal shows how sustainable water management is the basis for reforestation and sustainable food production. To avoid rainwater run-off, a Water Retention Landscape has been developed in Tamera, where the hydrological balance is restored and all the rain that falls in the area is taken up by the vegetation or earth, thereby recharging the groundwater and reducing erosion, flooding, and droughts. The Water Retention Landscape was created in 2007, involved the local community in the region, and now provides multiple benefits with support from the local community, government, and water utilities. Today, food-producing biotopes thrive, biological diversity has visibly increased, the groundwater table has stabilized and since 2011 the community of Tamera supplies all of its drinking water needs from wells that are fed by the Water Retention Landscape.
Let’s start the conversation and make the change
There is clearly a mismatch between the demands we are placing on the planet and the earth’s ability to regenerate. There is also a growing disconnect between humans and nature due to urbanization and the rise of technology. Nevertheless, we can adjust our frequency and shift our mindset to learn about the benefits that ecosystems provide for day-to-day life. We can even learn a lot from nature to find solutions, as Leen Gorissen highlighted in this The Nature of Cities roundtable on “making nature more visible to people”.
In Cambodia for example, one of the poorest countries in Asia, people are directly dependent on nature for fish to eat, drinking water, and meeting other basic needs. As the Cambodian government strives to develop the country’s economy and improve the lives of its people, it must balance development with the need to maintain the lifeline that nature provides for people. Conservation International is helping to map the biodiversity and ecosystems that support human well-being, to help fundamentally change how humans think about and value the earth and to make way for implementing changes so people and nature can thrive.
Interface, an innovative producer of carpets and textiles, known for its leading role in taking corporate sustainability to the next level with its “Mission Zero” journey, is now pursuing an even more ambitious vision, “factory as forest,” in which their manufacturing facilities become positive contributors to the environment, providing as many ecosystem service benefits as their surrounding landscape. This requires a change in mindset, not only cherishing nature and restoring the environment, but by making a production plant function like an ecosystem.
At the IUCN World Conservation Congress, a new initiative, called NatureForAll, was launched in September by the IUCN Commission on Education and Communication and the IUCN World Commission on Protected Areas and engaged over 120 partner since then. NatureForAll is a global movement to inspire a new generation of thinkers and doers across all sectors of society to connect with nature and take action to support its conservation. At its core is the idea that the more people experience, connect with, and share their love of nature, the more support there will be for its conservation. For IUCN, NatureForAll is a way to reach and convince new audiences and unconvential partners to fall in love with nature. With over 140 partners already confirmed, the intention is to create a major force for transformational change by sharing stories, making new connections, and creating partnerships for action.
Uniting around a common cause
If we aim to protect what we believe is special about nature, we have to restore our connections to it and educate people all around the world as to why it is special. And there are many ways to do so, as some of the examples above show.
Even though not everyone could be part of the IUCN World Conservation Congress, we can all be part of the journey towards making the world a better place. We can decide whether we connect with nature, work together, and create change. All of us can help to develop understanding and respect for nature in the next generation. Let’s do so by sharing our knowledge and the most compelling stories, so that we can learn from each other and reconnect with nature. Let’s also make sure that we engage with new audiences to create a broad coalition of stewards for nature. I am curious to learn more about your success stories.
I am an unreserved admirer of landscape scenery and mountain vistas, space, and the connection between site and surroundings has always interested me. When I was first in Japan, I spent a lot of time visiting and enjoying parks. Aesthetics and presentation are very important for how we interpret and appreciate nature, not least in how it affects our emotions. While park design in itself could be an interesting lead-in to cultural values and traditions, it was the idea of shakkei, or borrowed scenery, that I found most interesting. It builds on the notion that distant landscapes and natural elements can be integrated into the experience of here. I remember a tiny pocket park in the middle of a Japanese city where, once inside, the city fell away and I felt transported out into the mountains.
Considering which circumstances enable us to benefit from ecosystems would highlight how management & thinking around different kinds of urban infrastructures need to change.
When you think about it, you realise just how complex a process it is to enjoy nature. Our experiences are embedded in and contingent on interconnected systems, and whilst the complexity of these connections may seem daunting I believe that thinking explicitly about context, in addition to content, can considerably further our ability to design and manage landscapes with multiple functions and values. When looking at a map or to your rights to manage or use land, boundaries may seem clear and land parcels appear neatly bound and easily separable. Once in the system, boundaries become blurred.
It’s not about the bench. Photo: David Maddox
In a recent article (Andersson et al. 2015), my colleagues and I explored how to think about context when planning for ecosystem services. The baseline for the discussion was that most ecosystem services can, not least for practical purposes, be described in terms of the ecological units that are necessary for their generation. While the scientific grounds for defining and labelling something as an ecosystem service providing unit (is it the individual tree or the whole forest?) can always be discussed, the ‘unit’ was meant to provide planners and designers with an idea of what the minimum requirement might be for getting a specific service. This is not to say that services and their units should be addressed or understood individually, rather it was meant to make sure that design is based on ecological understanding rather than assumptions about land use.
Thus, if we are—and we should be—interested in aspects such as access, utilization, experience, resilience, and values, we need to think beyond the units directly involved in providing services. Whatever value we place on or find in an object is a combination of the qualities of the object itself and of how it relates to other things. We have a long tradition of evaluating components of infrastructure by their spatial connections as manifested through movements and flows, but space and distance (the first easy context) do not always have to be travelled through. Standing stock still, they can be experienced through the feeling of embeddedness, of being connected, here and now, to something larger…
The idea of context dependence can be taken further. Let’s take the example of trees. When asked about urban green structure, most people would probably think of trees, either individually or as distinguishing features in parks or other green areas. However, the potential benefits derived from any given tree will vary with the context in which you find the tree. Starting with our own perceptions and preferences, there is clear evidence that cultural context or perceptions matter. Significantly. A rich literature on sacred trees attests to how trees may add to sense of place and community cohesion, but there are also contrasting examples (e.g., Kronenberg 2015) where the cultural setting and history have caused urban trees to have primarily negative connotations.
Many other benefits of having urban trees are linked to larger environmental factors. For example, the much appreciated cooling effect of trees become increasingly important as temperature increases, especially during extreme heat spells. Other benefits, again, are only made possible through the aid of human technology and know-how. The syrup produced by Sugar Maple trees in the U.S., Canada, and elsewhere, depends on the technical extraction of maple syrup from the tree, followed by processing and, finally, delivery, in order to realize the food provisioning service potential of the trees. The social or socioeconomic context is similarly important to service provisioning by trees. For example, a group of trees may provide services of recreation and education if located and maintained within a park, but they depend on the park to attract people. If no residents visit the park, or if infrastructural or institutional accessibility is poor, then there is no recreation service. The same grouping of trees may also provide ecosystem disservices, such as providing shelter for illicit activities, if located in a deserted urban vacant lot instead of in a park (as convincingly demonstrated by Lyytimäki and Sipilä (2009)).
Why is this important? When you think about it, this perspective is rather intuitive—if not always explicit. This is how we see the world, if not how we reflect on it. Nevertheless, this pattern of thinking does not always inform how we try to realise, consciously or not, ecosystem services in our cities, at least not to the degree one might wish. Some societal services and functions—like much of our infrastructure—are understood and managed as interconnected parts of a larger system; transportation, communication, and education are all embedded and relational in the sense that they connect to and derive value from other parts of the system. Yet this has not been an active thread in the ecosystem service discussion. With the exception of cultural ones, ecosystem services have been treated like ecological functions that people happen to benefit from—something nature provides and that we receive.
However, as we are arguably part of nature and most ecosystem services are co-produced by people, a more careful consideration of just how and under what circumstances we actually benefit from ecosystems would highlight how management and thinking around different kinds of urban infrastructures need to change. Green and blue spaces, the units of ecosystem service production, are embedded in physical landscapes layered with social and cultural meanings and understandings. All these aspects play a role in the realisation of service-providing potential and most definitely for our understanding and valuation of these services.
What role do perception and perceived qualities have in a discussion that tend to be dominated by ‘objective facts’ and hard figures? And how can the local be embedded in the neighbourhood, city, region? Now these are questions worthy of their own treatise, and questions that have already been addressed at TNOC. Nevertheless—risking over-simplifying the complexity of the challenge and being breezily vague—I will conclude with a thought. Aesthetics and experiences already are prominent concerns in many cities, including thinking about how to connect local features with larger scale character, everything from the design of a new building to fit in with past architectonical styles and neighbourhood landscaping, to planning sightlines, pedestrian walkways and enticing entrances. If we have managed to bring in the human understanding of both tangible and intangible connections here, why not for other ecosystem services?
Andersson, E. et al., 2015. Scale and Context Dependence of Ecosystem Service Providing Units. Ecosystem Services, 12, pp.157–164. Available at: http://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/pii/S2212041614000850 [Accessed September 26, 2014].
Kronenberg, J., 2015. Why not to green a city? Institutional barriers to preserving urban ecosystem services. Ecosystem Services, forthcomin(forthcoming).
Lyytimäki, J. & Sipilä, M., 2009. Hopping on one leg – The challenge of ecosystem disservices for urban green management. Urban Forestry & Urban Greening, 8(4), pp.309–315. Available at: http://dx.doi.org/10.1016/j.ufug.2009.09.003 [Accessed November 2, 2012].
Every month we feature a Global Roundtable in which a group of people respond to a specific question in The Nature of Cities.
show/hide list of writers
Hover over a name to see an excerpt of their response…click on the name to see their full response.
Funmi Adeniyi, Cape Town We aren’t only scientists or artists — we are translators. We, particularly when talking about sustainable urbanisation and regeneration, need to queer this idea of who is “allowed” to express creativity or provide solutions, and must support to develop more linkages between and across these different ways of being.
Madhur Anand, Guelph In my poetry, I have confront head on many scientific topics and some of my own ecological research through various forms, including found poems from my own scientific articles.
Eduardo Blanco, Senlis As a scientist, I am happy to systematise this information in graphics, tables, and other cartesian representations. However, it is not the only way to represent it and definitely not the more accessible. So here is the first opportunity: to use art to create a shared and collaborative understanding of place.
Carmen Bouyer, Paris It’s striking how artists and scientists are complementary to each other’s way of relating to the world. They possess a sort of yin and yang polarity that can allow the weaving of the emotional with the practical, the ephemeral with the systematic, the unique with the replicable, the subjective with the objective, the intuitive with the rational.
Lindsay Campbell, New York There are benefits to bringing together multiple perspectives, to tackle the truly wicked problems that we haven’t been able to solve with narrow, disciplinary solutions.
Paul Currie, Cape Town In African cities, the arts and the sciences were not always separated. Art was part of science; science was part of art – the ways of understanding and making meaning of our environment made use of both scientific and artistic process.
Edith de Guzman, Los Angeles Combined, art and science can deliver a one-two punch of fact and emotion — leaving the viewer/visitor/participant to complete the exchange by reaching a deepened understanding, a change of heart or mind, or better yet, being moved to take action.
Chris Fremantle, Ayrshire If we want more co-creative collaborative work to transform cities, then we need ways to talk about success that are useful to artists and scientists and also environment managers and policymakers as well as to community groups and elected representatives. All of them.
David Haley, Ulverston Co-created projects by artists and scientists may be interesting, but a co-learning dialogue with diverse, local people and other-than-humans, like pigeons, may be more insightful and creative.
Sarah Hines, Washington So many of our human needs and behaviors, when magnified times 7 billion or more, seem to conflict with creating benefits for nature. But this is precisely where the well-defined problem, a well-loved place, or a provocative piece of art or performance or data, can advance the conversation and practice.
Ito Keitaro, Munakata We considered how to implement Green Infrastructure in the local community to provide ecosystem services for local residents. Preserving areas such as wildlife habitats and spaces where children can play is a crucial issue nowadays.
Dave Kendal, Hobart Work as individuals and in small groups, rather than the large groups and teams that dominate contemporary science. This allows a few voices to explore the limits of their thinking, rather than retreating to the shared, consensus, agreement of most science.
Christopher Kennedy, New York Regenerative artworks hold immense promise but also present a cautionary tale. They highlight a common friction many artists encounter when attempting to emulate ecological processes while also experimenting with aesthetic forms and concepts.
Nikki Lindt, New York We need this untapped laden potential of collaboration to ignite new ideas, well-being, new experiences, new perspectives, and needed solutions.
Patrick Lydon, Daejeon Though science and art both give us reason to wonder and imagine and to move closer to nature-truth, both are also capable of missing the mark if operating alone. If science writes the truth of what we can see, then art undulates truth in the spaces between. In weaving together these stories we will find how to move forward.
Mary Miss, New York Maybe the easier part of the question is how artists and scientists can co-create projects: get two curious open-minded people from different fields who are willing to take a serious look at vocabulary and give them time to explore each other’s ways of seeing and thinking.
Mary O’Brien, San Francisco Bay Area For art to remediate the damage humans have done to our own environments will require specific knowledge, as well as emotion; aesthetics as well as solid data—the kind of collaboration that many damaged rivers and lands could use right now.
Marguerite Perret, Topeka We are all time travelers, but if we employ creativity and science as essential tools for personal and environmental resilience, we can embrace a sense of purpose-based optimism in the face of the many challenges we face in the present and future.
Cristián Pietrapiana, New York Maybe scientists are the best-qualified ones to identify a problem and then brainstorm with artists and participating audiences on possible viable solutions.
Baixo Ribeiro, São Paulo We realized that we could go beyond simple artistic interventions in schools if we opened a creative dialogue with teachers and the entire school community. We ended up developing a methodology that combines art and science in the solution to one of the biggest problems of Brazilian education, which is school dropouts due to a lack of student’s interest in their schools. | Percebemos que podíamos ir além das intervenções artísticas pontuais nas escolas, se abríssemos um diálogo criativo com os professores e toda a comunidade escolar: funcionários, pais, vizinhos das escolas, agentes culturais do bairro e assim por diante.
Eric Sanderson, New York Scientists and artists need to help people accommodate the change that is already here, and the more dramatic and consequential change yet to come. We need to change minds to change cities.
Wendy Wischer, Salt Lake City As an Eco Artist, I am compelled to focus on environmental issues; finding pathways, and creating experiences, that translate data into personal meaning in hopes of finding impactful ways to connect people more deeply with the environments they live in and with each other.
Ania Upstill, New York We listen to the rich narratives of scientific knowledge and help translate them into words or images that invite passersby to learn these stories, to understand more of the land and sea around them; we arrange for a mural or poetry to be placed on the outside of the wall that is begging for decoration, ask for a storytelling bench for where we have seen people looking for a place to sit.
Let’s embody our wish for flourishing urban nature in the very fabric of our projects by embodying diversity within our teams.
Storytelling about humans and nature
We know that different ways of knowing produce different insights. Scientific knowledge produces key knowledge about urban social and natural systems and how they might be sustainable and regenerative. Similarly, artistic practice and expression yields its own knowledge, which often connects us to deeper emotional paths of understanding. Both are approaches to storytelling about humans, nature, and how they connect to each other. It is important to acknowledge that they share some methods (e.g., curiosity) but not all.
What if scientists and artists worked together to co-create knowledge? This could be in active co-production, or even just in sharing ideas about shared objects of inquiry. This kind of sharing happens relatively rarely — most people in art and science tend to work squarely within their disciplines — but more and more of us are trying to create useful spaces in which artists and scientists interact.
What new territory of understanding might we encounter with such interactions? We have explored these ideas before at TNOC, in roundtables and also in our art-leaning exhibits, which routinely feature artists and scientists side-by-side.
In this roundtable, we ask a collection of scientists and artists, each actively engaged in some form of art-science collaboration, how they approach it. Some are artists, some are scientists, some are both. All are interested in exploring a fizzy boundary of expression at the intersection of artistic and scientific approaches to storytelling. Key to the question of this roundtable: can we be changed by interactions with other ways of knowing, changes in ways that would enrich both useful knowledge and our interdisciplinary practice?
A cohabitation of multiple worlds
There are many layers to regenerative practices as we may understand them, ranging from the personal to the collective, from the social to the environmental, all interconnected. We envision coalitions that bring together artists and scientists, along with technicians, gardeners, citizen’s groups, and more to regenerate life systems in the urban landscape. We see projects that restore, protect or facilitate the expansion of urban forests, urban rivers and wetlands, bettering the quality of water, air and soil, as well as plants/animal/fungi habitats. In turn, urbanites are being restored, protected, and expanded in their possibilities of expression as all of those lifeforms return to their daily awareness and experience in cities.
Embodying diversity as a group
As land care and ecosystem regeneration become increasingly paramount, more artists and scientists and practitioners are dedicating their efforts to participating in such practices together. For example, in France what seems to be a small movement is set to grow as we remember that collaboration between species is a matter of survival and wellbeing for humans and all other life forms. We are one, with multiple shapes. In the same logic, collaboration between knowledge bases is crucial to addressing problems that haven’t been solved by monolithic thinking, and may have been created by it.
Let’s embody our wish for flourishing urban biodiversity in the very fabric of our projects by embodying diversity within our teams. As we practice combining various ways of being and forms of intelligence, we become more flexible, aware, and open. We become more likely to understand, respect, and learn from the intelligence of other people, but also of plants, animals, soils, and more.
David loves urban spaces and nature. He loves creativity and collaboration. He loves theatre and music. In his life and work he has practiced in all of these as, in various moments, a scientist, a climate change researcher, a land steward, an ecological practitioner, composer, a playwright, a musician, an actor, and a theatre director.
Madhur Anand is the author of the book of poems A New Index for Predicting Catastrophes (McClelland & Stewart/PHRC, 2015) and the experimental memoir This Red Line Goes Straight to Your Heart (Strange Light/ PHRC, 2020), both considered trailblazing in their synthesis of art and science. She is a full professor of ecology at the University of Guelph, and was appointed the inaugural director of the Guelph Institute for Environmental Research.
I confronted head on many scientific topics and some of my own ecological research through various forms, including found poems from my own scientific articles.
I’m unusual in that I co-create as both an artist and a scientist. In my first collection of poems, “A New Index for Predicting Catastrophes” (McClelland & Stewart, 2015), I confronted head on many scientific topics and some of my own ecological research through various forms, including found poems from my own scientific articles. “Parasitic Oscillations”, my second collection of poems builds toward a body of work to balance the various aspects of living and practicing as both a poet and (global ecological change) scientist in the Anthropocene, a time of unraveling. It takes a focused approach to interrogating (rather than trying to extinguish) the inevitability of undesired cyclic variation (the so-called “parasitic oscillations” from signal processing) caused by feedback (noise) in the amplifying devices of both poetry and science, fields that are still disparate in our world.
A new question emerges: how might we utilize these oscillations caused by feedback to bring our multiple understandings of the world closer together, to talk to one another while embracing the inevitability of noise? Feedback is examined through several interacting currents and recursive structures: my own work between the arts and the sciences, living between North American and Indian culture, as well as examining contemporary environments through the lag effects of the (colonial) past.
These interdisciplinary conversations need to happen more broadly in society, we need to have artists and scientists meeting more regularly for co-creation to occur. We are trying to develop these spaces at the Guelph Institute for Environmental Research.
Eduardo is an environmental engineer specialised in sustainable urban development, regenerative design, and biomimicry. After five years of consulting for Brazilian municipalities, Eduardo is now researching and practicing regenerative design and ecosystem-level biomimicry at Ceebios, a French biomimicry network. Eduardo is also an amateur artist, experimenting with visual art techniques such as urban sketching, watercolour, and embroidery.
As a scientist, I am happy to systematise this information in graphics, tables, and other cartesian representations. However, it is not the only way to represent it and definitely not the more accessible. So here is the first opportunity: to use art to create a shared and collaborative understanding of the place.
Artists have imagined new futures for our urban realities for a while, creating visions and representations of desired worlds. An excellent example is Luc Schuiten’s work. With his “vegetal cities”, the artist creates a utopic version of existing cities, in which human and non-human beings are fully integrated and in symbiosis. Besides that, artists are also great at interpreting society. They gather and process data with sensible approaches and highlight societal aspirations, needs, and struggles, creating references and dreams for a new path.
On their side, scientists also are great at that task. Nevertheless, here the method is not sense-oriented but structured. In a formalised method, scientists gather and treat data to draw insights. These outcomes delineate visions of new futures, impacting public policies and the real world. One example is the work done by the International Panel on Biodiversity and Ecosystem Services (IPBES), which defined the need for transformative changes in our society to fight the ecological and climatic crisis. In urban design, such transformative changes include designing projects that protect biodiversity, restore ecosystems, and enhance their functioning.
These two practices, scientific and artistic, somehow converge. Not in their methods but definitely in their outcomes. Despite this, artists and scientists rarely work together. The good news is that opportunities exist for regenerative projects.
Regenerative design is interested in creating projects anchored on the site reality and fostering positive impacts for society and nature over time. An engaging narrative, nurturing hope in the middle of the crisis. Unfortunately, regenerative projects still struggle to see the light and reach implementation. Despite being an amateur visual artist, I am a scientist and regenerative practitioner. From my experience, I would say that regenerative design practice (or even just sustainable urban design practice) has two main weak points limiting its advancement today: (1) Project teams still fail to understand the site reality and anchor the project to the site reality and needs, and (2) The project team designs in a top-down and technocratic manner.
Nevertheless, we could tackle these two limitations by integrating more sense-oriented and artistic approaches to the formal and scientific methods for regenerative design. For instance, we need to understand the local ecosystem and its flows, the non-human beings sharing that space with human society, the local community, and their culture and needs. As a scientist, I am happy to systematise this information in graphics, tables, and other cartesian representations. However, it is not the only way to represent it and definitely not the more accessible. So here is the first opportunity: to use art to create a shared and collaborative understanding of the place. The opportunities are vast. One could do a socio-ecological diagnostic based on drawings done by the community about their perceptions of the place or still an artistic performance that could highlight the role of a local species or the local cultural and ecological heritage.
In the sequence, we could use art to engage society in the creative design process, promoting co-designed and bottom-up projects. We could use artistic narratives, poetry, or paintings to create representations of the community’s expectations and visions for the project site. We could also use art to highlight a forgotten site asset that deserves to be remembered and heard during the design process, like a previously covered and artificialised river.
Finally, art can bring us together, and create a shared space and language in the regenerative design process, that today remains too scientific-centred. Not everyone can make a regenerative master plan, but everyone can draw a simple sketch or write a small poem about the world they dream of living.
It’s striking how artists and scientists are complementary to each other’s way of relating to the world. They possess a sort of yin and yang polarity that can allow the weaving of the emotional with the practical, the ephemeral with the systematic, the unique with the replicable, the subjective with the objective, the intuitive with the rational.
Art and science, specific complementarity and common language
A common barrier I see to art-and-science collaboration is a misunderstanding of the ways in which we can profoundly enrich each other’s work. We often overlook the methodologies and ideals we actually share. That’s why I would like to expose the harmonies and communalities that touch me and that might serve as grounds for co-creation.
It’s striking how artists and scientists are actually complementary to each other’s way of relating to the world. They possess a sort of yin and yang polarity that can allow the weaving of the emotional with the practical, the ephemeral with the systematic, the unique with the replicable, the subjective with the objective, the intuitive with the rational. It’s crucial to acknowledge that we all carry our unique blend of all of these qualities.
The common element I see is a profound curiosity for the world and the way it works, visible and invisible. The general method seems similar as well: practices based on intensive research phases followed by many experimentations and the creation of a formalized result designed to be shared with a large number of people. This end result would touch its audience through highlighting common, frequently expressed patterns and ideas – discovered or seen through different lenses – in the realms of the practical or the emotional, using numbers or symbols.An ideal behind this shared quest to describe the world with much precision is often the possibility of improving the ways we all live together and our collective wellbeing.
Examples of ways of weaving artistic and scientific processes to regenerate ecosystems in cities
In ecosystem regeneration, interdisciplinary work is present at every step. The first collaborator is local land in all of its diversity of expression. It is the guide, the conductor of the orchestra. It is the species and the people who live there, as well as the caretakers of the land — gardeners, farmers, neighbors, technicians. Sometimes artists and scientists are from the place in which they work, but many times they are not and so their first task is really to learn, then co-create. From my professional experiences as an ecological artist and also as a witness to art and science collaborations I would like to give a few examples of how the artists can add their methods to scientific ones in service to the regeneration of a place at various stages of the project.
1. Learning from what already exists in and about the place
Artists will do research about the cultural practices and stories related to the place. They will get in touch with the local, tangible and intangible cultural heritage (oral traditions, stories, songs, poetry, musics, dances, handicrafts, costumes, festivals, rituals, etc.) as well as so-called contemporary art forms (painting, sculpture, photography, installation, performance, and video art), theater, cinema and literature. These researches will highlight cultural ways of relating to the local land, serving as milestones to design culturally relevant regenerative projects.
2. Getting to know a place through a data collection phase
Artists can propose sensing methodologies to learn from the land and get in touch with the realities of the place to regenerate. For example through classic documentation (sound recording, drawing, photography, video, etc) as well as collective approaches (shared meals, walks, discussions, workshops) artists can collect data and document what the land looks, sounds, tastes, smells and feels like. Artistic events can be designed to enable participants to experience the space in new and unexpected ways to learn from its specificities and nurture their bond with it. Through methods like deep listening, meditation, movement, dance, collective action, assembly, and more, the project team, locals and visitors, are invited to explore their perception of the space. Artistic teams can also create open spaces, stages of some sort, where the sharing of existing land based knowledge can happen, be highlighted and celebrated.
In this sensing approach artists usually bring a special awareness to the non-measurable parts of the local reality — the intuitive, emotional, symbolic and spiritual, and by doing so complementing the evidence based scientific approach.
3. Structuring a regenerative project for the space
When the time comes to design the regenerative project, artists might propose methodologies based on imagination. Using fiction and storytelling tools opens the space for things hard to tell and even the unknown to be expressed in metaphors. Centering fluid imagination unables the expression of the subjectivity of all the people involved. It is also a space where non-human forms of intelligence can be given a voice, through stories. Once verbalized, those important realities can be embedded in the making of informed design choices. In this co-creation phase, art can also be used to test ideas, by giving them shape, using 3D rendering, photo-collage, animation, fictional text, poetry, songs, theater, performance, and more. These media can be used as templates to compare various design options and make the best decisions in conversation with the local communities and various actors of the project. As we work collectively, artists might also offer safe spaces for the participants’ emotions to be expressed and integrated – often using simple games, offering a space to write, to tell – creating accessible spaces for conflict resolutions and co-construction.
Another important aspect is the artist’s capacity to bring her-his sense of aesthetic to the landscape design choices. The creatives might propose shapes and forms that will contribute to the beauty, meaning, even the feeling of sacredness of the regenerated space.
4. Regenerating the land
As we restore landscapes, we restore our cultural ways of relating to them. Ecological regeneration is inseparable from cultural regeneration. This may be in the form of songs, crafts, films, books, dances, collective activities and more. Highlighting and restoring ancient land-based stories and celebrations, as well as amplifying new ones ties people to the land and to each other, ensuring the longevity of land stewardship. It roots land regeneration into collective healing, vitality and joy.
Artists can amplify the positive effects of such regenerative projects by sharing their stories through film, photo reportage, audio piece, illustration and more, diffusing the new narrative about the place, and offering clues for other people wishing to regenerate places elsewhere. The artist might have documented the whole project from its start and create a form of classic archive, or tell the stories in a very personal, non conventional way.
As the regenerated space blossoms, artist teams often imagine activities that celebrate it and invite people to connect with it, to inhabit it. For instance, through the programmation of outdoor art events, such as art workshops, concerts, plays, screenings, or by installing art pieces in or around the space. This too makes it buzz with life!
Paul Currie is a Director of the Urban Systems Unit at ICLEI Africa. He is a researcher of African urban resource and service systems, with interest in connecting quantitative analysis with storytelling and visual elicitation.
We aren’t only scientists or artists — we are translators. We, particularly when talking about sustainable urbanisation and regeneration, need to queer this idea of who is “allowed” to express creativity or provide solutions, and must support to develop more linkages between and across these different ways of being.
Creativity and creation in African cities
When asked to develop a reflection on the role of scientists and artists, we suppose the first question we need to ask is: which ones are we?
Can we not be both? We understand the need for those classifications in terms of subject matter or discipline, but we don’t necessarily have to be binary in our thinking. What is clear to us is that we — and society? — are caught in a normative position about the specific ways of knowing and practicing that scientists are expected to follow and that artists are expected to follow. For natural scientists, we expect that they follow clear rules and methods with a specific structure — particularly one that is “replicable” — to arrive at clear answers or solutions; while artists are expected to explore, try new processes, and are given specific license to create and be creative — and to a degree are expected to be inscrutable, abstruse, or perplexing.
We aren’t only scientists or artists — we are translators. We appreciate that there are different ways of expressing creativity in arts and in sciences, but these processes are named differently, and we, particularly when talking about sustainable urbanisation and regeneration, need to queer this idea of who is “allowed” to express creativity or provide solutions, and must support to develop more linkages between and across these different ways of being.
We are translators. We sit in the tension points between multiple ways of knowing and doing. And our role is, typically through deep listening, to put ourselves in the shoes of others and to try to understand their interests, and then to work out how to frame them through alternative lenses. Ideally, in this process, we’re helping people to articulate their own needs and agendas and helping them to articulate them to others.
This intermediary and translation role, at its core, aims to speed understanding and articulation across different sectors and different areas of urban development and ideally, help build trust and align complementary actions. This role acknowledges that because people experience and understand the realities of the world in different ways, the realities of the world are actually different. Everyone has developed their worldviews through their different lived and taught experiences. The reality of the same city could be very different if understood through the lens of an urban spatial plan or if it is understood through deep observation or through the daily hustle of a vendor.
The problem statement of much of our work in unpacking urban systems was framed well by a colleague in Dar es Salaam: “we planners aren’t thinking about urban dynamics; yes, we have trends and numbers in mind, but we aren’t looking at who is also planning and making the city. We can see the moto taxis riding and parked on the streets, but if we look at the plans, there is no demarcation for moto parking, and therefore they don’t exist! There are two separate systems, and they overlap very little”
So, our job as translators is to bring these systems together into a bit more alignment and harmony – and the best way to do this is through co-productive process.
Elements such as equality, diversity, accessibility to knowledge, and reciprocity are central to co-productive processes. We embed these in the ways that we create space for different kinds of people and welcome their different walks and their different practices – whether as scientists, artists, or as practitioners on the ground – to come together and reflect on the work that they do and iterate better ways of doing. Co-production also urges these different interests to take a step back and reflect on how they are contributing to the change that they hope to see – this in itself is a creative act. It is in making sure that the spaces we create, and curate are diverse and not exclusive of contrarian voices. Practically, this is what we’ve been able to do with the RISE Africa platform, where the space for co-production of knowledge and better ways of doing is created amongst scientists, artists, practitioners, students, and different people.
Beyond inclusivity, we also consider the accessibility of knowledge. It is the norm that many regenerative projects are not inclusive of different thoughts, different voices. This matters in African urbanism because the premise of what cities are, and could be, is similarly based on normative assumptions and normative practice from the global North: Our urban planners and engineers have been trained based on principles developed in the North and therefore, their everyday practice, and what they consider to be good practice, may not intrinsically be based on the contextual possibilities in their own cities. Democratising spaces and embracing different forms of knowledge from different disciplines and different peoples is key to shifting these norms and creating true regenerative projects that speak to the lived realities of people on the ground.
Co-production has become the term for acceptable development processes, particularly in the Global South. However, it is often not questioned on whose terms these co productive processes take place. Given that the central ideology of co-production emanates from people trained through tertiary education, typically of scientific background, the normative position is that it is a structured, scientific approach, based on a set of rules that are then imposed upon all participants in such a process. We realise, through working in global South contexts, that in order to successfully coproduce you need to embed artistic lenses and processes into the meaning-making process – the use of ‘boundary objects’ here is valuable in translating across realms of knowledge. The HiddenFlows photographic exhibition is a great example of how we invited photographers to share images of how resources moved through their cities and served as a valuable artifact around which we could organise several policy conversations.
To understand the contextual possibilities in African cities we must take a few steps back, probably centuries back to understand how co-creative processes worked in Africa and still work in Africa. In African cities, the arts and the sciences were not always separated. Art was part of science; science was part of art – the ways of understanding and making meaning of our environment made use of both scientific and artistic process. To have that understanding split into boxes, where we do not see the convergence, is foreign. It is alien to many African cities and to the understanding of how we co-produce and how we do things in Africa. And so, to align developments in Africa, we must review the background of what development means, or what co-productive processes mean. We must understand that binary classifications are not working for us, and we need to re-embed creativity in everyday practice.
Funmi holds a Ph.D. in Law (Human Rights Protection) and has more than a decade of cross-sectoral experience in the private, public and academic spaces. Funmi works at ICLEI Africa as a people-centered rights-based expert on various projects.
Lindsay K. Campbell is a research social scientist with the USDA Forest Service. Her current research explores the dynamics of urban politics, stewardship, and sustainability policymaking.
There are benefits to bringing together multiple perspectives, to tackle the truly wicked problems that we haven’t been able to solve with narrow, disciplinary solutions.
Throughout my career as a research social scientist with the USDA Forest Service, I have sought out engaging with the arts as another “way of knowing” that is complementary to scientific knowledge — both of which have relevance to the work of land management and environmental stewardship.
Build understanding of and engagement with urban social-ecological systems through arts.
Facilitate transdisciplinary collaboration between artists, scientists, and land managers.
Curate events and public programs that explore ideas emerging from these collaborations.
We work in multiple modes including: artist residencies, convenings, and exhibitions, and I’ll offer some reflections and examples of each here to show how we co-create regenerative ideas and actions in cities.
With the residencies, we embed artists with agency teams of scientists and land managers, curating collaborations instead of commissioning artwork. We promote mutual curiosity and reciprocal sharing of ideas and approaches. We are less interested in bringing in artists “after the fact” to promote, design, or translate our scientific findings, instead, we are interested in artists-as-investigators, and how we can work across disciplinary divides. We are interested in the way artists push us at all stages of knowledge production to:
Pose new questions we wouldn’t otherwise;
Engage different methodologies for understanding place and the environment – including more embodied and emotional approaches; and
Communicate differently about our insights and reach the public in new ways.
Each of these stages is an opportunity for us to produce new knowledge, reflect critically on our practices, and transform our work. For example, one of our 2016 UFS Artists in Residence, Mary Mattingly, created Swale, a floating food forest. The project began with the observation that foraging is prohibited on NYC parkland and posed the question: “why can’t food be free?” The residency helped catalyze reflective conversations between the public, land managers, and researchers about how and why we might adjust the rules around foraging and food in parkland in the future. And the images of and experiences on Swale had a broad public reach – sparking fascination, learning, and delight.
Our convenings take many forms, but I draw attention here to our Stewardship Salons. We began this work with a Native Hawaiian master teacher, Kehuki Kealiikanakaoleohaililani, who led a 2-day workshop with NYC and Hawaii practitioners to give them exposure to native Hawaiian lifeways in order to enliven and expand their land management and conservation work. Kekuhi encouraged us to “start with who we know” in organizing these learning spaces, so we created a rotating series of salons. We facilitate place-based, co-learning between land managers, scientists & artists, engaging diverse cultures of care in the cosmopolitan city of NYC and creating a non-hierarchical space for dialogue. In this work, we share biocultural stewardship practices and surface place-based narratives about the land that are sometimes less often shared, read critically together, are embodied in space through walks and sharing food, and strengthen our own community of practice. I have heard in our evaluations that the artists find the salons to be one of the most grounded ways of learning about the practice of stewardship in NYC. Our natural resource management colleagues are eager for professional development, and space to reflect and think. And as qualitative researchers, we have much to learn from sharing lived experiences of place. So, there is something to be gained for all of us, engaging as both students and teachers in learning from place (See also McMillen et al. 2020).
Finally, we curate exhibitions, both in-person and online. Who Takes Care of New York? Debuted at the Queens Museum in 2019 and was adapted to virtual with The Nature of Cities in 2020. We brought together social scientists, data visualization specialists, curators, and artists to co-produce an exhibit that brought stewardship to life through maps, photographs, publications, videos, and public performance. With this work, we sought to amplify the voices, stories, and practices of stewards and to inspire attendees about their power to create positive change in their neighborhoods. Our exhibition takes on many modes:
We notice, connect with, and care for the urban forest through landscape photography.
We amplify the voices and actions of stewards through mapping and artist publications.
We make stewardship networks more visible through data visualization and performance art.
We adapt to change, envision, and enact new worlds through spatial mapping and through photo collages rooted in interviews with stewards.
Ultimately, I believe that care is not finite. If we can see it more clearly, perhaps we can grow it, and maybe that’s the most transformative action we can take in our urban ecosystems.
Reflections on process – Looking back on these different forms of art-science-land manager collaborations, I have a few reflections on what it takes to make them successful and why they are so important:
Collaboration takes time: you can’t just put people in a room and expect collaborations. You have to invest in the relationship: the structured meetings, but also the studio visits, the coffee chats, the walks in the field. Sometimes the best ideas are scribbled on a napkin over coffee.
Transdisciplinarity requires resources, and those can be hard to come by. We tend to fund things in silos — takes a leap of faith by a funder to support people “coloring outside the lines” — and learning-by-doing.
This work requires mutual respect and willingness to flex. If you just want to stay in your lane and do what you are trained to do, then co-production is not for you.
But, ultimately, I’ve learned they create opportunities -They provide different entry points for folks who have historically been excluded from science and decision-making roles in urban ecology, so they offer opportunities from a diversity, equity, inclusion, and justice (DEIJ) perspective to meaningfully expand our community of practice.
Finally, there are benefits to bringing together multiple perspectives, to tackle the truly wicked problems that we haven’t been able to solve with narrow, disciplinary solutions.
Chris Fremantle is a producer and research associate with On The Edge Research, Gray’s School of Art, The Robert Gordon University. He produces ecoartscotland, a platform for research and practice focused on art and ecology for artists, curators, critics, commissioners as well as scientists and policy makers.
If we want more co-creative collaborative work to transform cities, then we need ways to talk about success that are useful to artists and scientists and also environment managers and policymakers as well as to community groups and elected representatives.
How do we know what success looks like in co-creation?
Artists and scientists have different measures of success. Stuart Jefferies in his recent book Everything, all the time, everywhere: how we became postmodern (2021) characterises this in terms of data and storytelling. He argues that these are basically incompatible ways of knowing. But if we want more co-creative collaborative work to transform cities then we need ways to talk about success that are useful to artists and scientists and also environment managers and policymakers as well as to community groups and elected representatives.
As part of a team evaluating Cultural Adaptations, an EU funded transnational urban climate adaptation project, we adopted an approach widely used in evaluating environmental and innovation focused knowledge exchange. Knowledge exchange, whilst a technical term in academia and public policy, is actually a really useful way to think about any engagement between different communities, whether those are within academia, or even between cities in different countries, or between environment managers and inhabitants. In every case those involved need to realise that different perspectives and understandings have value, some learning needs to take place, perhaps some policies or practices might change. This is particularly important in the context of co-production. Attitudes towards valuing all sorts of different ways of knowing have to shift, and if people choose to keep working together in the long term, that is a sign of significant impact.
The approach we used, originally developed by Laura Meagher, Catherine Lyall and Sandra Nutley and developed with David Edwards, picks up on these characteristics. It focuses on the manifestations of interactions between people over time, particularly coming from different disciplines and practices. The focus is put on conceptual shifts, capacity building, instrumental impacts, attitudinal shifts and enduring connectivity. The following table provides a useful unpacking of these characteristics of knowledge exchange impact.
Type of Impact
Description
Conceptual
Seeing or feeling things differently (“a-ha” moments). One of the basic characteristics of the arts is to ask us to imagine the world as different In the context of art science co-creation of regenerative cities, the aha moments that the arts can create are critical to imagining change.
Capacity building
Developing knowledge and skills of practitioners, managers, and policymakers. Capacity building includes everything from formal research through to communities learning new things about their city and different behaviours that enable it to become regenerative
Instrumental
New ways of doing/making. Changes in policy/regulation/standards. Whilst this is often seen as the objective of projects and measured in terms of policies and funding, it is often dependent on aha moments and capacity building before policies and practices change in substantive ways.
Attitudinal shifts
Increased willingness to work collaboratively / across sectors. Valuing co-creative collaborative work and investing the time and resources to deliver it is critical. Shifts in organisational commitment to co-creative and collaborative work are significant indicators.
Enduring connectivity
Lasting relationships and ongoing interactions. We recognise that cross-disciplinary working is challenging because we revert to our silos so people working together across arts and sciences, between academia, environment management, and communities beyond a first project is a significant sign of impact.
Each of these can be documented in qualitative and also in quantitative terms.
In the evaluation of the Cultural Adaptations project we saw evidence of the impact of artists working with environment managers on urban climate change adaptation projects across all these categories. The artists proposed new approaches to green/blue infrastructure, drew attention to intergenerational perspectives, empowered inhabitants to set briefs, and led senior managers in place-based approaches to strategy (see the project website for more detail). Sustainability managers and policy makers led cultural sector partners in exploring what the implications of adaptation are and in developing plans.
In fact, the project was possible because of long term work between Creative Carbon Scotland, the arts organisation and Sniffer, the environment organisation leading on adaptation work in Scotland.
There were many ‘aha’ moments in the project, for instance by the environment managers interviewing to recruit artists realising the breadth and social engagement of arts practices. Conceptual shifts can be moments of realisation of a different perspective, or a significant shift in the conceptualisation of a problem. We noted instrumental impacts in terms of additional funding invested to involve the cultural sector in climate change adaptation policy development and we certainly noted attitudinal shifts towards collaborative working.
I had worked with another team and used the framework in the context of a design-led innovation programme, written up in Impact by Design (2016). Laura Meagher and David Edwards (2020) have recently published a paper on the framework which also explores potential causal factors.
References:
David M. Edwards and Laura R. Meagher, ‘A Framework to Evaluate the Impacts of Research on Policy and Practice: A Forestry Pilot Study’, Forest Policy and Economics 114 (May 2020): 101975, https://doi.org/10.1016/j.forpol.2019.101975.
Chris Fremantle and Leslie Mabon. ‘Cultural Adaptations Evaluation Report’. Edinburgh: Creative Carbon Scotland, 2021 https://doi.org/10.48526/rgu-wt-1513437
Chris Fremantle et al., ‘Impact by Design: Evaluating Knowledge Exchange as a Lens for Evaluating the Wider Impacts of a Design-Led Business Support Programme.’, 2016.
Stuart Jeffries. Everything, All the Time, Everywhere: How We Became Post-Modern. London ; New York: Verso Books, 2021.
David makes art with ecology, to inquire and learn. He researches, publishes, and works internationally with ecosystems and their inhabitants, using images, poetic texts, walking and sculptural installations to generate dialogues that question climate change, species extinction, urban development, the nature of water transdisciplinarity and ecopedagogy for ‘capable futures’.
Co-created projects by artists and scientists may be interesting, but a co-learning dialogue with diverse, local people and other-than-humans, like pigeons, may be more insightful and creative.
With two-thirds of an expanding/migrating human population expected to live in cities by 2050, how will we/they cope with the nexus of climate, species, and cultural crises? Are cities fit for purpose? Are regenerative city projects relevant and what can artists and scientists contribute? To start this brief inquiry, I asked some pigeons what they thought about the situation…
The pigeons told me that since their cultivation in Mesopotamia about 9,000 years ago, cities have always been about ecology and economics, culture and power. Initially created within the Fertile Crescent, as fortified trading posts to protect and barter cereals for other goods, these settlements offered sedentary forms of culture and social order. Alongside agriculture and animal husbandry, writing, philosophy, construction, planning, and money emerged as marks of civilization. And the rest, as they say, is history. However, such organisation was completely dependent on the natural resources of water, biodiversity, and a clement climate.
Feral Pigeons, Central Manchester. Photo: David Haley
Meanwhile, around the same time that cities were invented in Mesopotamia, rock doves were worshiped, domesticated, and eaten by people. Some rock doves escaped to evolve into town or feral pigeons, adapting to and thriving from urban development. Feeding on people’s excess grains, these pigeons found shelter and nesting sites in urban construction. Their symbiotic contribution was to give excrement, as precious organic fertiliser, for the expanding agricultural systems that advanced human sustenance and well-being.
Fast forward to the present day… Now regarded as ubiquitous pests and the subject of much misinformation, pigeons and their excrement are thought to generate disease, deface civic buildings and devalue the real estate owned by international investment corporations. Instead, synthetic fertiliser is now procured from industrialised carbon-based processes that profit agro-industrial global markets, while millions of city dwellers go hungry. Forced to migrate from subsistence farming to become dependent on faltering urban infrastructure and systems, city streets are paved with homeless and destitute people, rather than gold. This shift in values mirrors the nexus of climate, species, and cultural crises. Pigeons, however, are one of only six animals that can understand the reality of mirrors … a capability that now seems lost to humans.
Regenerative Designs, like decolonisation, have become “hot topics” recently and there are many things that our existing cities and future cities can learn from them. Indeed, there are things that they can learn from each other to co-create better ways of living and being. Remaining vigilant to avoid the pitfalls of dogmatic framework methodologies, we need to be simultaneously critical of the power within the systems we deploy and open to other ways of becoming. In other words, cities need to be able to emerge with planetary and human evolution, rather than trying to dictate it; something pigeons have done despite human attempts to cull them from cities. Regeneration must, also, be understood in the context of natural death and renewal of all living systems. If cities are to have future meaning, we must accept collapse as well as regeneration.
Co-created projects by artists and scientists may be interesting, but a co-learning dialogue with diverse, local people and other-than-humans, like pigeons, may be more insightful and creative. Such citizen participation could be more useful when it comes to regenerating how we live as a whole. We may then be able to attribute real value to how cities, serve their inhabitants by being embedded in ecology and culture, rather than extractive global economics and power for the few.
This is the message brought home from the perspective of a flock of feral town pigeons, one of the most intelligent, successful, and resourceful species on our planet.
Sarah has spent her career in the Forest Service linking scientists and scientific information with communities and decision makers at local to national scales to inform stewardship and develop social-ecological connections and resonance. Sarah has an AB in biological anthropology from Harvard University and an MS in environmental policy and MBA from the University of Michigan.
So many of our human needs and behaviors, when magnified times 7 billion or more, seem to conflict with creating benefits for nature. But this is precisely where the well-defined problem, a well-loved place, or a provocative piece of art or performance or data, can advance the conversation and practice.
We adults sometimes suffer from the misconception that consensus must be achieved before cooperation begins. Yet, watch any group of preschoolers around a pile of blocks or Legos, or on a playground, and you may see how cooperation may (emphasis on the may) arise organically even without consensus. The object in question — the blocks, Legos, or playground — serves as a “boundary object”, sitting in the middle among different perspectives (Star, 2010). The boundary object allows individuals to work together even if they have different perspectives, goals, motivations, or understandings (Grove et al, 2022). It opens up possibilities for communication and exploration, for co-creation.
Thinking about it in another way, how many times have you, as an adult, not known quite what to say or how to start a conversation with another person? Oftentimes, we unknowingly reach for boundary objects to get the conversation going — a compliment on a piece of clothing, on new glasses or a haircut, or even a piece of art hanging in someone’s office. Sure, this is not quite the same as co-creating something with someone, but it’s where we often start as adults — by reaching for something tangible that can spark interest, conversation, and sharing stories and perspectives. I believe that children are innately wired to create and to co-create. I believe also that they are wired to care, to express empathy and love, especially if they are raised with care and love. Adults share much of this same motivation, but it may manifest in different and more professionalized forms, or it may be snuffed out altogether by society’s attempts to replace creation and care with consumerism. Why not tap into what we know is there, deeply rooted, inside each of us?
For our purposes, it may be useful to think about potential boundary objects that may exist in cities to bring lots of different types of people together. Such boundary objects could be a problem, a place, or an object (such as art), acts of creation (performances), or even data systems. We can look for these boundary objects, however mundane they may seem, or we may create new ones. Their purpose is to discover, illuminate, and advance perspectives where before there was little exchange or interaction. In many cities throughout the country, the USDA Forest Service has been advancing systems solutions to complex problems by using boundary objects. “How do we reduce wood waste in Baltimore?” is a simple question that used “the problem” of urban wood and “the place” of Baltimore. The more we asked this question to different people the more perspectives and threads we heard — the problem was no longer just wood or Baltimore, yet the question was incredibly useful to begin to map all the different components of a system — one that included vacant buildings, neighborhood trees (or lack thereof), employment, health, social cohesion, recidivism, stewardship, art and design, and so much more. Thus, the systems diagram also became a boundary object.
Baltimore Urban Woods Systems diagram, by Morgan Grove. From Grove et al, 2022.
While boundary objects are incredibly useful, they do not always inherently promote regeneration or regenerative projects — but they do get us closer. Regenerative projects can be thought of as endeavors that create reinforcing, positive benefits for people and nature. Creating positive benefits for nature is not always easy, obvious, or self-evident. So many of our human needs and behaviors, when magnified times 7 billion or more, seem to conflict with creating benefits for nature. But this is precisely where the well-defined problem, a well-loved place, or a provocative piece of art or performance or data, can advance the conversation and practice. This is where learning, love, and care can complement boundary explorations to find regenerative possibilities.
“What would it take….?” is a favorite phrase that I like to use with respect to boundary objects. “What would it take for this neighborhood to have a better food supply?” “What would it take to reduce how vulnerable this neighborhood is to extreme heat?” “What would it take to help every person and creature who lives here feel welcome and loved?”
Zoom all the way out: there is a little blue dot, orbiting in space. It has billions of people — many wrestling with insecurities around their basic needs, plummeting biodiversity, skyrocketing greenhouse gas and other toxic emissions trapped in its atmosphere, problems with too much and too little water, and more. It is our ultimate boundary object. “What would it take…?”
References:
Grove M, Carroll J, Galvin M, Hines S, Marshall LL and Wilson G (2022). Virtuous cycles and research for a regenerative urban ecology: The case of urban wood systems in Baltimore. Front. Sustain. Cities 4:919783. doi: 10.3389/frsc.2022.919783
Star, S. L. (2010). This is not a boundary object: Reflections on the origin of a concept. Sci. Technol. Hum. Values 35, 601–617. doi: 10.1177/0162243910377624
Keitaro is a professor at Kyushu Institute of Technology and teaches landscape ecology and design. He has studied and worked in Japan, the U.K., Germany and Norway and has been designing urban parks, river banks, school gardens, and forest parks.
We considered how to implement Green Infrastructure in the local community to provide ecosystem services for local residents. Preserving areas such as wildlife habitats and spaces where children can play is a crucial issue nowadays.
Is this collaborative work with nature and science? Landscape design corresponding to nature
Ecosystem Services (ES) are the ecological characteristics, functions, or processes that directly or indirectly contribute to human well-being. Green Infrastructure (GI) is characterized by its multiple benefits. These days, GI is defined as infrastructure and land use planning which enhances regional and national sustainability in Japan.
This project started in 2008, and the restoration plan was developed in cooperation together with local residents. We also considered how to implement GI in the local community and could provide ecosystem services for local residents. Preserving areas such as wildlife habitats and spaces where children can play is a crucial issue nowadays. The planning site had the potential to be a place for children to learn local ecology.
Therefore, we designed the riverbank fishway not only for nature restoration but also as a place for children’s ecological learning. This chapter demonstrates the process of GI construction on the river Onga estuary in Japan to contribute to regional biodiversity conservation and provide ecological learning for children. It also should be noted that the purpose of urban landscape design or planning is to connect nature and people’s daily lives. In other words, an integrated approach in terms of “nature rehabilitation” and “lifescape” will be essential to create vernacular places in the future.
Design issues
At the first stage of this project, the presented image of the fishway was trapezoid shaped. I thought it might have a function for fishway, however, it would not be beautiful for regional landscape. Therefore, I used the curvature of the Nishi River which flows next to the Onga River when I determined the shape of the fishway for local landscape and ecological functions. It was difficult for designing the shape of the fishway, so I quoted the curvature of the Nishi-river because that natural river shape would reflect the land shape of this site (Figures 1 and 2).
Figure 1.Figure 2.
And after discussing current issues, we designed the shape of the new riverbank fishway by using a 1/200 scale study model. The tide and brackish water are distinguishing phenomena at the river mouth zone, and very important for many water creatures to build their habitats. After 10 years of construction, the river sand shaped the curve naturally. It was interesting to see our curvy shape for the corridor is corresponding to the natural design. Is this collaborative work with nature and science (Figure 3)?
Figure 3.
The new riverbank fishway was designed for biodiversity conservation and landscape design as well. Additionally, concerning accessibility to the water area for the users, the levee crown was connected to the water area by a gentle slope. The gentle slope angles were designed to consider children’s play space based on Gibson’s affordance theory(1979). Thus, these designs and changes would be beneficial for enhancing water biodiversity, and children can observe and learn about the abundant water ecosystem with easy access to the water surface. Finally, the area at the end of the lower riverbank fishway was designed for a tidal flat that can attract not only water creatures but also birds.
References:
Ito. K.(2021) Designing Approaches for Vernacular Landscape and Urban Biodiversity, Urban Biodiversity and Ecological Design for Sustainable Cities, pp. 3-17, Springer DOI: 10.1007/978-4-431-56856-8_1
Ito. K. et al. (2021) Landscape Design and Ecological Management Process of Fishway and Surroundings, Urban Biodiversity and Ecological Design for Sustainable Cities, pp. 105-121, Springer. DOI: 10.1007/978-4-431-56856-8_5
Dave is Senior lecturer in Environmental Management Geography, Planning, and Spatial SciencesBefore joining The University of Tasmania, Dave was a postdoc at the University of Melbourne, and before that a researcher at the Australian Centre for Urban Ecology, a division of the Royal Botanic Gardens Victoria.
Work as individuals and in small groups, rather than the large groups and teams that dominate contemporary science. This allows a few voices to explore the limits of their thinking, rather than retreating to the shared, consensus, agreement of most science.
Who are the Horse Lords of Science?
Engaging with the climate and biodiversity crises we face is a key step on our journey towards regenerative ways of living. Eminent scientists want us to consider extreme climate scenarios more seriously. Yet science isn’t very well equipped to explore post-apocalyptic futures. But art is. Classic films such as The Day the Earth Stood Still to Princess Mononoke explore the implications of human destruction of nature. Music also travels through dramatic climate change (from Billie Elish and metal drummer John Mollusk ft. Greta Thunberg) and environmental destruction (Joni Mitchell to Napalm Death).
I wonder if there is anything we can learn as scientists from the ease that music and film traverse diverse apocalyptic futures and trigger awareness in youth and broader society? I see a few lessons in how to better embrace and share our looming destruction:
Work as individuals and in small groups, rather than the large groups and teams that dominate contemporary science. This allows a few voices to explore the limits of their thinking, rather than retreating to the shared, consensus, agreement of most science.
Be political and aware, not ambivalent. Many scientists decry they have a political position. Yet all science is political. Revealing and embracing the political is a fundamental step
These two lessons will inevitably lead to a third: embrace and celebrate diversity and inclusion. Engaging with multiple ways of knowing (culturally diverse, first peoples) allows us to explore multiple post-apocalyptic visions and inequality in the drivers and outcomes of the trajectories we are on.
I also wonder whether there is anything we as musicians can learn from scientists and the science of nature and society about creating music for the apocalypse? Perhaps:
Embrace limitations and focus – today’s music software and tools allow unlimited possibility of expression. Yet meaning comes from deep engagement and limits, perhaps those we impose on ourselves or artificially introduce. Increasingly, some of those limitations come directly from science – either as field recordings or using scientific data in composition and arrangement.
Draw inspiration from evidence. There is an enormous body of scientific knowledge on environmental harms, but also environmental solutions (e.g., nature-based solutions) that can inform our art and be the grain of truth at the heart of our art.
I’m inspired by the possibilities of artists and scientists working together, co-creating works to increase awareness of the biodiversity and climate crisis, and take some positive, regenerative steps toward solutions. Taking cues from the lessons above, we could:
Work together in small teams where our distinctive and diverse voices are allowed full expression — even extreme expression.
Scientists should be encouraged to explore the limits of science, to go where others fear to tread
At the same time, artists can use scientific data to limit possibilities and focus their expression.
Be political!
Most great bands release a couple of great records, then split due to “musical differences” or stagnation of ideas — perhaps the tenure system at universities entrenches stagnation. Collaboration with artists could be an antidote to this stagnation. Rather than getting the (Ph.D. or postdoc) band back together — let’s rail against our scientific past and look for new artistic collaborations to produce transgressive, experimental art/science.
Christopher Kennedy is the associate director at the Urban Systems Lab (The New School) and lecturer in the Parsons School of Design. Kennedy’s research focuses on understanding the socio-ecological benefits of spontaneous urban plant communities in NYC, and the role of civic engagement in developing new approaches to environmental stewardship and nature-based resilience.
Regenerative artworks hold immense promise but also present a cautionary tale. They highlight a common friction many artists encounter when attempting to emulate ecological processes while also experimenting with aesthetic forms and concepts.
In 1976, John Seymour published The Complete Book of Self-Sufficiency, a call to revive traditional farming and permaculture practices. Throughout, Seymour highlights Albert Howard’s (1943) “The Law of Return” — anything you take from the land must be returned to the soil in order to ensure ecological health and resilience. The concept is arguably a westernized re-articulation of practices used by Indigenous communities and others that stress the importance of reciprocity and stewardship in land management practices. Robin Wall Kimmerer explores this beautifully in her book Braiding Sweetgrass (2015), explaining that today, landscapes are not necessarily “broken” but rather our relationship with land is fractured. She advocates for what Enrique Salmón describes as “kincentrically managing the land”, an act of reciprocal caregiving that honors the needs of more-than-human communities alongside human ones.
Over the past decade, the popularization of regenerative practices in agriculture and urban design is perhaps a contemporary take on this ethos with artists and designers experimenting with a range of strategies from bioremediation to novel platforms for social engagement. These efforts draw from a long history of artists exploring the notion of regeneration, especially in urban environments, a response partly to legacies of systemic racism and urban disinvestment. In North America, one of the earliest contemporary examples is Patricia Johanson’s Fair Park Lagoon (1981) in Dallas, Texas. Working with local scientists, city planners, and engineers, Johanson designed large terra cotta-colored sculptural forms from gunite that create pathways and habitats to restore the degraded Leonhardt Lagoon.
In another well-known work, Revival Field (1991- ongoing), artist Mel Chin collaborated with agronomist Rufus Chaney to create a land-based sculpture that doubled as an experiment in phytoremediation, a form of bioremediation that uses hyperaccumulating plants to absorb substances such as heavy metals in an attempt to remediate the Pig’s Eye Landfill in St. Paul, Minnesota. More recently, other artworks like Francis Whitehead’s SLOW Cleanup, (2008-2012) similarly experiment with phytoremediation to restore land contaminated by gas station storage tanks, revealing the spatial distribution of racial and economic inequity on Chicago’s West and South sides.
Patricia Johanson’s Fairpark Lagoon, Dallas, Texas. Photo by Michael Barera, CC BY-SA 4.0, via Wikimedia Commons
Regeneration, however, is not simply about environmental remediation. There is a myriad of practices globally that one could contextualize as being regenerative socially, economically, or technologically (see for instance Shai Zakai’s Concrete Creek (1999-2002) or Zheng Bo’s Plants Living in Shanghai (2013)). Regardless of the focus, what is perhaps most important is the ability of these artworks to bridge siloed disciplines and inspire new collaborative practices that can uncover the hidden dimensions of a particular challenge. An approach that Elizabeth Grosz describes as a necessary disorientation or “making strange”, can motivate new perspectives and more earnest, open dialogue within planning processes. Yet, despite evidence of the benefits artists provide in these contexts, creative collaborations with urban planning offices or scientists remain patchy and underfunded and are easily co-opted by museums or developers who assume an artist can simply be inserted into a place to solve a presumed “problem”. Choreographer Sarah Wilbur describes this as a “philanthropic route to gentrification”, emphasizing the need to create inclusive platforms for diverse stakeholders to have a voice in any attempt at so-called “creative placemaking”, or in this case “regeneration”.
Regenerative artworks thus hold immense promise but also present a cautionary tale. They highlight a common friction many artists encounter when attempting to emulate ecological processes while also experimenting with aesthetic forms and concepts. Perhaps we need to revisit Howard’s Law of Return with a multispecies perspective in mind and find ways to meld traditional ecological knowledge with new regenerative practices to cultivate an art-science knowledge nexus. More than this, now is the time to bring artists to the planning table — precisely because they open a space for new ideas and ways of working which are sorely needed as urbanization and climate change accelerate globally.
Nikki Lindt, born in the Netherlands, is a New York City-based artist working primarily in the mediums of painting, video, and (underground) sound. MFA from Yale and her BFA from Gerrit Rietveld Academie in Amsterdam.
We need the untapped laden potential of collaboration to ignite new ideas, well-being, new experiences, new perspectives, and critical solutions.
Over the years, many fields of knowledge (and professionals) have become more and more specialized and isolated, rich in very specific veins of understanding. These isolated vessels of knowledge have explosive potential, just as harbor cities, where historically the collision of new ideas and different ways of thinking collided synthesizing into completely new streams of thought.
We are living in very challenging complex and critical years due to human’s ongoing damaging ecological and social impact on the planet. We need this untapped laden potential of collaboration to ignite- new ideas, well-being, new experiences, new perspectives, and needed solutions.
Within the vast range of possibilities of collaboration and exchange, there is a pairing that has been particularly important to me as an ecological artist: art and science.
I have found the process of collaboration to be unique each time around. Collaboration has the potential to be an exciting synthesis of knowledge, ideas, working methods, and personal outlook. All of these aspects may not be apparent in the resulting work, but in strong open collaborations it all ends up in the communication pipeline, leading to rich discussions and personal growth for all involved.
My most recent collaboration, The Underground Sound Project, a Soundwalk, is a project which consists of stops along a trail in Prospect Park, Brooklyn (New York). Via a QR code linking to short videos on the project website, visitors are able to hear subsurface sounds corresponding to the features along that trail, such as trees, streams, soils, etc. The human impact on underground sound is also revealed in the project.
The Underground Sound Project was created during my time in the Urban Field Station Collaborative Arts Program Residency. There I was paired with a team consisting of ecologists, land managers, social scientists, and others.
I wanted the project to spark feelings of connectedness with nature, empathy with trees and other living non-human beings, and the ecosystem itself. I also wanted the work to speak to the changes the city faces through climate change.
During the development of the soundwalk, I had multiple conversations with ecologist Novem Aueyung and her team at NYC Parks, learning about the lives of trees, plants, and microorganisms in urban forests as well as the function of the non-living aspects of the ecosystem.
We had discussions about peoples’ relationship to their natural areas, their potential connection to and empathy for trees and the broader ecosystem but also the rich history existing within these ecosystems. Through this collaboration, I was able to find locations to record sound all over NYC that were relevant to climate change and the challenges facing the city. We zoned in on highlighting spots that had inherent meaning in their interaction with the city, for example, the wetlands restoration project in Hunters point, which serves as one of the city’s examples of stormwater retention. And Oakwood beach, where after being inundated by hurricane Sandy, local residents and officials have been looking for the best path forward, whether that means protecting the area from future flooding or creating a buy-out system for housing so the area can act as a natural buffer for future storm events.
When creating the narrative for the sound walk social scientists, Erika Svensen and Lindsay Campbell reflected with me on creating a context where visitors of many backgrounds could relate and feel connected through their own relationship with NYC’s natural areas. For example, we had discussions about interweaving reflections on the complex relationship and history of the park’s human inhabitants to the more ecological narratives of the natural areas.
Ultimately, these discussions also inspired me to set up a focus group with a local community who at times felt disenfranchised from natural areas in New York City. Through this focus group, I was driven and learned how to take some steps to help create a feeling of welcomeness, inclusiveness, and safety for visitors within the context of the project.
These are only two examples in the process of how The Underground Sound Project grew through collaboration, there were many others, expanding the depth of the soundwalk. I also hope that the exploratory nature of collaborating with an artist helped open their eyes to an unknown frontier right beneath our feet and in turn who knows where that will lead?!
Patrick M. Lydon is an American ecological writer and artist based in Korea whose seeks to re-connect cities and their inhabitants with nature. He writes The Possible City series, is co-founder of City as Nature (Daejeon). He is an Arts Editor here at The Nature of Cities.
Though science and art both give us reason to wonder and imagine and to move closer to nature-truth, both are also capable of missing the mark if operating alone. If science writes the truth of what we can see, then art undulates truth in the spaces between. In weaving together these stories we will find how to move forward.
Science and art are human stories. We often associate one with fact, and the other with fiction, however, both play their role in uncovering the particular kind of nature-truth required to bring about regenerative cities.
Part of our job as humans has always been to develop stories, like art, like science, that are capable of describing partial glimpses of this truth. Today, however, the human family is beginning to realize that as we bring together, understand, and respect more of these partial views of each one’s truth, the story becomes more full, more powerful, and more capable of bringing us into a place where our cities, our cultures, and the things we do come into alignment with nature’s truth. And nature’s truth, of course, is our home. This is where the secrets of regenerative cultures are held.
Installation view of “A City Designed by Trees” at the 2022 Daejeon Art & Science Biennale, with “Dangsan Namu” in the foreground.
Our City as Nature studio celebrates this nature-truth in the current exhibition A City Designed by Trees, commissioned for the 2022 Daejeon Art & Science Biennale.* Weaving together both fact and fiction, the exhibition touches on ideas from soil scientists, farmer practitioners, trees, quantum physicists, and many others. Though seemingly disparate, these ideas come together as part of a fictional, multi-media narrative that shows what cities might look like if we learned how to listen to the trees. Visitors—children, mothers, students, and all sorts—are also asked to share their own tree stories in a prominent place within the exhibition too. All are validated as meaningful.
The trees also have their say, in multiple ways. In the back of the gallery, a fictitious punk rock song — claimed to be written by local trees — is played as a music video. A “water goddess” and “tree spirits” perform. Alongside the video, a collection of drawings mix the whimsical and the practical into single narratives. In one drawing, park maintenance crews replace lawn mowers with goats, and the result is regenerative maintenance and a city-branded goat ice cream. In another, 10-lane streets are converted into forests with regenerative natural farms and tramways. Finally, a large area is dedicated to the Bomunsan Forest Protocols and a ‘master plan,’ purportedly dictated by trees. Here, a local mountain is depicted in an imagined future where forests, streams, meadows, and wetlands are allowed right-of-way through cities instead of car highways. Is this what trees would do if they had their say?
Installation view of “A City Designed by Trees” at the 2022 Daejeon Art & Science Biennale, showing drawings by two children who visited the exhibition, alongside quotes from experts in the “Tree Story Forest”.
The work also reminds us of the importance of local cultural knowledge. Here in Korea, there are trees called Dangsan Namu, old trees of various species (Zelkova, Camphor, Ginkgo) which act as the guardians and wise elders of most villages and neighborhoods. They are sadly unknown in new urban developments, and often felled for the sake of a parking lot or apartment complex. To remind the visitors of the importance of these tree elders, the entrance of the exhibition features a newly anointed Dangsan Namu. When entering the gallery, guests are asked to bow and say hello to the tree before proceeding. This kind of cultural knowledge is linked to similar practices in other cultures in Japan, Ireland, and India, and then linked again to science by way of Fukuoka Masanobu, Diana Beresford-Kroeger, Robin Wall Kimmerer, and others. Such links, across and through ways of knowing and seeing are the basis for resilience, and vital for the act of creating new, regenerative stories.
This entire gallery space is of course, also a story. Much of it contradicts the stories we tell ourselves as modern ‘developed’ societies. Most of it aligns with the stories of scientific knowledge, but some of it contradicts those, too. Yet, in this very interplay is the admission that nature-truth exists in ways that cannot be completely seen nor described by any one discipline.
A future urban plan titled “Bomunsan and a City Designed by Trees” by City as Nature, drawn in graphite, pigment pen, charcoal, and chalk on unbleached hanji, 140x70cm
Though science and art both give us reason to wonder and imagine and to move closer to nature-truth, both are also capable of missing the mark if operating alone. If science writes the truth of what we can see, then art undulates truth in the spaces between. In weaving together these stories—to which each person finds a foothold of validity in this world—we will find how to move forward. This beautiful woven fabric looks strange or foreign sometimes. It challenges what we hold to be true, and then asks that we challenge it back, not in pursuit of being right in an individual sense, but in pursuit of moving closer to a regenerative story together. If we can hold onto that, then artists and scientists, leaders from various political and cultural backgrounds, and people of all walks and ways can stand together with this nature-truth, on this earth, in this universe, and gaze out at a possible future.
David loves urban spaces and nature. He loves creativity and collaboration. He loves theatre and music. In his life and work he has practiced in all of these as, in various moments, a scientist, a climate change researcher, a land steward, an ecological practitioner, composer, a playwright, a musician, an actor, and a theatre director.
Knowledge development needs to center the idea of a joined conversation: reach out in all directions, and be open to being changed by what you encounter. Through collaboration, we may create something we could not have created by ourselves.
We’re all part of the elephant
In my life as a theatre artist, collaboration across the boundaries of discipline and method is common because in is required … essential to the success the whole. If the set and costumes and lights and music don’t “talk” to each other, we fail. If the design elements do not support the actors and text, or even fight them, we fail. If the actors are in a scenic dark — literal or metaphysical — and the audience doesn’t follow the story the playwright intended, we fail. Indeed, an oddity of theatre reviews for a designer is that it is better to disappear in supportive anonymity than be singled out for being “the only valuable thing in a horrible production”. For what is a produced play if not a wicked problem of a story telling truth? This is as true of productions Shakespeare or Lorrane Hansberry as it is of Lin Manuel Miranda, Lynn Nottage, Steven Sondheim, Sarah Ruhl, or Tristan Tzara.
Ok, maybe not Tristan Tzara.
Cities, as we more and more often say, are similarly wicked problems of scientific and technical knowledge, public opinion, policymaking, on the ground application, community, design, and storytelling. The storytelling I am talking about is both communicative (tell the story, from some angle) and exploring the story, perhaps from a new angle. That is, we explore the common challenges from the perspectives and strengths of our disciplines to learn something new, perhaps (or even probably) that some other discipline could not have discovered. This is as true for architecture and engineering as it is for ecology, sociology, community building, and artistic expression.
For this reason, we say: “through collaboration, we may create something we could not have created by ourselves”.
But we often don’t trust each other, and trust is the most fundamental, necessary but not sufficient requirement of collaboration. I have always been moved by Pippin Anderson’s thesis (in an essay at TNOC) that trust in other people’s ways of knowing is trained out of us, because our training is in great part focused on learning about how to recognize what is true and right — that is, learning a method to explore “truth”. The unintended consequence is that we learn to distrust or not even see other methods of inquiry. (Witness the persistent and tiresome criticisms of qualitative scientists by quantitative scientists.)
To collaborate across disciplines — and perhaps even aspire to transdisciplinarity — requires us to witness, trust, and be changed by other ways of knowing. I want to emphasize the latter in particular: that we should aspire to our own work within a discipline being changed by something we learn from another discipline’s approach to knowledge.
Yes. Right on.
To me, a starting place is to at least try to collaborate more, and make working teams that are more mixed — even mixed up? — in terms of discipline. The set designer doesn’t arrive at the end of the theatre production process to “dress” the actors; they are part of the production of the very beginning to working together to advance the ideas of the play.
Art may sometimes seem like a distant planet to science, but artists share many of the core personality traits of scientists: curiosity, imagination, a belief in the transformative power of ideas. But science and policy often seems to lag in their connection to art as a way of knowing and a source of ideas. (Practititioners often seem much more sophisticated in their integration with artists.) It may not be that scientists are the problem. Many scientists I talk to are personally enthusiastic about interdisciplinary collaboration and transdisciplinary action. More friction comes from the structures of science — hoary journal formats, narrowly conceived funding mechanisms, professional discouragements from out-of-the-box collaborations. [Three cheers for the European Commission, who seem to at least strive for a more modern and integrated approach to cross-disciplinary collaboration.]
In the realm of science and practice in urbanism, we often talk about creating multi-facteted and multi-disciplinary teams, but examples are more rare that we would like. I hope we can find new ways to mix science, policy, practice, and art into projects right from the start. In this way, all the knowledge centers of the project can learn from each other, and in particular come to trust in other peoples ways of knowing. I firmly believe that this is the route to deeper and more usefully integrated knowledge — knowledge that can reach more people and can “meet them where they are”.
The elephant
The Elephant is a well-known metaphor about systems thinking in which people can identify the parts of the object that they are familiar with (or perhaps think is most important), but don’t know it is an elephant. Discussion of the amusing image often doesn’t proceed much beyond the idea that that elephant is the whole system, the entire entity, of which narrower perspectives and points of view are unaware. What is worth adding is that the elephant doesn’t work without all its parts, and all those parts interact (or should). If we think of the elephant as knowledge, does it work without acknowledging all forms of knowledge? Not really, no. Does a city’s sustainable ecological design work if the knowledge centers of ecology, transportation, energy, social services, creative expression, etc. do not work together? Not really, no.
As I have come to come to like to say, knowledge development needs to center the idea of conversation across ways of knowing: reach out in all directions, right from the beginning of a new idea, and be open to being changed by what you encounter.
Mary Miss has reshaped the boundaries between sculpture, architecture, landscape design, and installation art by articulating a vision of the public sphere where it is possible for an artist to address the issues of our time. She has developed the "City as Living Lab", a framework for making issues of sustainability tangible through collaboration and the arts.
Maybe the easier part of the question is how artists and scientists can co-create projects: get two curious open-minded people from different fields who are willing to take a serious look at vocabulary and give them time to explore each other’s ways of seeing and thinking.
Maybe the easier part of the question is howartists and scientists can co-create projects: get two curious open-minded people from different fields who are willing to take a serious look at vocabulary and give them time to explore each other’s ways of seeing and thinking. At CALL we give them a specific task which is to lead a Walk through a neighborhood addressing an issue particular to that place. The artist speaks from her own point of view, knowledge, and experience as does the scientist.
We have considered whether there might be a curriculum developed that introduces both parties to these territories they may be unfamiliar with. Finding support for such a program or the time for this joint engagement is always a challenge as it is to fund projects. Funding becomes a primary issue and an area that we must endeavor to develop. Can foundations and granting agencies be encouraged to shift their support toward this kind of preparation as well as the projects themselves?
One of the most challenging aspects of this work is learning how to work in an open, equitable way with communities where the issues are often most pressing. And how are true partnerships with the people of a place developed? In the midst of busy lives with many challenges, how is it possible to create engagement? And since these issues have taken years or decades to develop, they will not be addressed by singular encounters. How are projects sustained over time? What kinds of relationships need to be developed with city agencies, NGOs, academic institutions, or community organizations to support ongoing engagement with communities? And how is the vision of the original partners maintained?
Cynthia Rozenzweig, along with many others, has emphasized the importance of making changes, having an impact at scale. It means that developing projects for cities is of the greatest importance. While doing that, how can we think in terms of providing models that are pathways for others? Asking questions seems to be the starting point for all this challenging, inspiring, often frustrating work. It will help us collectively imagine a future of greater sustenance.
Mary O’Brien is a multi-disciplinary artist—a writer, and sculptor who initiates the re-search and community engagement plans for Studio of Watershed the practice she co-founded with artist Daniel McCormick. Following a scientific trajectory the Studio cre-ates restorative interactions with damaged lands and waters through an aesthetic lens. By enlisting the support of art organizations, government agencies, and community groups, their works are intended to become a catalyst for positive ecological action. .
For art to remediate the damage humans have done to our own environments will require specific knowledge, as well as emotion; aesthetics as well as solid data—the kind of collaboration that many damaged rivers and lands could use right now.
Do No Harm
In a recent social media post, a science-minded citizen lamented the harm cairn-making had on a small North Carolina river. Among the post’s commenters, were many perturbed by the sight of a massive group of stacked rocks behind the floating carcass of a large salamander. But others decried the criticism, defending the freedom to create. An artist wondered what the fuss was about: Don’t we have more to be concerned with like toxins in the water, and dams?
Flood Plain Woven Wall, Studio of Watershed Sculpture with The Nature Conservan-cy, Nevada and Center for Art + Environment. Photo: Mary O’Brien
Sure, dams and toxic run-off do tremendous damage to rivers, but the damage created by pulling rocks out of the river to create social-media iconography goes beyond the river. The rock-balancing is not real science, nor is it really art. It certainly is not informed art. Conflating river rocks with artifacts and assuming they can be arranged better by human manipulation is an attitude stuck in an anthropocentric point of view.
The acts of rock-stackers have a wide-ranging impact. In the case of the North Carolina river, the habitat of the hellbender has been disturbed. Known as the “last dragons”, the hellbender is a threatened giant, salamander species dating back 65 million years. It is unlikely the river will recover before the next mating season. The National Park Service rightfully labels these acts as “ephemeral vandalism”. Accepting these damaging structures as art weakens the intersection where science and art should collaborate.
Art in natural environments is a juncture where the professions of art and science can collaborate in meaningful ways. Environmental Art must be informed enough to both respect the science and carry the emotions of those seeking the beauty of natural spaces. For art to remediate the damage humans have done to our own environments will require specific knowledge, as well as emotion; aesthetics as well as solid data — the kind of collaboration that many damaged rivers and lands could use right now.
Artists have an especially important mandate to work and share insights with scientists. Artists can express scientific information in ways no other profession can, reaching populations with information and ideas that might not otherwise be heard. Scientists can learn how influential their data will become when expressed as art. Scientists and artists practice similar approaches to their work, and like the “leave-no-trace” ethic of wilderness travel, a do-no-harm principle needs to permeate both professions.
As a start, artists who work in the natural environment could learn about the damage scientific ignorance can cause. They can experience this from those who know and care for the natural systems of our lands and waters. Scientists can acknowledge that professional artists need to acquire a deep knowledge of the issues their works embrace. No longer are Environmental Artists those who paint water towers or dig up habitats to make monumental earthworks.
This tendency to make the world respond to “our way”, often leads to conflict. By that definition, we are at war with our environment. This is where artists and scientists can practice the do-no-harm ethic in restoring the places and systems for which they are passionate.
When artists incorporate science into their works, they can develop expertise to remediate some of the issues that scientists have already figured out. They can create hard-working projects that serve communities. We would do well to heed the demise of the hellbenders. Humans may not be able to adequately repair the damage we have done to our earth, but we can collaborate to give it the advantage it needs to heal itself.
Sky Opening, Studio of Watershed Sculpture with Interlochen Center for the Arts, Interlochen, Michigan. Photo: Chris Hintz
Marguerite Perret conducts collaborative, arts-based research that scrutinizes the narratives inherent at the interstices of art, science, healthcare and personal experience.
We are all time travelers, but if we employ creativity and science as essential tools for personal and environmental resilience, we can embrace a sense of purpose-based optimism in the face of the many challenges we face in the present and future.
Navigating wormholes: A re-imagining of time and place
The transition from town to pit is through a small wooden shed-like Visitors Center, where visitors pay a $3 fee to enter a long narrow arched tunnel lined with concrete walls painted white and illuminated with a continuous line of outdated fluorescent light fixtures overhead. It has a dystopian 1960s sci-fi sensibility, reminiscent of low-budget movies that featured homemade time machines. This portal opens onto a small, covered observation deck with a striking view of a disarmingly beautiful copper green lake set in a granite crater that measures 7,000 feet long by 5,600 feet wide and reaches a depth of 1,600 feet. Then it occurs to you — you are not traveling through time. The Berkeley Pit in Butte, Montana is a wormhole where the past, present, and future collide.
Time Tunnel at the Berkeley Pit,. Photo: Bruce Scherting, 2022
Theoretical physicist Sabine Hossenfelder suggests that the past still exists, while the future is already happening. Certainly, this is true of the Berkeley Pit, the largest superfund site in the United States. The discovery, extraction, and processing of rich copper deposits in Butte in the 19th and 20th centuries facilitated electrification and technological modernization of the world. But this past remains present as toxic water from a deep bedrock aquifer endlessly rises through a vast network of underground mine shafts, flooding the pit. Maintaining pit water levels through treatment and redistribution to prevent contamination of drinking water or entering the watershed or killing wildlife, is a forever problem.
I am visiting the pit as part of a fellowship grant focusing on superfund and brownfield sites in Montana and Kansas — two disparate states connected by the Missouri River. Both superfund and brownfields involve physical locations that have been compromised by commercial or industrial activity. The difference, as defined by the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency, is a degree of contamination. Currently, there are 1,334 superfund and 450,000 brownfield sites nationwide
Berkeley Pit, satellite view courtesy Google Earth, screen shot, 2022
In Topeka, there are 19 brownfields along the Kansas River, which empties into the Missouri. I am developing an interdisciplinary art/science research project to re-imagine these and other less dangerous but still environmentally degraded sites. Because communities struggle with finding the financial and civic support to rehabilitate these properties, they often remain invisible, ignored, or forgotten, like ghosts on the landscape.
A common criticism of many reclamation initiatives is the lack of creativity and innovation in their approach, but collaborations can lead to fresh ideas and inventions. The goal is to advocate and build support for an ecologically sound plan by engaging a broad audience intellectually, emotionally, and through the senses. And while this project is primarily rooted in the sciences and visual arts, implementing change will require the participation of an expanded network that includes governmental agencies, and community representatives.
One planned component is a re-imagining of these sites through augmented reality (AR) interventions developed by art students working closely with university biology faculty and their students. A website will direct visitors to physical locations, where, by positioning their phones or other portable devices over a marker, they will be able to view still and animated conceptualized proposals offering alternatives to distressed properties and links to the underlying science-based content. A self-guided tour will be available to the public in summer 2023 and featured in an international AR festival later that year.
EPA Map of Brownfields along the Kansas River, screen capture, 2022
In complement, I will be working with field biologists and collections managers surveying and mapping current and historic biodiversity at these sites. For over a decade, I have worked in biological collections at museums and universities in the U.S. and internationally. Collections are data, reflecting changes in the diversity and the movement of species over time. Success in rehabilitating these areas will require an integrated approach to assessing and evaluating mitigation and reclamation efforts to ensure fragile ecologies are not destroyed while following best remediation practices. A related project will involve working with a biologist and students in designing habitat enhancements for riparian species that live along the Kansas River and the Shunga Creek tributary.
Truly inter and trans-disciplinary collaborations require investment in relationships in which all partners are respected for their knowledge and are open to learning from each other. Partners need to be committed to creating something new together jointly from the development and design of the project through implementation. They must also be flexible and responsive to each other when things change as the project evolves. We are all time travelers, but if we employ creativity and science as essential tools for personal and environmental resilience, we can embrace a sense of purpose-based optimism in the face of the many challenges we face in the present and future.
Originally from Buenos Aires, Pietrapiana lives and works in New York City. His work has been exhibited at Exit Art NY, AES Gallery NY, Local Project, The Argentine Consulate in NYC, El Bodegon Cultural de Los Vilos Art Center in Chile and Centro Cultural Recoleta in Buenos Aires, among other venues and part of the Pfizer Corporate Collection, The Springfield Museum of Art and private collectors.
In trying to answer the question, maybe scientists are the best-qualified ones to identify a problem and then brainstorm with artists and participating audiences on possible viable solutions.
Habits are tough to change. From mass plastic consumption to the so-called ‘fast fashion’, trash, pollution, and depletion of resources seem to be some of the many human legacies engraved in human habits. We tend to forget though, that once a natural system is destroyed, is very hard to get it back.
Before attempting to change toxic habits, the first step is to be aware of them. In my work as a visual artist, I humbly try to point at issues mostly related to the overarching theme of our climate crisis. This ongoing series of interventions made on newspapers somehow invites viewers to get into each piece ―if they wish― read the news, analyze the context, and ultimately develop independent and critical thinking, much needed in the age of fake news and manipulative social media.
I would guess that regenerative projects need people’s support and participation, starting with awareness.
In trying to answer your question, maybe scientists are the best-qualified ones to identify a problem and then brainstorm with artists and participating audiences on possible viable solutions.
Art has many purposes and takes but, in this case, it can:
help look at the problem, approach it from a different angle, in other words, think differently
act as a communication tool for the public/community at large
become a teaching agent, where artists can be paired with scientists and develop lesson plans that could later be presented to teachers and students. In my latest exhibitions focused on climate change, I have worked with teachers and students from Middle College High School in Queens, NY. We could present them with documents, problem-solving activities, and hands-on projects.
In my limited experience with scientists-that deserve all my respect―they sometimes could be ‘caught’ in deep details of research and artists may come in handy in order to ‘translate’ the issue in a more viable way for the public to read.
I have been reading on climate change for the last six years and have been incorporating it into my practice. A collaboration with a scientist would be a project that I would be interested in participating in.
Besides my regular work, please allow me to attach two video clips done for past exhibitions that might help illustrate my work.
We realized that we could go beyond simple artistic interventions in schools if we opened a creative dialogue with teachers and the entire school community. We ended up developing a methodology that combines art and science in the solution to one of the biggest problems of Brazilian education, which is school dropouts due to a lack of students’ interest in their schools.
I answer the question with an example of a project that involves art and science, as a way of making education in schools much more exciting.
The project began about fifteen years ago and aimed to animate public schools in poor neighborhoods on the outskirts of São Paulo, through artistic actions involving graffiti and other youthful languages so dear to students. Since the beginning of the 2000s, we have been dealing with these new languages in the field of contemporary art, through exhibitions, urban interventions, seminars, publications, and a cultural center formed by a gallery and an engraving workshop: the Choque Cultural.
We realized that we could go beyond simple artistic interventions in schools if we opened a creative dialogue with teachers and the entire school community: employees, parents, school neighbors, cultural agents in the neighborhood, and so on. We ended up developing a methodology that combines art and science in the solution to one of the biggest problems of Brazilian education, which is school dropouts due to a lack of students’ interest in their schools.
There are several reasons that lead to this lack of interest, according to the good research we have: lack of perspectives for the future, lack of belonging to the school, disconnection between the school and its territory, lack of integration between the communities that intersect in the school, lack of integration with the neighborhood, the city, and the world. All these shortcomings are further accentuated by the lack of adequate infrastructure in Brazilian public schools. For these reasons, our project has grown and gained greater importance, as it brings back the lost interest in the school environment and, consequently, strengthens the community spirit.
Our methodology is based on the following principle: the school must form autonomous and critical citizens, capable of transforming their future, acting creatively and collaboratively. Based on this premise, we undertake actions that stimulate the transformation of the school environment, making it more interesting and personalized, through collaborative artistic productions that count on the participation of all in the processes. Over the years of experience, we have created action chains that adapt to the different types of communities we serve: from the very precarious to those organized into broader networks.
The chains of actions can be summarized in the following topics: (1) Tasks for painting and creative occupation of areas of common use in schools with the participation of the entire school community; (2) Planting of vegetable gardens and orchards, installation of compost bins and recycling stations, installation of diverse workshops for collaborative work; (3) Mapping and connecting cultural agents in the territory for the administration of classes in the workshops and for the extension of the performance of the school community in spaces in its neighborhood; (4) Systematization of local experiences and development of network programs with a view to scalability.
After the experience reached more than 100 schools, formed a network with hundreds of teachers, and served thousands of students, we began to receive attention from universities and some awards. And we think that this recognition is very important because it can put us in contact with more artists and scientists capable of expanding our experience, taking it to other cities, and even to other countries where education suffers from the same evils as Brazil.
Painted school for kids in São Paulo. Photos by Fernanda Ligabue
* * *
Percebemos que podíamos ir além das intervenções artísticas pontuais nas escolas, se abríssemos um diálogo criativo com os professores e toda a comunidade escolar: funcionários, pais, vizinhos das escolas, agentes culturais do bairro e assim por diante.
Respondo à pergunta com um exemplo de um projeto que envolve arte e ciência, como forma de dinamizar a educação nas escolas.
O projeto começou a cerca de quinze anos e visava animar escolas públicas de bairros pobres da periferia de São Paulo, através de ações artísticas envolvendo graffiti e outras linguagens juvenis tão queridas pelos estudantes. Desde o começo dos anos 2000 já vínhamos lidando com essas novas linguagens no campo da arte contemporânea, através de exposições, intervenções urbanas, seminários, publicações e de um centro cultural com galeria e oficina de gravuras: a Choque Cultural.
Percebemos que podíamos ir além das intervenções artísticas pontuais nas escolas, se abríssemos um diálogo criativo com os professores e toda a comunidade escolar: funcionários, pais, vizinhos das escolas, agentes culturais do bairro e assim por diante. Acabamos por desenvolver uma metodologia que une arte e ciência na solução de um dos maiores problemas da educação brasileira, que é a evasão escolar por falta de interesse dos alunos pelas suas escolas.
São vários os motivos que levam a esse desinteresse, segundo as boas pesquisas que dispomos: falta de perspectivas de futuro, falta de pertencimento à escola, desconexão entre a escola e seu território, falta de integração entre as comunidades que se intersectam na escola, falta de integração com o bairro, a cidade e o mundo. Todas essas carências são ainda acentuadas pela falta de infraestrutura adequada nas escolas públicas brasileiras. Por esses motivos, nosso projeto foi crescendo e ganhando maior importância, pois traz de volta o interesse perdido no ambiente escolar e, por consequência, fortalece o espírito comunitário.
A nossa metodologia parte do seguinte princípio: a escola deve formar cidadãos autônomos e críticos, capazes de transformar seu futuro, agindo criativa e colaborativamente. A partir dessa premissa, empreendemos ações que estimulam a transformação do ambiente escolar, tornando-o mais interessante e personalizado, através de produções artísticas colaborativas e que contam com a participação de todos nos processos. Ao longo dos anos de experiência, criamos cadeias de ações, que se adaptam às diferentes tipologias das comunidades que atendemos: desde as bem precárias até as organizadas em redes mais amplas.
As cadeias de ações podem ser resumidas nos seguintes tópicos: (1) Mutirões de pintura e ocupação criativa das áreas de uso comum das escolas com a participação de toda a comunidade escolar; (2) Plantação de hortas e pomares, instalação de composteiras e estações de reciclagem, instalação de diversificadas oficinas para trabalhos colaborativos; (3) Mapeamento e conexão de agentes culturais do território para administração de aulas nas oficinas e para a extensão da atuação da comunidade escolar em espaços do seu bairro; (4) Sistematização das experiências locais e elaboração de programas em rede com vistas à escalabilidade.
Depois da experiência ter alcançado mais de 100 escolas, formado uma rede com centenas de professores e atendido a milhares de alunos, começamos a receber a atenção de universidades e alguns prêmios. E achamos que esse reconhecimento é muito importante, pois pode nos colocar em contato com mais artistas e cientistas capazes de ampliar a nossa experiência, a levando para outras cidades e, até mesmo para outros países onde a educação sofra dos mesmos males que a brasileira.
Eric Sanderson is a Senior Conservation Ecologist at the Wildlife Conservation Society, and the author of Mannahatta: A Natural History of New York City.
Scientists and artists need to help people accommodate the change that is already here, and the more dramatic and consequential change yet to come. We need to change minds to change cities.
I think the most important word in the prompt is “regenerative”. It is the kind of word that reflects the challenges that the nature of cities face in the third decade of the 21st century.
It is becoming clear that we have built too far and too fast. We are on the precipice of a great unbuilding and in that unbuilding lies an opportunity for regeneration. It is the role of artists and scientists to help city leaders and residents see, understand, and respond as three assumptions on which cities have long been built begin to fail.
First, we assumed the climate it is stable. It is not. Climate change is poised to wreak havoc through the horrific consequences of severe storms, heatwaves, floods, and droughts. Cities have extended into places they were never meant to be, such as land-filled salt marshes and shallow bays, in old wetlands and regardless of streams, and into fire-prone forests, flood-prone riparian zones, and vast, waterless deserts. Those extensions were based on assumptions about the stability of the climate, the availability of water, and the height of the sea. As the climate changes, it’s proving those assumptions were falsely placed.
Second, we assumed that easy energy from fossil fuels would last indefinitely into the future. It will not. For thousands of years, people largely lived close to where they worked, and that need created the density that cities needed. Over the last 70 years or so, cities have sprawled outward on the assumption that there was enough easy energy to reassemble the city whenever it was needed through the commute. People who could afford the commute live far away in their own private parks of suburban spaces and drive their personal vehicles on highways into the heart of cities, then drive back. Thus, we diluted density, killing central cities; debilitated transportation, by siphoning money, space, and attention from more effective modes; and enabled sprawl, which enabled climate change and also put urban structures in the way of the climate.
Third, we have assumed that there will always be more people willing to take the urban gamble. Yet as the 21st-century proceeds, cities will increasingly compete for their critical resource — people. The demographic transition is proceeding apace, with profound consequences for humanity and the planet. Large parts of the Americas, Europe, and Asia are already approaching stationarity in terms of the balance between birth rates and death rates, where population growth, where it still exists, is sustained mainly through immigration. Yet, every immigrant is also an emigrant; net immigration to one geography means net population losses from another. These demographic changes, which appear to be an inevitable consequence of the urban lifestyle over the decades, have two critical implications. First, we won’t need as much infrastructure in the future as we have heretofore. In fact, what was considered essential urban infrastructure in the past will become a burden on cities to fund and maintain in the future. Second, these considerations suggest that whichever cities act first and decisively to identify the critical infrastructure and preserve it in climate-safe localities, will also gain a decisive advantage in the future competition over the distribution of a future urban citizenry.
These considerations suggest that one role of artists and scientists, working singly and collectively, is to normalize the idea of regeneration, which includes unbuilding in some places and building wisely in others. Scientists and artists need to help people accommodate the change that is already here, and the more dramatic and consequential change yet to come. We need to change minds to change cities.
The change will be difficult, but it is also an opportunity for adaptation, for resurrection, for regeneration.
Visiting Director for the Contemporary Art Galleries at UConn in Storrs, Connecticut, Wendy Wischer is an artist and educator with a focus on artwork in a variety of media from sculptural objects to installations, video, projection, sound, alternative forms of drawing and public works. Much of the artwork is based on blurring the separation between an intrinsic approach to working with nature and the cutting edge of New Media.
As an Eco Artist, I am compelled to focus on environmental issues; finding pathways, and creating experiences, that translate data into personal meaning in hopes of finding impactful ways to connect people more deeply with the environments they live in and with each other.
The wording of the prompt is something to take note of — regenerative implies healing and restoration to something injured or damaged so we begin from a place where healing is needed. Since it can also refer to a spiritual renewal, we can consider the possibility of renewing our relationships with our environments and communities. We can use climate change as an opportunity to repair our relationship with the planet.
For artists and scientists to co-create regenerative projects, a platform is needed where they can come together to discuss and share ideas. A platform that values the input of both equally, while recognizing that each discipline may have different values. We need a platform that embraces imagination as well as scientific research, of the past, and an understanding of the current changes, while also incorporating innovation around the future.
At the same time, community engagement is a critical component that isn’t mentioned in the prompt. Community input is necessary for projects to be relevant and respond to the values of the specific community. There are elements of the history and culture around a city that can be valuable to restorative endeavors. Community engagement also holds the possibility of creating citizen stewardship of the projects which is necessary for them to be, and remain, sustainable. We have to let go of the individual and work with each other for each other. We need to foster public trust and social coordination.
Some of the conversations around restoration question what we are restoring to. On a planet that is changing rapidly, we need to factor this transformation in which means embracing these changes as part of the healing. Adaptation will need to be at the foundation of any successful project.
Often the artist, similar to the scientist, seeks connections or patterns that are not obviously apparent to everyone. This search for a common thread by the artists can broaden the intellectual and scientific research by exploring areas not directly related to the observable evidence. They can explore areas that may be apart from the original question and in a different direction than the conclusion, yet prove to have links in a variety of ways from emotional, psychological, cultural, and discursive connections that then offer new ways of seeing and understanding the original data or questions.
I believe that art and creative problem solving can play a significant role in helping us understand the complexity of the world around us, see critical issues from multiple perspectives and communicate with each other in ways that embrace diversity and foster respect and responsibility. The success of this is expanded greatly when combined with a deeper scientific understanding of these critical issues. This is where interdisciplinary collaboration shines, as we can do far more together than in one discipline alone.
As an Eco Artist, I am compelled to focus on environmental issues; finding pathways, and creating experiences, that translate data into personal meaning in hopes of finding impactful ways to connect people more deeply with the environments they live in and with each other.
Ania Upstill (they/them) is a queer and non-binary performer, director, theatre maker, teaching artist and clown. A graduate of the Dell’Arte International School of Physical Theatre (Professional Training Program), Ania’s recent work celebrates LGBTQIA+ artists with a focus on gender diversity.
We listen to the rich narratives of scientific knowledge and help translate them into words or images that invite passersby to learn these stories, to understand more of the land and sea around them; we arrange for a mural or poetry to be placed on the outside of the wall that is begging for decoration, ask for a storytelling bench for where we have seen people looking for a place to sit.
There are many different ways of looking, and there are many different ways of listening. As a theatre artist, I look for how people use space, for opportunities for them to explore movement and texts with their voices and bodies. I listen for narrative arcs, compelling stories, emotionally charged messages, and sounds that create a sense of geographical location. I know that scientists look and listen for patterns in natural systems, patterns in land use, and qualitative and quantitative data that can be analyzed. All of this information — what I have been trained to gather and what scientists are trained to gather — is valuable, and it is particularly valuable when combined.
I recently took a walk with a scientist, Dr.Michelle L. Johnson from the USDA Forest Service Northern Research Station around our shared neighborhood of Astoria, Queens. One of the neighborhood projects she pointed out to me was the restoration and planting of a shoreline riparian zone. The first thing that struck me about the area was the lines of shiny ties strung over the planted area, dancing in the sunlight. I wondered if they were an art project; instead, I learned they were there to attempt to keep birds from eating the new plantings. The second thing that struck me was the large amount of trash washed up by the tide into the catchment area of the new riparian zone. Michelle pointed out the ineffective nets that had been set up to prevent the trash build-up, worn down and twisted by the tides. We saw the baby plants that had been seeded into the zone, how some were doing better than others, and where the sea wall had been patched to resist flooding.
As I listened, I thought about how privileged I was to experience this explanation, this rich description of the shoreline’s life. If Michelle hadn’t been with me, I would have walked by unaware, perhaps momentarily enjoying the sparkle of what I now know are decorations designed to keep away hungry birds. Maybe I would have still noticed the trash, with some consternation. But without this narrative that Michelle so generously supplied, I would have had very little conception of what was actually going on in the riparian zone, of the importance of this work to combat rising tides and to keep the basements of the nearby low-income New York City Housing Authority apartments from flooding. How many people, I wondered, walk by each day without a second glance at this project? How many people are missing this narrative?
I can imagine a project where, alongside scientists and engineers, artists are involved to co-create in this riparian zone. We take the invitation of a bird-repellent system of shiny tags and turn it into an intentional art piece that brings joy to onlookers and still effectively keeps away hungry avians. We listen to the rich narratives of scientific knowledge and help translate them into words or images that invite passersby to learn these stories, to understand more of the land and sea around them; we arrange for a mural or poetry to be placed on the outside of the wall that is begging for decoration, ask for a storytelling bench for where we have seen people looking for a place to sit. In all of this work, we listen to and learn from our scientist collaborators, and they listen to and learn from us, each sharing the information that we have gathered. We share, we learn, we create something beautiful together – something richer than we could have created alone.
Edith de Guzman is a researcher-practitioner, educator, consultant, artist, and avid backpacker working with diverse audiences on climate change solutions in urban areas. Edith co-founded and directs the Los Angeles Urban Cooling Collaborative, a multi-disciplinary partnership of academics and practitioners working to reduce public health impacts of extreme heat.
Combined, art and science can deliver a one-two punch of fact and emotion — leaving the viewer/visitor/participant to complete the exchange by reaching a deepened understanding, a change of heart or mind, or better yet, being moved to take action.
Living in a post-truth era means that many of our fellow humans experience an outsized amount of their daily interactions through content generated by virtually anyone with access to the internet. It is a Shakespearean irony that at this very moment — when we have more access to information than ever before — the sheer volume of information seems not to be making us any wiser but rather drowning us in a sea of content overload and confusion.
The act of connecting art and science can be an antidote to this predicament. Combined, art and science can deliver a one-two punch of fact and emotion — leaving the viewer/visitor/participant to complete the exchange by reaching a deepened understanding, a change of heart or mind, or better yet, being moved to take action. At the intersection of art and science, we see Aristotle’s artistic proofs in action: logos (in our case, science) and pathos (art) come together to point to ethos (the viewer or participant’s interpretation).
Interdisciplinary partnerships to bridge these spaces can provide profound ways to practice these connections. Such a partnership is taking place in Los Angeles between Avenue 50 Studio, a nonprofit arts presentation organization, and The Los Angeles Center for Urban Natural Resources Sustainability (or LA Urban Center), an information and research destination hub that generates new science and delivers information and technology to broad audiences. A grant provided by the latter and by the US Forest Service Region 5 is enabling a series of art and science programming that is engaging artists and scientists around the climate crisis. The programming has included art shows and art talks on drought, wildfire, and extreme heat; a public art installation on shade equity; and panel discussions with both artists and scientists working in these spaces. The opportunity to forge this partnership between Avenue 50 Studio and the LA Urban Center came out of a mutual understanding by each entity that when it comes to engaging audiences on environmental issues, engaging only through the lens of art or science means missing the chance to challenge ourselves, grow, and forge new understandings.
We saw these ideas in action when this partnership of entities supported a group of 17 artists and activists in LA’s vibrant Highland Park neighborhood to raise awareness of shade as an equity issue in an outdoor public art installation called “Shade In LA | Rising Heat Inequity In a Sunburnt City.” Organized by community-based arts organization Arroyo Arts Collective, artists used umbrellas as their canvas to present a full spectrum of takes on the topic — from how the legacies of racist exclusionary housing policy still cause low-income neighborhoods to be hotter, to the role of tree canopy in providing physical and mental respite on hot days. The partnership is taking an action-oriented approach, and the opening event was paired with a free tree adoption event by the nonprofit organizations North East Trees and City Plants, with support from the LA Department of Water and Power, with more than 70 shade and fruit trees adopted by community members.
Public engagement — through the truths that art and science can deliver — can move people from observers/consumers to actors bringing positive change. In LA, we are fortunate to have a constellation of organizations looking to do just that, day after day.
Shade In LA artist Aleka Corwin speaks at the opening of the public arts installation. Photo: Genaro Molina, Los Angeles TimesArtists’ umbrellas suspended high above the opening of the public arts installation Shade In LA. Photo: Genaro Molina, Los Angeles TimesShade In LA curator Jolly de Guzman and the author at the opening of the public arts installation. Photo: Genaro Molina, Los Angeles Times
Every month we feature a Global Roundtable in which a group of people respond to a specific question in The Nature of Cities.
show/hide list of writers
Hover over a name to see an excerpt of their response…click on the name to see their full response.
Tim Collins, GlasgowWe began to understand indications of health and well-being, but standing before the tree we sensed a slow moving entity whose breath signs were hard to perceive.
Karahan Kardman, IstanbulWe use air to communicate with the universe, with nature, and with people through breathing.
Maggie Lin, Hong KongSensory stimulation in Hong Kong can be overwhelming, it is easy to numb our senses … ‘nose hk’ began as a pop-up perfumery to bring mindfulness to the urban setting, and to tell the story of Hong Kong through smell.
Jennifer Monson, UrbanaThe body is a highly tuned instrument for calibrating these small shifts, and for collecting environmental data … with more layers than most of the digital tools we use.
Fanny Retsek, San JoseThis work reminds me to make an effort as I rush along to look at the wondrous life in the air above.
Julia Stern, ParisAir becomes a tool to communicate, dissolve tensions, transform resistances, it opens up hearts and looks, cleans up the perception filters and cloggings in the body. Air becomes a vehicle of intention, a bridge between matter and consciousness.
Cecilia Vicuña, New YorkIf the commonality of our breath guides us, a city free of poisonous air may arise.
Patrick M. Lydon is an American ecological writer and artist based in Korea whose seeks to re-connect cities and their inhabitants with nature. He writes The Possible City series, is co-founder of City as Nature (Daejeon). He is an Arts Editor here at The Nature of Cities.
In the late 1960s, an American artist Alan Sonfist, proposed an artwork consisting of reintroducing native plants and trees of New York City bioregion in lower Manhattan, the Time Landscape environmental sculpture and urban forest became one of the first visually apparent collaborations between artist and nature in contemporary art.
Many others—independent of one another and virtually around the same time—came to similar turning points, Robert Smithson, Richard Long, Helen and Newton Harrison to name just a few. As well, most artists before and since, whether painter or sculptor, composer or dancer, were essentially doing the same thing, even if less readily apparent to the viewer. In an even broader sense, human beings have been making work which spoke to the significance of our collaboration and relationship with nature for many, many thousands of years.
Whether we see it plainly in the physical result or not, art is always a collaboration between human beings and the rest of this nature. Thematically, this is the frame in which the “Artists in Conversation with Nature in Cities” series seeks to peer into and expand upon. There are also many professions which lend themselves to being in touch with this way of thinking and doing: philosophers, writers, musicians, farmers, and—at least around The Nature of Cities—urban planners, architects, landscape architects, teachers, researchers, scientists, and a host of other professionals have their ears, eyes, and hearts tuned into the natural world.
The conversations which take place here will not limit themselves to those individuals who society typically considers “artists”, and indeed we hope each reader and participant might begin to see their own work in this light, too. Regardless of labels of profession, all of us working deeply with nature in cities are working as ‘artists’ in the most basic sense of the word, as artist and researcher David Haley offers in Art, Ecology and Reality:
“The word ‘art’ is derived from the ancient Sanskrit word, ‘rta’ … the dynamic process by which the whole cosmos continues to be created, virtuously.”
In this way, the act of taking part in art offers humanity a way to express our relationship with nature itself; literally, to allow nature to work through us. Today, we use the word “art” to suggest anything done with truth and beauty—Haley makes examples of “the art of cooking, the art of football, the art of gardening, the art of making cities”. We tend to use this term when a person’s actions seem “second nature”—the Latin roots of this phrase too, literally meaning something done “according to nature”.
This roundtable is part of a series involving artists and creative practitioners from around the world, all exploring their working relationship with a specific element (water, air, soil, trees) of nature in cities.
At times, the conversation taking place may be in the realm of metaphor, at times it may become a working dialogue, a physical relationship and exchange within nature. We wish to enlighten the deep undercurrent that flows freely underneath the surface of our urban everyday lifestyles, and practices that offer possibilities to communicate and immerse ourselves in the larger than human web of life. The artists here are investigating these forms of understandings. In various senses, they position themselves within and in co-existence with natural systems in the world. Moreover, they invite us to see the elements of nature as teachers and guides to honor and to learn from. Their art lies in creating the respectful conditions of a nurturing dialogue and transmission, upon a vast field of instinctual awareness that enables us to experience our profound interconnectedness with all beings. It depends on all of us to embody this intimate experience and let it inform our ways to inhabit the cities and the world.
For our first roundtable, we invite seven artists to present their conversations with air in cities. Through their different creative practices, they invite us to encounter the air in a wide variety of ways. The air is, in their words, the breath that flows through all of us, and unites us in a “common ground”, it is the foundation for life. It embodies innumerable languages made of vibrations, frequencies, senses, sounds and movements. Its vastness connects us to the invisible and the spiritual, but also to the flight of birds, the passing of clouds and larger changes in the weather. It is a medium of consciousness.
We hope you enjoy reading and participating in the conversations below, embracing the opportunity with us, to better understand, develop, and talk about our own relationships to the nature and character of cities.
Yours in Art and Nature,
Carmen Bouyer and Patrick M. Lydon Panel Co-Chairs
Fanny Retsek combines printmaking with drawing and collage. Her work focuses on environmental degradation, species decline and the cohabitation of humans with wild animals.
This work reminds me to make an effort as I rush along to look at the wondrous life in the air above.
Look Up
When I want to see something wild I look up. The air above my city is full of bluebirds, juncos, chickadees, crows, red-tail hawks, turkey vultures. I also see blue herons and night herons, egrets, ducks and geese migrating. Peregrine falcons live downtown. Every fall the trees of the supermarket parking lot fill with red-winged black birds. Their sound is amazing. The sea gulls circle above my freeway onramp every morning, on their daily commute from the bay to the landfill. I have even seen a bald eagle.
I am inspired by my glimpses of these wild animals as we co-navigate our shared neighborhood. These sightings are covetous, and witnessing the profane activities of my non-human neighbors has become a sacred experience, elevated and revered in my prints and drawings.
Some species that have adapted and thrived in our cities are not always seen as successful and wild. Pigeons have lived in cities with man since the beginning of civilization. They have been used as food, religious icons, and messengers in war and in peace. These days however they are referred to as pests and exterminated as such. But they are beautiful and complex, living their own lives overhead. I join those who have celebrated the pigeon in art for over 5000 years, giving her the status she deserves. She does not often get that these days.
Pigeons are incredibly intelligent. They can learn the alphabet, distinguish human individuals, and conceptualize. I have read that they can recognize themselves in a mirror, and in such is one of only six species that have been found to have this ability. And, I have seen how tenderly they raise and care for their young.
Poppy Reveals her Beauty, Fanny Retsek, screenprint monotype and drawing ink, 2005.
I made Poppy Reveals her Beauty to pay homage to the pigeons I live with. It reminds me to make an effort as I rush along to look at the wondrous life in the air above. The layers of this print are like the layers of a city, built up and then stripped down, then built up again. Made for people, but we don’t live here alone. I am happy about that. The birds connect me to the greater ecosystem.
The raucous crows also inspire my work. Because of their fearless and clever nature I see them as defiant. They are not tamed or subdued. They live here on their own terms. Crows have only recently returned to urban areas. Because people would shoot them, they tended to avoid us. But since it became illegal to fire a gun within city limits and crows became protected from indiscriminate killing in 1972 they have slowly repopulated American cities. Large flocks staking their claim.
So when I think of the air above our cities I think of the 400 million pigeons who live among us. I think of the birds of all kinds that have been able to make a home where I have my home, and of those who just pass through.
Birds, Fanny Retsek, watercolor and ink on paper, 2000.Common crow, Fanny Retsek, lithograph, 2001.Instead of going to the Whitney, Fanny Retsek, etching with chine colle, 2004.Crow and the Hawk, Franny Retsek, etching and collage, 2015.
Inspired to introduce well-being creatively, Maggie creates sensory experiences. She cofounded a city perfumery nose hk, on smell and emotions, and teaches yoga and mindfulness.
Nose hk: from Air to Mindfulness, Emotions and History of Hong Kong
Sensory stimulation in Hong Kong can be overwhelming, it is easy to numb our senses … ‘nose hk’ began as a pop-up perfumery to bring mindfulness to the urban setting, and to tell the story of Hong Kong through smell.
The five senses are gateways to the world. Through seeing, hearing, touching, smelling, tasting, we sense and relate to the surroundings.
When we pause and engage our senses, we are fully present in this very moment, to take in the world around. All within an intake of air.
A contrast to being caught in our thoughts and judgements—drifting into the past and future, and potentially causing anxiety and worry—pausing to engage our senses offers an entry point to mindfulness.
With this in mind,nose hk began as a pop-up perfumery with a desire to bring mindfulness to the urban setting, and to tell the story of Hong Kong, its history, and its people through smell.
It relates to the city’s history as an incense producer, as Hong Kong literally translates to “Fragrant Harbour”. Even today, the wild agarwood that naturally grows here (although an extremely small number remains) is more expensive per ounce than gold.
Maggie at the nose hk city perfumery, co-founded with Rachel Yan, at Oil Street Art Space in Hong Kong, in Summer 2015. Photo: Rachel Yan
Originally part of an art exhibition, the nose hk project featured smells from the area, and 2,000 “smell memories” from visitors. More than just reflections on the smells themselves, the stories we collected often resonated on a deep personal level, on family, love, heartbreaks etc…
One person wrote:
“After my ex-boyfriend broke up with me, when I walked on the streets, I often smelled this familiar scent of him. My heart would skip a beat, wondering ‘is he around?’ and tried looking for him in the crowd. It has been two years since he left me. Now when I walk on the streets, I sometimes still notice that smell… But I realized that it us just from a shampoo, and he is just a nobody.”
Another entry says:
“My most memorable smell is that of fried beef noodles. I grew up in a poor family, dad was a manual laborer working on a boat and didn’t always bring home money. On the days when he did, he would [bring] fried beef noodles home, the whole family, including my four siblings and I, would jump out of our bunk beds to share it together. It remains my most memorable smell.”
Inside nose hk perfumery featured seven ‘smell spots’ in the neighborhood where the essence of the smells was recreated with natural ingredients (eg: dried shrimp roe). At the background is a wall of ‘smell stories’ that visitors shared. Photo: Maggie Lin
Smell has strong ties with emotions. When we smell something, we can be transported back to an event, a person, a place of significance. Seventy percent of those who lost their sense of smell experience depression. One lady with such conditions described to me how she feels like she is being wrapped in a bubble or vacuum, having lost her connection with the world around her when she lost her sense of smell.
Smell particles travel through air, reaching our olfactory receptors at the nasal cavity, before they are detected and received by the brain. Then the message is interpreted and noticed. Yet, as much as we know about how smell moves about the air and is received and processed by our body, individually we know very little about our relationships with smell. We have a limited vocabulary to describe our relationship with smell, and what words we do have are often referential—meaning we use one smell to describe another.
A sensory hike for lululemon, combining nose hk with Maggie’s yoga and mindfulness practice to bring us back to the present moment and explore. Photo: Awais Djudge
Light, sound, or smell alone do not carry meaning in themselves, it is how we relate to them that creates this significance. Weaving nose hk together with a practice based on yoga and mindfulness, I have been leading sensory walks and experiences, to engage in our city creatively, and mindfully. From rediscovering connections with the surroundings, we open up ourselves to connecting within, with our emotions, and sharing it with each other.
While Hong Kong has one of the densest populations and most expensive housing prices in the world, private space conducive for reflection and looking within is a luxury. Sensory stimulation can be overwhelming: light and sounds from billboards, being sardine-packed into a train, the salty smell of sea, curry fishballs, incense… It is easy to numb our senses, escape from what is around and dive into the other world made available by our smartphones and noise-cancelling headphones.
An alternative is possible.
Every time we pause and take a conscious breath, being aware of the air coming in and out of our bodies, we are creating a sense of spaciousness within; a beginning to relating more closely with ourselves and with the world around us.
Up into the out there: dance improvisation and adapting to urban ecosystems and climate change
“… from the changing conditions of the earth’s atmosphere, to the exchange of air between us through our breath [air] holds us to a collective sensibility.
Where does air begin?
At the edge of the troposphere, 12 km above us, at the outer edge of exosphere, the dynamic boundary between the earth’s atmosphere and space, 10,000 km away? Or in the minute/tiny exchange at the membrane of a cell, or in the quiet stillness at the beginning of each inhale and exhale? We see air when the wind plays with a plastic bag, that feral urban balloon that has become an iconic, ironic and poetic image of litter in the city, or when we see the wings of a bird beat the air as it pushes its small body forward, propelling it into flight on its long migrations north and south.
The BIRD BRAIN Ducks and Geese Migration in Times Square NYC. Photo: Andrew Lichtenstein
As a choreographer I have used the dancing body as a research tool to develop embodied knowledge of environmental phenomena such as bird migration, abandoned reservoirs, watersheds and aquifers, as well as the city itself as a dynamic and adaptive space. Improvisation has been a key to this process. It provides a way of researching across scales of perception and sensation from the internal landscape of the body’s imagination to larger moving phenomena such as weather, waterways and social, political and cultural movements that shape our understandings of urban communities.
Document describing the iLAB LAboratory. Photo: Jennifer Monson.
The body is a highly tuned instrument for calibrating these small shifts, and for collecting environmental data … with more layers than most of the digital tools we use.
In 2013, I had the opportunity to mentor the iLAB residency, Higher E.D., with dance artist, Lailye Weidman; dancer/scientist, Jessica Einhorn; and landscape architect/urban designer, Liz Barry of Public Laboratory for Open Technology and Science (PLOTS) as they researched urban weather systems. Watching them launch kites and balloons with small, cheap cameras attached to them, up into the urban sky gave me a keen sense of how bodies can understand the movement of wind, heat and pressure from this activity. After this experience, Liz articulated a thought that I had long sensed: that the body is a highly tuned instrument for calibrating these small shifts, and for collecting environmental data—in fact even more precise or with more layers than most of the digital tools we use.
This kind of knowledge is often undervalued as we rely more heavily on digital tools that bypass the body’s intelligence. Bodies are full of information and expertise and, when they move/dance with intention through the world, they can pick up on the subtle shifts and changes that are happening over time. As the weather systems that are hitting our global cities become more intense and damaging, and as the images on news media become more dramatic, we are instilled with fear and rely less on the more subtle cues from the landscape itself. In this intensity it seems important for us, in the words of oceanographer, Phil Orton, to invite grace instead of fear. We can build a huge wall to protect ourselves or we can nurture porous boundaries that allow us to be in a more delicate and constant relationship with the powerful forces of climate change that are shaping the earth in this moment. Improvisation is about spontaneous decisions that are based on long-term experiences with pushing into the unknown and mining the imagination to help us bypass old habits and imagine new ways of moving and understanding the world. Improvising bodies are also relational and interdependent, like the layers of the atmosphere, and in this way they are also political.
We can build a huge wall to protect ourselves or we can nurture porous boundaries that allow us to be in a more delicate and constant relationship with the powerful forces that are shaping the earth.
In this contemporary moment when political ideologies based in fear, such as white supremacy and xenophobia, are erupting in our political systems and power is represented through images of walls and fortified borders, it seems apt to look at the momentous, dynamic movements in the air above us. For example, the acid rain produced in one place that poisons another, the rages of weather systems that bring torrents of water to one city and drought to another, as well as the pathways of migratory birds and insects that weave a web of connection across ecosystems and communities. The atmosphere is clearly shifting—more CO2, more greenhouse gases, rising temperatures.
Air has its own power and is something that we share across scales from the changing conditions of the earth’s atmosphere, to the exchange of air between us through our breath. It holds us to a collective sensibility. How can we use our bodies to attend to and imagine new and more equitable conditions of cities with grace not borders?
As we move through and in the air around us, how can we attend to the ways fear keeps us from embracing the novel, more just urban ecosystems we are in the process of sustaining and creating in our cities?
We use air to communicate with the universe, with nature, and with people through breathing.
I am a person.
Born in Turkey.
I breathe air into the Eastern-Anatolian “Ney flute”. And I breath air into the Native American “Spirit flute”… and this air unites every culture in one body. Through those two flutes, traditional Sufi and Native American rituals come together in today’s living conditions. In one single breath.
Two separate cultures,
Two separate instrument-tools,
One air-breath.
One world!
No limits!
Breathing air is the first and most basic common feature for most living beings to survive. Air transcends culture. Air is air for everyone. People who don’t know to which cultures these flutes belong to always have the same reaction. They calm down and stand at the doorstep of their inner journey with a mystical expression on their face. They are moving completely away from the external worldly system and from social pressures.
Where I was born does not matter.
Pure breath has no culture,
No gender,
No religion,
No appearance and taste,
It only has its voice,
Through the breath…
We use air to communicate with the universe, with nature, and with other people through breathing. People communicate with the “inner and outer world” through breathing to try to comprehend the cosmos and themselves. There are no verbal or written literary languages in this communication established through breathing. There are no words. Here, the sonic language is universal. The flutes uses the “Air – Breath” to implement subjects and emotions that cannot be expressed in words based on a single source of communication. Through the breathing of air music expresses itself. Music is the way of communication that at that moment connects the place, the sky and the known-unknown.
Location: Kabak and Faralya valleys in Muğla region, Turkey, September 2017
Recently I created a workshop aimed at creating collective work on the Breath using the Ney flute which is a Mesopotamian-Middle Eastern-Anatolian blowing instrument. The name of this work is Nef’ses, which is the combination of nefs (nafs – ego), nefes (breath) and ses (sound). In this work, we share our experience of breathing techniques and postures as well as mystical stories of the Ney flute, of the nafs and of sufism. Then together we blow the Ney on our way to our inner journey.
In parallel to this group study on the Ney flute, I am investigating the culture of the Spirit flute from the Native American Nations. Using “Air – Breath” the flute communicates with the nature, trees, sky, water and animals. While I play amongst trees, I experience that the trees establish a connection between the earth and the sky.
Location: Kabak and Faralya valleys in Muğla region, Turkey, September 2017
When we communicate with trees, we talk to them and at the same time we listen to the unknown, the unspoken and the mystic-esoteric. This process continues and spirals in an oval movement. It has no beginning and no end. It has no conclusion and no cause-and-effect patterns. It becomes the sound and the ear to perceive the “continuing me” in the vanishing and re-constructing universe—at every moment.
These rituals must go on so that its effects can endure in our society and lead the artists’ souls in rural areas and in cities.
The Ney [flute] speaks to the heart and conscience of people … These rituals must go on so that its effects can endure in our society and lead the artist souls, in urban and rural areas alike.
Breath and City
In urban areas, machinery, industrial sounds and the heart’s conscience operate simultaneously. It becomes difficult to hear our inner voice with this volume level. The capital system uses many arguments to prevent us from hearing the voice of our consciousness. This noise in the city is carnal and aimed at the nafs, the ego.
Location: Paspatur – Fethiye Old Town in Muğla region, Turkey, September 2017
Street performance in Paspatur (Fethiye Old Town / Muğla), August 2017, Turkey. Photographer unknown.
Here in the city,
there are buildings instead of trees,
concrete instead of soil,
and paints instead of flowers,
and there is mutation in the living.
Even the air is different.
The water is polluted!
Only the sky is the same.
There is almost nothing here that could be found in the forest or in the countryside.
Noise is too high
I cannot hear myself
I am resisting
There are ants under the paving stones
I can feel it …
In this urban struggle, the musician-artist we encounter, especially in the city streets, conveys to us the experience of the inner journey and the knowledge-inspiration. He expresses the collective breathing acquired from nature via the flute through “Breath – Sound”. The Ney speaks to the heart and conscience of people. The musician exhibits a stance against all the city chaos and represents a balance that exists in its antagonism. He whispers in our ears that human conscience-heart has no religion, language, culture, gender, hierarchy, and authority.
Artists are at an unusual place in an unusual way via “Air – Breath – Sound”.
They make us question.
They invite us to the inner world, to love and to a just and equitable universe.
Street performance in Paspatur (Fethiye Old Town / Muğla), August 2017, Turkey. Photographer unknown.Street performance in Paspatur (Fethiye Old Town / Muğla), August 2017, Turkey. Photographer unknown.
The Collins + Goto Studio is known for long-term projects that involve socially engaged environmental art-led research and practices; with additional focus on empathic relationships with more-than-human others. Methods include deep mapping and deep dialogue.
We began to understand indications of health and well-being, but standing before the tree we sensed a slow moving entity whose breath signs were hard to perceive.
Plein Air 2017
Air (like food and water) is a condition and foundation of life. Where my partner Reiko and I once worked with such elemental realities, these days we are primarily interested in being in dialogue with living things. As we started out with this new body of work, we established a critical framework relative to our practice. We committed to ideas of interface in rural settings and correspondent images, ideas and artefacts in urban settings. We committed to experimentation with empathic exchange with more-than-human others, and the idea that art should make a small contribution to the wellbeing or prosperity of living things.
For over twenty years, breath has been a topic of inquiry. We ask ourselves how we can best attend to it, as it is manifest in living things. What do we mean by this? In the bed late at night I listen to her and she listens to me. When we were first married in California she did rehabilitation with small birds and mammals, in the middle of the night we would wake up to feed them, always listening. In the morning we would lie quietly in the dark listening intently for breath and signs of small creatures stirring. More recently we spend a good bit of time with “the Darkness”, a large prey animal, changes in his breathing are a good indication of distress, curiosity and contentment.
Working on land and water for over a decade in Pennsylvania we began to see the breath of the river, the respiration of forests—early mornings in the fall and the spring were particularly good times to see what was most often invisible. We wondered about individual plants and trees and were learning about empathy with human and more-than-human others. We began to understand indications of health and well-being, but standing before the tree we sensed a slow-moving entity whose breath signs were hard to perceive.
So, we built Plein Air, you can have a look and listen here…
We are interested in cultural decoys as both intention and method. A cultural decoy is an embodied idea that has a finite form here and now but links to an infinite set of things that occupy a separate historical and/or spatial context; they are autonomous objects that offer a visual and conceptual entanglement in things and meaning. They can be understood as a focal point for imaginative engagement.
We see the Plein Air work as one of a series of cultural decoys. It is an intentionally deliberative artwork that is composed of trees and a carefully formed wooden body that emanates live video and sound through scientific and technology based systems. Working in real time we hear the life signs of one leaf on a tree.
The sound is distinctive; the bass lines are rhythmic the chords are more expressive. Walking around the system viewers notice the bass lines first. They reveal increase and decrease in photosynthesis and transpiration in a single tree leaf. A complex set of accompanying tones ‘shaped’ by subtle changes in specific sensor data provide a melodic quality that changes in pitch, timber and volume as the leaf undergoes changes in relationship to the air around us. There is a subtle, higher pitched tone that reacts to available sunlight, and the loss of sunlight, as shadows are cast or a cloud passes over.
The actions and reactions of Plein Air are driven by a tree leaf, in relationship to light, temperature, humidity and the breath of humans.
The breath of a tree: With this sculpture we are working with the recognition of the speed of reaction as a tree leaf responds to changes to temperature, humidity, carbon dioxide and sunlight, and the move from a language-based, visual-sign output to a sensory, sound-symbol output. The challenge was how to retain focus on a tree and its environment.
The mediated experience with sensors and sound interrupts perception and the idea (the normative value) that trees are slow moving things, out of sync with human experience of time and place. We are currently exhibiting this work at home in Glasgow (at the Glasgow Botanic Gardens), where we are struck by those that return to listen again, who bring family and friends to hear the sound of a tree. The experience requires a mix of knowledge and imagination; people understand it on different levels.
During the day, interesting discursive spaces emerge with people from all walks of life, with trees a palpable part of the exchange.
If the commonality of our breath guides us, a city free of poisonous air may arise.
Air me, a conversation with air
When I first arrived in New York I had a dream. I saw everybody in line waiting for a bus, except the bus and the people were underwater! We were all
sub-marine creatures. My first thought was air. Have we learned to breathe under water?
I sense the city with my breath. I hear air and it hears me.
“A word moves
a bit of air.”
Nachman of Bratzlaw
Air is language; it speaks as we breathe in/out. But we no longer hear.
There’s an air of excitement in the streets of New York.
An air with a shape and form as if it were a bouncy ball
That feeds on unrealized dreams.
Air is the common ground we share with trees, leaves and machines,
Yet, who sees the oneness?
We have forgotten the com, of the common force.
Air short of breath, short of imagination, is unable to expand its lungs.
If you were to ask air how it feels, it would say HELP!
I wanna be air!
not poison.
But we have decided not to hear air, or our breath, the sound of air in/out
of constricted, pained lungs.
We don’t feel people’s suffering, or the suffering of air.
When the commons is erased, not even air can weave us together, joining the opposite weight of sorrow and joy.
The only commonality we have left is the poison we carefully breed.
How does air dance with the industrial machine? Knowing its being undone
by its compulsion to work and work until no more breathable air remains?
Our bodies work to serve the machine.
Our bodies work ceaselessly to kill the air.
Our bodies align with death.
The death of air.
Yet, air desires to play, to sense our sensing it, as a flower senses wind.
They say a flower has twenty-four senses while we have only six.
If we heard our latent senses, a new sense of “Sense” may arise, a sense of the city as a wondrous common ground.
A web woven by none but all at once.
If the commonality of our breath guides us, a city free of poisonous air may arise.
I remember the first art project I proposed in New York in the 80’s: I said: “Manhattan, such a tiny island! We can walk it from top to bottom; why let cars in? This should be a city for walkers, cyclists and little sun-powered vehicles for deliveries and the infirm. A city of breath.” They thought I was mad.
“His children are his fragrant breath”
said Valentinus in his Gospel of Truth.
(from The Nag Hammadi Library.)
Cecilia Vicuña
Translated by James O’Hern with the author.
New York, September 21, 2017
“Cloud-Net” by Cecilia Vicuña, New York, l998
Cinematography by Francesco Cincotta, edited by Chris Borkowski and Paige Saez. This work was part of the Cloud-Net travelling exhibition by Cecilia Vicuña organized by Hallwalls Contemporary Arts Center, Diverseworks Artspace and Art in General.
Air, element of the invisible: an invitation into the world of perception
Air becomes a tool to communicate, dissolve tensions, transform resistances, it opens up hearts and looks, cleans up the perception filters and cloggings in the body. Air becomes a vehicle of intention, a bridge between matter and consciousness.
How do we listen? How do we learn to perceive the world that surrounds us?
As an artist, composer and therapist, my process is one of an “ecologic listening” to our environment, questioning our modes of perception, in search for nuances and sensitive interactions with the living.
From a physical standpoint, Air is a propagation medium for vibrations. Sound travels through vibration of air molecules, the impact of which propagates to our ears. When the frequencies of these wavelength are circumscribed to a certain perimeter, we may perceive sounds.
Beyond a certain threshold, frequencies are not audible to the human ear, nevertheless, these frequencies do propagate in the Air, in their secret language.
In my work, Air is a metaphor of the field of information for what is almost audible and questions what is happening beyond the threshold of our perceptions, explores the possibilities of interacting with this information, which is there, beyond words and sounds.
The vibratory dimension of Air, transporting emissions of matter, may be used in my work as a metaphor in order to talk about intuitions, memories, feelings, emotions. Air embodies here the conscience and receptiveness that lies in the matter.
My movies through various initiatic travels and tales, present individuals who have developed that capability to perceive the tenuous, kinesthetic signals of the world around them. There, the human body becomes the antenna picking up those frequencies and becomes the sounding board revealing them. Artistic creation becomes a possibility for me to create new languages in order to gather and give substance to these feeble signals, these subtle dialogs between living beings and their environment.
~ Air: invisibility revealing a sensitive world ~
My movies introduce people who are listeners, who perceive and feel their environment in a subtle way. They speak the language of atmospheres, a language of Air.
Still from the movie “The Structure of the Diamond” 2012. See below for the link to the film.
The Structure of the Diamond tells of an initiatic voyage made with Jorge Flores, a Peruvian shaman. With few words, he travels through desert, town, mountains. In this movie, the exploration leads to the heart of a cave, with the archetypal image of a bird-man.
The structure of the movie proposes shifting modes of perception from logic to sensoriality, and invites the audience to feel the atmospheres rather than grasping them with their minds.
In that movie, the wind plays a part of its own, bridge between two worlds, two modes of perception. The wind embodies mystery as an initiator, a guide towards the world of perception. It is a wind of ancient knowledge. Air as a messenger of information and a field for the propagation of consciousness.
Stills from the movie “Searching for L frequency”, by Julia Stern, 2013. See below for the link to the film.
In my other movie, Searching for L frequency, we discover an inspired inventor who builds antennas capable of capturing hertz waves crossing the whole world, issued from cities and mirrored in the ionosphere (the highest atmospheric layer). The machine that he has created to navigate through these waves captures the movements of his hands, from one frequency to another, and conduct a sound travel orchestra immersing us amid an infinity of signals and information…
In that movie, the sound is a means of revealing information traveling through Air but that our ears cannot perceive.
In the meantime, the movie includes the portraits of four characters, whose interaction with the world takes place not in action but in perception.
That interaction is invisible and the characters, in positions apparently static, enter into resonance with tangible information emanating from the environment: the movement is internal.
By giving some space to what is not tangible nor visible, these characters reveal the unique relationship they entertain with Air and wave vibrations.
~ Air, medium of consciousness: the original breath ~
In my acousmatic sound installation, Elementary Openings, Air intervenes also as the creative breath animating the matter, a kind of ode to the elements. Breath, wind, song, meet like a guiding thread and impulse movement, deploy matter. The piece begins with a long slick of wind and flutes, a breath following traces of an origin, a fertile breath giving birth to primary elements of the nature all through the piece up to sounds of urban environments, in a continuous cycle.
Audio credit: The Elements Openings, an acousmatic sound installation, by Julia Stern, 2017.
That animating breath, I also felt it with healers and shamans with whom I worked in various cities of the world. In their healing methods, interaction with Air is always present. Sung or whistled breaths are directed with an intention towards the being, the body parts, the plants, the elements… Air becomes a tool to communicate, dissolve tensions, transform resistances, it opens up hearts and looks, cleans up the perception filters and cloggings in the body.
Air becomes a vehicle of intention, a bridge between matter and consciousness.
As a therapist, and in the approach I propose with Ericksonian hypnosis, Air is also the element of passage between different modes of perception of the world: breathing can act as a guide to contact that inner place from which one opens to his perceptions in full consciousness. François Roustang, a hypnotherapeut, refers to this condition as a state of Perceptude, when a person is immersed in his/her perceptive universe, without intervention of the intellect. While « common » perception segments, Perceptude is a state of perception of the continuity of the being and of consideration of our links to the world.
Somewhere in the breath of the Being, some precious information is emerging on the surface of the conscious mind, adjusting the positioning towards the world and renewing an art of living.
~ Experimenting the language of Air in the city ~
Human sensor
Holding on to listen, taste the Air, the ambient atmosphere, through the all body. Perceiving the nuances requests that we take time, our allies being the slowness and the softness, to take time to realize that our body already perceives everything. It is only the process of thinking that needs time and humility to open some space to this language.
Hold on in the midst of the city, wherever you are, whenever something pleases you, unpleases you or makes you react. Take time to install yourself in your body posture, wherever your body wants to perceive. Install yourself in the midst of time among the global movement, and just observe your feelings about the Air that surrounds you, with closed eyes and an imperceptible body movement. Let your whole body become a surface of impression.
It is like being curious to discover the different textures of the Air, its temperatures, its colours, its smells, its movements, its personalities according to the locations, its moments. Observe how your body is reacting to the different spaces: do you feel comfortable or uncomfortable? What perceptions and emotions are present, do you feel a kind of invitation, do you perceive a need ? Which part of your body is attracting your attention? What does this part of your body knows about this kind of Air?
Taking care of the environment
In an urban environment, we have the possibility to interact with the atmosphere of a place or a moment through the Air. I am inviting you to try the experience of blowing some kind words towards the corners of a room, towards a thing or a being. Try to install some consciousness intentionally in the space, it could also be as simple as greeting whoever or whatever is here, thinking that you thank them to be here, wishing them to be well, blowing on them a colour, or something you like. It is like making a wish and blowing a candle, or blowing a kiss towards someone you love. Blow your wishes towards some spaces, some beings or some things.
Then close your eyes and notice whatever is changing in your physical sensations, in your perception of the space, in the response of the environment. It can also simply be done in silence, spreading those thoughts during the expiring in the directions you choose.
Every month we feature a Global Roundtable in which a group of people respond to a specific question in The Nature of Cities.
show/hide list of writers
Hover over a name to see an excerpt of their response…click on the name to see their full response.
Antonio José García Cano, MurciaArt can promote reflection about our relationship with place: promote attachment place, point out the ecological and cultural values that still remain, and to generate dialogue and imagination about the future.
Katrine Claassens, MontrealWe had been lulled into hypnotic tap-water love. We filled our lives with the tamed water: swimming pools, fish ponds, saturated lush lawns.
Claudia Luna Fuentes, SaltilloThe presence in the community of actions and elements originated from art has provoked a reflection beyond art.
Nazlı Gürlek, Istanbul & Palo AltoWater is not “urban” or “rural” to me. Water is not this or that concept; it is not separation. It is wholeness, connectedness, oneness. Sacred.
Basia Irland, AlbuquerqueThese few brief excerpts are chosen to contrast how rivers in cities are viewed as sacred, as dumping grounds for every form of pollution, and as concrete conveyance channels.
Robin Lasser, OaklandMelting ice is one of the clearest images of climate change. Our ice ships are clear and black ice cubes, in the shape of the Titanic. They melt in front of the camera, to a soundtrack of love letters sourced from the community.
Marguerite Perret, TopekaThe Snæfellsjökull glacier, visible from Reykjavik, is disappearing. Vatnajökull and Langjökul glaciers may be gone by the end of the century. Climate change will be challenging here as everywhere. But Iceland is not Iceland without glaciers.
Mary Mattingly, New YorkI wanted to co-learn techniques for living in a city acetic-ly, and to envision an urban center that could be less dependent on material supply chains.
Bonnie Ora Sherk, San FranciscoIt began as “Sitting Still l”, a temporary performance installation. It evolved into urban agriculture, ecology, multi-arts and education center that transformed acres of derelict land fragments.
Nadia Vadori-Gauthier, ParisThe qualities of water, allied with my experience of dance, both in the studio and in nature and the city, greatly influence my way of entering into contact with people and environments.
Aloïs Yang, PragueHow can a tiny event—a drop of water, or the sound of cracking and melting ice—create feedback loops that eventually can be seen as the whole? Every aspect inside a system is connected to others and capable of revealing the bigger picture.
Patrick M. Lydon is an American ecological writer and artist based in Korea whose seeks to re-connect cities and their inhabitants with nature. He writes The Possible City series, is co-founder of City as Nature (Daejeon). He is an Arts Editor here at The Nature of Cities.
As human beings who inhabit bodies made mostly of water, connecting to water as an element means connecting to a large part of who we are. Yet more than this, the artists in this roundtable teach us that if we pay close attention, water can help us connect in profound and useful ways to the environments around us.
Artists who work closely with water seem to take upon themselves a duty, to help us remember, imagine, and even embody the importance of water to life on this planet, and in our cities. They remind us that rivers run through our cities, but also through our bodies. In connecting the water within us and the water that makes up the world around us, they offer opportunities for the kinds of deepened relationships with the Earth that our society can benefit greatly from. Here, water becomes both teacher, and a sort of guide for us to imagine how we might build cities with respect for this precious element.
In cities, water flows through human infrastructures, from drinkable water systems and agricultural fields, to sewerage systems, it travels through pipes, channels, ravines, aquifers, and treatment plants. Yet water continues to follow its ancient patterns too, ever present as the cohabiting sea, lake, wetland or river, streams, taking form in the weather; the monsoons, the snow storms, and the periods of drought, where withering landscapes, and their co-inhabitants, respond to its sudden absence.
Human settlements are responding to water-related issues constantly. Streams and rivers are covered by urban expansion in one area; elsewhere others are unburied and restored. In many parts of the world water pollution is egregious, with two billion humans lacking access to clean water, and countless other beings in nature suffering even worse fates; elsewhere laws to regulate pollution and waste are mitigating or reversing these pollution and access issues. As sea levels rise and climate change affects our cities more broadly in unpredictable ways; in parallel we adapt and protect, creating ecological parks to form living buffers and promoting vibrant water-protecting ecosystems.
On an even more fundamental level, changes to social attitudes towards the precious resource of water – often attained through the collaboration of arts and science – are driving efforts to create more long-term sustainable ways of living and being with this Earth.
For this, our second roundtable, we invite eleven artists to present their conversation with water in cities. Coming from seven different countries—Czech Republic, France, Mexico, South Africa, Spain, Turkey, and the United States—these artists inspire our own experiences with water in cities. They engage with water in the shape of fog, rain, ice, restored wetlands, urban rivers and creeks, city fountains, and reclaimed urban spaces. To them, water is an inclusive moving matter that when listened to, can serve as a conduit to larger understandings.
Water is vital, spiritual, and restorative. It is a common that connects us all, to each other, and to our biosphere. The conversations here take various forms, from the performative to the media-based, from poems to sculptures to design, and from community and civic engagement, to methods of collaborative caring for water and for each other. We are pleased to have you discover these conversations with us, and invite you to further enrich them by responding to the work and perspectives together.
Carmen Bouyer and Patrick M. Lydon Panel Co-Chairs
Antonio José García Cano is an artist interested in Climate Change and its consequences on water and rivers. He learns from the place, other disciplines, and the complexity of reality.
Art can lead us to reflect on our relationship to place: promote place attachment, point out the ecological and cultural values, and generate dialogue and imagination about the future.
Learning from the water
I live in Rincón de Beniscornia (Murcia), a small village in South East Spain. It is in a traditional irrigation area called Huerta de Murcia located in the floodplains of the Segura River, very close to the city. In this place, water has been essential for the economy, culture and landscape. Over centuries, the river has flooded the area and people made a living from varied agricultural activities.
However, today the place has changed deeply: urban developments have been built on top of fertile soils, the river has been channelized and engineered, and parts of the irrigation channels have been funneled into pipes under roads.
Not many people still cultivate the land, and water has become scarce.
The ecological values of the ecosystem have been degraded. In addition, climate change is bringing more challenges, among them higher temperatures, droughts, and floods.
From my perspective, art can promote reflection about our relationship with place. These are some projects where I try to promote attachment to the place, point out the ecological and cultural values that still remain, and to generate dialogue and imagination about the future of those places.
Azarbón (2009, Rincón de Beniscornia, Murcia, Spain)
Azarbe or Azarbón is the channel that collects the water that has not been used to irrigate the lands and brings it back to the river. When I was a child I used to play there. My grandparents fished and played there, drank that water and used it to cook.
Nowadays, you cannot see water very often and it is not drinkable.
I did an artistic intervention in this place using reeds (Arundo Donax) which is an invasive plant but very used historically here. The goal of this piece was to keep the memory of flowing water alive in that channel. In the short film Azarbón you can see how the artwork was created and also learn from the memories of José Cano Cano and Antonia Cano Cano about this place.
In Rincón de Beniscornia, I began a process of learning about the place from the elders, from old photos and ancient maps and documents. I understood how the river had been a living organism moving in the floodplain for centuries until we constrained it by levees and how important the smart irrigation system is. I walked with people who live there and outsiders to share my knowledge, to keep on learning from them, and to generate connections and learning networks.
I drew maps of the place where you can see features that do not exist any longer like the last river or acequias. They also include the traditional names of places.
We filmed eight videos of a farmer (Joaquín Martínez Ortín) doing traditional agricultural tasks, such as preparing the soil, planting potatoes, or watering the plants. They are part of the series of videos called “The cycles of the orchard”.
A community walk during the Iskurna project.Hand drawn map for the Iskurna project.
After these two projects, I understood this as an ideal place to develop a strategy of adaptation and mitigation of climate change. Therefore, I published an article in Ecosistemas science magazine about how we can promote connectivity between the current river, the last meanders of the river and the irrigation channels to embrace different effects of climate change. This system could surround the city, Murcia, and generate a green corridor which regulates temperature, provide shelter, generates oxygen and sink carbon dioxide. In addition, if we eliminate some of the levees of the river and generate natural areas to flood and we also open partially the old meanders, we could embrace floods and promote life at the same time.
Last year, I was an artist and postdoctoral research fellow at University of Washington-Tacoma supported by a Fulbright Scholarship. Below is one of the arts-based projects developed during this time, a process of connecting with the community and scientists, collecting memories, photos, maps and other memories about the Puyallup River in order to learn about how the community had related to the river.
Images from the Puyallup Project.
I developed the exhibition Let the River Draw Again with a mural about the river, a video, collages, some drawings, old photos and maps of the channelization works and questions about how we relate with rivers in urban areas. I learned that Puyallup People had lived for thousands of years sustainably and that in the beginning of the twentieth century the river was channelized to control it.
However, recently, there is good news that Pierce County (WA) is developing a project to reconnect the river with the floodplains.
For me, this is a sign of how we can change the paradigm of controlling rivers to a paradigm of living with them. We need to design plans of coexistence instead of plans of defense from rivers and from nature in general.
How can we learn from the places and their ecological dynamics to evolve with them promoting life and resilience?
How can we learn from those who have lived in a place over centuries and from their culture?
From my perspective, art can facilitate the conversation and raise questions about our relationship with the place.
I am now drawing some of the possible futures for the river in the place where I live in order to share them and promote dialogue and hope about how our relationship with the place could be.
Katrine Claassens' paintings reflect her interest in climate change, urban ecology, and internet memes. She also works as a science, policy and climate change communicator for universities, think tanks, and governments in South Africa and Canada.
We had been lulled into hypnotic tap-water love. We filled our lives with the tamed water: swimming pools, fish ponds, saturated lush lawns.
Wild Water
In Cape Town, we thought we had domesticated water, but we had only tamed it, and taming can come undone.
In the city the water goes neatly, invisibly through underground pipes. It performs pretty tricks obediently in the fountains and it submits its rivers to discreet concrete channels that run unnoticed by highways, silently whisking the water out to the sea. For many in the city, water comes out of a faucet, clean and guaranteed.
In the Southern Suburbs, we had been lulled into hypnotic tap-water love. We filled our lives with the tamed water: swimming pools, fish ponds, saturated lush lawns. Water provided the very soundtrack of our lives—the soft white noise of sprinklers and faraway lawn-mowers, the shrieks of children in the swimming pools.
Swimming pools are a perfect example of how tamed water can quickly become wild. They need to be constantly tended. Scooped daily of leaves, refreshed with chemicals, topped-up with the hose. For all intents, this is dead water, but water that must be worked at to be kept dead. Without attention it rebels with algae blooms—becoming green, soupy, alive—a new ecosystem where little things can begin to live.
I Am Jealous of Your Summer. Medium: Oil on board. Size: 40 x 40cm. By Katrine Claassens
But there can be wilder water still: in between the blue swimming pools there is secret water, water that comes up like weeds, and is often as unloved. There are blocked drainpipes that hold old water as baths for the birds and breeding ponds for mosquitoes. The murmuring complaints of streams diverted underground in the stormwater drains near the mountain. The occasional flooding of the Liesbeek River, asserting its ancient territory and depth. The excitement of a burst pipe in the street. Sometimes water long gone leaves a stain; a built-over pond where small frogs come back each year, looking for lost water.
And then there is rain, the traveller, the wildest water of all, to whom all places are alike. It is through rain, more precisely the lack of rain, that we came to know water as wild again.
There has been a drought in the Cape, one that has silenced the sprinklers and made the lawns dusty and brown. The city told us ‘Day Zero’ would come – the day when water would not come out the taps. The drought has acquainted us suburbanites with the weight of water as we carry buckets from the shower to water the garden. For the first time in over a hundred years, people queue to collect water from the mountain streams. Water is no longer guaranteed and anonymous, but something that comes from somewhere, something that is precarious and precious. It brought the outside into the city – faraway dams came into focus and we learned their names, and then what they looked like at their bottoms.
The drought awakened something ancient, something that scratches in the back of the mind about there not being enough. It also harkens to a future time when the nipping sea waters might rise to take the city again. We walk unwillingly into water wilderness; we have stepped outside.
Claudia's poems and visual works are inspired by the nearby nature (forest and desert). Recent works deal with the relationship between people and water, and the interaction of the social, ethical, and spiritual.
Water: the blood of the world. Creative processes around.
I grew up in a desert, where the sun calcinates the tender buds that have no protection from trees or roofs, where the water slowly evaporates at 45 degrees centigrade. Here there are urban communities that see the water of their rivers contaminated by industries, and rural communities that defend water from the dispossession of cities or the presence of toxic waste deposits. And also, in counterpoint, I grew up with a family that was looking for water to submerge their bodies. That was my childhood: trips to the heart of the desert to swim in pools of water of the valley of Cuatrociénegas and see silhouettes of fish, turtles and grasses, salts and their marks.
Some poems give an account of this relationship, and also some photographs of oxidized metals by the action of water, which account for the work of workers in the desert.
The presence in the community of actions and elements originated from art has provoked a reflection beyond art.
Forest, water, and community
I started writing about forest and water, from a training that made me cross 28 kilometers of the Sierra Madre Oriental. There began the spell, observing the darkness I entered, and then, the dawn with the frozen mantle of fog refreshing my face. Spider webs full of dew were added like diamonds because of the sun that was beginning to appear, also the needles of the bright pines with the soft humidity deposited, the perfumes of the flowers and the earth, the gift of the landscape. I wrote a text in a local newspaper. This writing resonated with an inhabitant of Saltillo, Alejandro Arizpe, who contacted me to write poems and take photographs of this part of the Sierra Madre, called Sierra de Zapalinamé. Thus, in 2009 we published Diario de Montaña. Without proposing to us, we set up a movement based on art, which makes visible the protected area of this mountain range, whose wells offer Saltillo more than 60% of the water. This water motivated the foundation of the city and owes its name: Saltillo, Salto de agua: jump of water.
We call this initiative Yo Soy Zapalinamé and it was consolidated, when observing a construction company invading lands next to the protected area. The work includes publication of poems, a conservation guide to the mountains, reading poems, concerts in nature itself and a musical festival in the protected area.
We also convened through social networks and media, to form a collective citizen that saw the light in 2014 and performs interventions of urban art called environmental communications, as they include common and scientific names of species, as well as conservation phrases.
We are currently in the process of proposing a legal figure that allows citizens to acquire, with small contributions, a percentage of the protected area and avoid reducing the number of hectares.
Personal work
The creative process led me to generate a different support to the book for the poems. In 2014, invited by the Contemporary Art Gallery MACO, Quintana Roo, I wrote chronicles about the biodiversity of the jungle and mangroves; They were made during an expedition with the artists Irma Palacios, Gabriel Macotela, Alberto Castro Leñero, José Castro Leñero, Patricia Soriano, Teresa Zimbrón and Mauricio Colin.
Water became important, until it became a collection of poems. With the support of a PECDA Coahuila 2014 scholarship, I wrote a book of poems initially called “What saves a legion of fog”, inspired by the water and biodiversity of the Sierra de Zapalinamé.
For the reading of this book of poems, I invited the sound artist Mike Campos. We did interventions in book fairs in Saltillo and Monclova, where water is a controversial issue. For these readings we collect sounds of water, stones, grass and wind in the protected area, and we include water sounds in real time.
And as part of the same effort, in 2015 I gave a workshop for young people based in the protected natural area; the participants generated poems and a piece with sound records of the site.
Shortfilm images: “2046. Year of Our Lady The Fog”, a collaboration between Claudia Luna Fuentes and videographer Reginaldo Chapa.Shortfilm images: “2046. Year of Our Lady The Fog”, a collaboration between Claudia Luna Fuentes and videographer Reginaldo Chapa.
It is said that fog is a very low cloud, which is made of tiny drops of water that never stop falling. It is said that fog in order to be fog, must be so thick that it obstructs the vision; that if you look ahead, it is possible to see no more than one kilometer. All that is true, but we say that Fog is the will of Water, the Water that walks standing behind a veil. We say the Fog is our Lady and it is sacred. — Poem by Claudia Luna Fuentes, from “2046, year of our lady The Fog. (Versión Gerardo Mendoza Garza)”
Recently, in collaboration with videographer Reginaldo Chapa, I produced a short film that has as a script part of the poetry collection “What saves a legion of fog”, now under the title 2046: Year of Our Lady the Fog. Mike Campos generated the soundtrack; is also conceptualizing sound pieces from this book of poems.
Currently I continue with interventions in rusty cans found in expeditions to the desert, I add images of flora and fauna of the desert, and also words.
Agua útero desierto, Saltillo, 2018Agua útero desierto, Saltillo, 2018
As part of this poetics, from recycled glass and ceramics I generate containers and elements that store water or reflect on it. I create visual poems made with earth tones obtained from the site, liquid gold leaf, candelilla wax and filaments of ixtle extracted from the lechuguilla -a plant present in the interconnection of desert and forest-. I use water from a spring in the protected area, mixed with my blood, in reference to the struggles and conflicts over water, and also, to allude to the foundation of life: water.
This is my conversation with water, which has allowed the presence in the community of actions and elements originated from art, to provoke a reflection beyond art. I look for the representation of reality, from step to action in reality itself.
Nazli Gurlek is an artist, curator and art writer based between Istanbul and Palo Alto, California. Her work focuses on the physical, emotional, spiritual dimensions of the body, and the micro-politics of affect.
Water is not “urban” or “rural” to me. Water is not this or that concept; it is not separation. It is wholeness, connectedness, oneness. Sacred.
“ONE”
ONE is the choreography of bones, veins, cells, the pineal gland and the spinal chord. This is, ultimately, the choreography of water. Water that flows inside the human body and binds its parts together.
ONE is my performance art piece inspired by a wall painting dated around 6500 BC, discovered inside a house at the Neolithic site of Çatalhöyük (7,100 BC – 5,500 BC, Konya plain, Anatolia, Turkey).
Çatalhöyük, 7,100 BC – 5,500 BC, Konya plain, Anatolia, Turkey. Photo: Nazlı Gürlek, 2017
Çatalhöyük holds evidence of the transition from settled villages to urban agglomeration, which was maintained in the same location for nearly 2,000 years. It features a unique streetless settlement of houses clustered back to back with roof access into the buildings. Its eighteen levels of Neolithic occupation include wall paintings, reliefs, sculptures and other symbolic and artistic features. Together they testify to the evolution of social organization and cultural practices as we, humans, adapted to sedentary life. During my first visit to Çatalhöyük in June 2016 and throughout the meticulous research period that followed it, I have been fascinated by how the society was organised by small routine rituals including a rich production of wall paintings. Art and symbolism seem to have played an integral part in the formation of society. What can we learn from it today, I wondered, and how can we compare it to our own society?
Çatalhöyük wall painting, circa 6500 BC, courtesy of Çatalhöyük research project.
The wall painting that has inspired my performance art piece came to my attention during that very first visit. I was captivated by it at first sight. It was so mysterious yet entirely familiar. Since then I have been contemplating its meaning.
The painting seemed to me to mimic the body—it seemed to move. It seemed to document a process and it was the process itself. It was at once kinetic, volatile, fluid and hollow. It was both abstract and somatic. It reminded me of flesh, bones and nerves; of corporeal vigour. It also reminded me of rivers that flow unhindered; life- giving energy, the power of creation and the boundless source.
The painting was believed to have been created as a part of a ritual. So I created a new ritual to explore its meaning. My ritual brought together four different ways of expression: painting, documentation, movement, and sound. It involved two 9-metre rolls of paper with drawings that I had made in response to the Çatalhöyük painting; visual documentation of the excavation process showing the unveiling of the painting and a live performance based on bodily movements of a performer. A soundtrack based on excavation sounds that I had recorded at the site mixed with sounds of water flows accompanied the performance.
ONE (2017), Nazli Gurlek, performer Asli Bostancı, 23 September 2017, Koç University’s Research Center for Anatolian Civilizations (RCAC), Istanbul
The performance took place last September on an open terrace in Istanbul overlooking the Bosphorus between 5 and 8 pm centering on the sunset at 7 pm. In the course of the 3 hours the painted rolls were gradually unfolded by the performer as she interacted with the paintings with her own body. She had a series of props at her disposal: cordage, five balls with reflective surfaces, and soil in two copper bowls.
ONE is ultimately the choreography of water. Water that unites us with each other and with oceans, seas, rivers and all forms of life that have ever existed and will ever exist. Water that is timeless and boundless reminding us that everything on Earth is just ONE big harmonious whole.
Water is Remembrance
Before art and spirituality became their own concepts, parallel tracks separate from each other as well as from life and Earth, they were embedded together in the way we moved through our days. Spirituality and art were one and the same thing: the sacredness of greeting the sun, the moon and the stars; celebrating the life-giving essence of water, the seasons, the cyclic living and our embeddedness in the grand web of life. This is what it meant to be human –human in a deep belonging and respect for life- and Çatalhöyük could be the unique example of an urban agglomeration based on such principles. Our bodies still carry this imprint. Our bodies remember.
My encounter with the Çatalhöyük painting and the project ONE that stemmed from it is the story of this remembrance. It is the story of my body remembering the currents of communication and reciprocity between all beings and its embeddedness in those currents with every breath. It is the story of honoring the life-giving essence of water as well as the inspiration it has provided –in my opinion– to the inhabitants of Çatalhöyük to make that painting.
Water is not “urban” or “rural” to me. Water is not this or that concept; it is not separation. It is wholeness, connectedness, oneness. Water for me is not a metaphor nor a vessel of dialogue or exchange. It is not a resource, property nor currency. Water is sacredness. It is the experience of my own very intimate embodiment on Earth, the imprint of my being and my connectedness to all other beings. Water is also primeval, preceding and outliving my own little embodied being on Earth. It is what makes my body remember how to be a human, a woman, fully awake to the magic of Earth.
Spirituality and art in the face of water -that runs through pipes in our cities just like blood runs through our veins- are one and the same thing, as our bodies remember, embedded in the way we move through our days. I do see that such growing awareness is awakening cities to the magic of Earth, as it once was, in the times of Çatalhöyük.
Video credit: ONE (2017), Nazli Gurlek, 23 September 2017, 17:00-20:00, Koç University’s Research Center for Anatolian Civilizations (RCAC), Istanbul. Performer Asli Bostancı, curator Simge Burhanoglu, sound designer Yusuf Huysal. The performance was held in the context of RCAC’s exhibition entitled “The Curious Case of Çatalhöyük” celebrating the 25th year of the excavations and as a parallel event to the 15th Istanbul Biennial. It was produced in collaboration with Koç University’s Research Center for Anatolian Civilizations and Performistanbul. Special thanks to Prof. Ian Hodder.
These few brief excerpts are chosen to contrast how rivers in cities are viewed as sacred, as dumping grounds for every form of pollution, and as concrete conveyance channels.
I am in love with rivers. And most of the global rivers I have had the privilege to hang out with flow smack through the center of villages and cities. The reason towns are located along the banks of rivers is to take advantage of them for transportation (of merchandise, as a floatation mechanism for wood, and as another “road system” for people), for recreation, and most importantly as a source of potable water.
“Ice Receding/Books Reseeding” projects. “Cleo reading TOME II.” 300-pound ephemeral ice sculpture embedded with native riparian seeds. Photo: Basia Irland
I create projects including “A Gathering of Waters,” which connect communities along the entire length of rivers; and a series (“Ice Receding/Books Reseeding”) that are ice books carved from frozen river water, embedded with an ecological text of native riparian seeds, and then placed back into the stream to foster restoration efforts.
My two books, “Water Library” and “Reading the River, the Ecological Activist Art of Basia Irland” both focus exclusively on international water issues.
Book Cover, “Reading the River, The Ecological Activist Art of Basia Irland.” 2017]
I also write a blog for National Geographic about international rivers, written in the first person from the perspective of the water. The few brief excerpts that follow are chosen due to the contrast of how rivers in cities are viewed as sacred, as dumping grounds for every form of pollution, and as concrete conveyance channels. The full blog posts can be read on my website (projects and then blogs).
I look forward to our continuing dialogue about issues of water in cities, which are complex, intriguing, and instructive.
I am the Chaobai River, the city of Beijing’s largest source of potable water. It is a huge responsibility providing over 25 million people with enough hydration to survive! When released from the dam, my water flows for 59 miles (95 kilometers) into Beijing, the capital of China, initially through an open canal, and then part of me enters into iron and steel pipes, so that some of my liquid does not see daylight again until a person turns on the tap, and I emerge into a residential sink, bathtub, or toilet.
Beijing used to have as many as 200 rivers; today very little remains natural about any of my water, as I have been artificially channelized, and managed through elaborate urban planning.
Further discussion will ensue about Chinese “sponge cities.”
Maenam Ping. Chiang Mai, Thailand. Photo: Basia Irland
On the night of the twelfth lunar month during the full moon at the end of the rainy season, communities gather along my banks to pay homage to me, and my water spirits.
This festival of lights is called Loy Krathong (ลอยกระทง). The name is translated as “to float a basket,” and refers to the tradition of making krathong or buoyant, banana-stem sculptures that are decorated with folded banana leaves and contain flowers, incense, candles, and coins (an offering to the river spirits). These sculptures are floated on my moist skin in the evening forming a candle-lit parade dancing downstream.
I am clogged with human ash and bits of bone. I have always borne the remains of the dead, who are taken to the Pashupatinath Temple on my banks near Kathmandu, Nepal, placed on pyres, ignited, and blessed in Hindu ceremonies. The cremated are swept into my murky waters to plod along toward the confluence with the great mother Ganga as I join other tributaries downstream.
My primary role is as a source of spiritual salvation for millions of Hindus, who take a dip within my waters. And yet, at this particular site, my plight has been the same for decades — an open sewer, full of garbage from an ever-increasing population. I try to flow, but really, I just slog along. There have been gallant efforts by local valley dwellers in recent years to try and clean my body and rid my ribs of slush and guck, but it is an overwhelming task.
I flood. That is what I — and all my cousins — do from time to time. It is part of our rhythm. In their hubris, humans build cities and towns right on our banks, then get upset with us when our waters rise and destroy some of their property. They try to control us by building dams and straightening our courses so that we no longer flow naturally, aiding the hydrologic cycle, creating meanders, spreading silt, and sustaining entire ecosystems of aquatic life, plants, and animals.
It is a sad tale of how people cannot think of me as a living being, but rather as a nuisance. Here is how they have mistreated me: They have encased my body in 1.6 miles (2.6 kilometers) of concrete, putting me in a straightjacket so that there is nothing natural about me anymore. I am not even called a river, but rather a “channel”. Locals sometimes refer to me as “the moat” or “the bunker”.
I have heard that some communities are not very friendly to their rivers, but many friends everyday walk the paths along my shores, ride bikes, have picnics, push baby strollers, and bask in the colors of the nearby trees with cherry blossoms in spring, and red maple leaves in fall.
Amstel River. Amsterdam, The Netherlands. Photo: Basia Irland
Any visitor to this city will notice a lot of plastic trash floating on my surface, and there are currently attempts to clean up my 60 miles (97 kilometers) of canals. One such venture, Plastic Whale, is a company that fishes plastic bottles and other debris from my water and transforms the trash into material to make a boat that will be used to fish for more plastic. Boat Number Seven is constructed from over seven thousand plastic bottles that might otherwise have found their way out to sea.
Operation Ice Ships: Love Letters in the Time of Climate Change
The ice ships are clear and black ice cubes, in the shape of the Titanic, melt in front of the camera, to a soundtrack of love letters sourced from the community.
Melting glaciers may be the most visible barometers of climate change. The fatal collision of the Titanic comes to mind, when thinking of the glacier as an icon. Somehow love makes its way into both scenarios. To love is to connect, to protect and ultimately to care. Or do we destroy what we love? This film references the science of melting ice, rising sea levels, and the trauma of love in the time of climate change.
Video: Operation Ice Ships: Love Letters in the Time of Climate Change, 16-minute two channel mapped video installation, 2017
Technical notes and community engagement
The ice ships are clear and black ice cubes, in the shape of the Titanic. They melt in front of the camera, the contents of the melt down literally create the landscapes/environments they are filmed in. The love letters in the sound track are sourced from the community.
In the film, the love letters are gifted by San Jose State University students. I head the Photography Department and often engage my students in community-based pieces that highlight environmental and social justice issues. I do this as a form of activism, a way to work metaphorically and at the same time activate the communities I live and work within.
This climate justice project references water in relationship to the city of San Jose. Our students have emigrated from around the globe, the sound track reverberates with love stories spoken in multiple languages. The local meets global with our shared global commons, our oceans and seas.
Proposal for film projection onto exterior gallery façade, Pensacola University, Florida 2017. Photo: Robin Lasser
The project crossed the nation and premiered at Pensacola University in Florida. The University is in close proximity to the Gulf of Mexico where the Deepwater Horizon oil spill occurred. The gulf oil spill is recognized as the worst oil spill in U.S. history. In Florida the film was mapped and projected onto the gallery exterior façade. The right-hand side of the façade reminiscent of the shape of a typical water tower. Pensacola students drew love letters onto the face of floating Japanese lanterns. The students activated the floating lanterns and read their love letters in open-mic format for the duration of the event. The project continues to travel, the most recent iteration taking place at the Albrecht Kemper Museum of Art in a show curated by Marguerite Perret tilted: “Memory of Water: Defining a Sense of Place in the Hydrosphere.”
Film projection onto exterior gallery façade, hand drawn floating lanterns, Pensacola University, Florida 2017. Photo: Robin Lasser
Marguerite Perret conducts collaborative, arts-based research that scrutinizes the narratives inherent at the interstices of art, science, healthcare and personal experience.
The Snæfellsjökull glacier, visible from Reykjavik, is disappearing. Vatnajökull and Langjökul glaciers may be gone by the end of the century. Climate change will be challenging here as everywhere. But Iceland is not Iceland without glaciers.
Love, Ice and Tourism in Reykjavik
Tiny bubbles. Air trapped in glittering chunks of ice on black sand, the remnants of icebergs broken away from the mother glacier and torn apart by turbulent waters at the mouth of the Jökulsárlón lagoon. Some are small as a fist and others large as a tour bus. Most drift out to sea, but others languish on the beach quietly liquefying, providing the 2.3 million tourists who visit Iceland annually with another spectacular selfie moment. If you look closely, you can see rivulets of water under the surface collecting in air pockets like tears, as if the ice is crying from the inside out.
Close up of air bubbles in glacial ice at the Jökulsárlón lagoon, captured with a toy microscope. Photo: Marguerite Perret
These bubbles are miniature atmospheric time capsules. Glacial ice stores information about climatic conditions dating back tens of thousands of years held in the captive breath of ancient forests, Vikings and volcanoes. Analysis of carbon dioxide levels in ice core samples evinces increases from 250 parts per million (ppm) in 1900 to 407 ppm in 2017. Correspondingly, 2017 was among the warmest years on record.
The Jökulsárlón glacier lagoon sits at the base of an outlet glacier of the Vatnajökull in the south-east part of the country. It is the largest glacier in Europe. Hundreds of daily visitors are enchanted by the luminous aquamarine ice and blue water, but most don’t make the connection that the lake is a symptom of an accelerating thaw that expands annually.
Wish you were here. Networking with nature at two outlet glaciers, part of the Vatnajökull, Southeast Iceland. Photo: Marguerite Perret
Four hours to the west the capital city of Reykjavik is benefiting from a booming economy driven largely by the tourist industry. It is the portal to the country’s natural wonders such as Jökulsárlón which can be accessed by an all-day round-trip bus tour. The famous Gullfoss waterfall, which is fed by the Langjökull glacier, is even closer at only an hour and a half drive away. The Snæfellsjökull glacier, visible from Reykjavik, is rapidly disappearing. The larger Vatnajökull and Langjökul glaciers may be gone by the end of the century. Climate change will be challenging here as everywhere. Rising seas levels, changes in precipitation and an increase of volcanic activity—are all possibilities. But one thing is clear. Iceland is not Iceland without glaciers.
Rainbow tourists. Gullfoss, one of Iceland’s most iconic waterfalls is fed by the Langjökul glacier. Photo: Marguerite Perret
Tourism, either directly or indirectly, drives much of the city’s cultural innovation and employment opportunities. Clearly the presence of too many humans disturbs fragile ecologies, trampling surface vegetation, polluting water and soil, and spreading invasive species. But if the opposite of love is not hate, but apathy, the people we met were passionately in LOVE with these places, reinforcing our contention that personal experience with non-human nature is essential to conservation.
And of course, Icelanders love this landscape best of all. Reykjavik has committed to go carbon neutral by 2040. Is it too late?
Can love save the ice caps?
Tourists at black sand beach with cheap attempt to replenish the glaciers. In the shadow of the Snæfellsjökull glacier, west Iceland, July 2017. Photo: Marguerite Perret
Mary Mattingly creates sculptural ecosystems in urban spaces. Mary Mattingly’s work has been exhibited at the Brooklyn Museum, International Center of Photography, the Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes de la Habana, Storm King, the Bronx Museum of the Arts, and the Palais de Tokyo.
Building trends, safety, sewage systems, drinking and agricultural needs have formed and reformed urban waterways. The work I do around urban water is rooted in personal experiences and has expanded most immediately by what I’ve learned about water privatization struggles around the world. I grew up in an agricultural town in the U.S. near Springfield, Massachusetts, where drinking water was polluted with DDT (Dichlorodiphenyltrichloroethan) and runoff from fertilizer. Without accessible clean water, the people I knew had an acute sensitivity to water as it is connected to human and ecological health. Because water is itself a monopoly (nothing else does what it does for life) and everyone needs the right to water, it cannot be managed by a single entity. Like air, water doesn’t have an alternative.
I wanted to co-learn techniques for living in a city acetic-ly, and to envision an urban center that could be less dependent on material supply chains.
I began creating interdependent living systems on rivers as a way to share stories about what is possible in urban spaces. I want this work to build coalitions of people who support more public commons, reinforce water as a human right, and who believe in building shared knowledge. Human-created ecosystems offer windows into entire living systems on a scale that is possible for visitors to comprehend and stewards to easily care for: systems with gardens feeding animals and humans, to bees and leftover compost feeding gardens. Since sculptural ecosystems on the water must be contained, participating in them is multisensory. On the water, we need to actively compromise with our neighbors, and we feel its presence as it moves.
In 2006, I wanted to co-learn techniques for living in a city acetic-ly, and to envision an urban center that could be less dependent on material supply chains extracting from rural land, funneling goods through cities, and returning the leftovers to landfills back on rural land. The “Waterpod” was the first large-scale floating, sculptural living structure I undertook. It was to be a habitat and a public platform for assessing off-the-grid living systems on the waterways of New York City. I led a group of artists, civic activists, scientists, environmentalists, and marine engineers in creating the project. Four people lived on the Waterpod for six months. It was a visible public space that created different types of access to New York’s waterways through undertaking a lengthy permit process, multiple ways to reuse and purify water, and through envisioning additional ways more people can steward water as a commons.
Waterpod leaving South Street Seaport New York, 2009
Artwork about water is often both literal and metaphorical. Rivers run through cities, yet often as city-dwellers we are disconnected from them. My father grew up running through the tunnels that comprised the Park River underneath Hartford, CT. In the 1940’s the Army Corps of Engineers began to bury it because it was considered unsafe; it was thought to be the cause of multiple floods and pests. Many people who live there haven’t heard of it.
Currently there’s a movement to “daylight” some rivers that run through cities in the United States, as planners learn more about the multiple values of these water sources to the surrounding ecologies. What happens to the quality of a river and our quality of life when we have more opportunities to tend to the water that runs near our homes?
Rivers determine our livelihoods, lives, and the land, and in 2015 I was able to learn more about the rivers of Des Moines, Iowa through working on a project called “Wading Bridge”. With the surrounding farmland tiled to drain extra rain and irrigation water into the river (bringing with it an abundance of nitrates from fertilizers) the rivers that run through Des Moines are a force. “Wading Bridge” was located six inches under water on the Raccoon River. It was a chance to walk with, in, and through the Raccoon River’s rapid watercourse. The idea inherent in this was that crossing it could allow for an intimacy with a river most people would rather avoid than get to know.
Wading Bridge in Des Moines, 2015
To explain a project like “Wading Bridge” is to try to explain the value to both perceptual and physical experience, and the important practice of re-seeing. I wonder if what this revaluing can do for the health of the river, and for its stewardship and care can be profound.
In 2016, I collaboratively formed “Swale”: a public floating food forest in New York City. People can come onto Swale and pick fresh food for free, take part in an event, workshop, or simply visit a floating park. While there, we ask people to engage in pushing forward a local conversation about public food. The experience of being onboard Swale can be uncanny: you feel the movement of the water while watching a land mass covered in perennial edible, medicinal, and pollinator plants rock with the waves atop the barge.
The “Swale” project at Concrete Plant Park in the Bronx, 2016
It’s a provocative public artwork, a stage or a tool for strengthening coalitions that work towards more commons in NYC: amidst a glut of privatization we want to insist that not only is water a commons, but healthy food needs to be reframed as a commons too. Places like Swale can shrink the distance between the health of the water and the land, and shrink a gap in access to nutritional foods.
Through Swale, I’ve been able to see how what I’ll call active and provocative artwork can be a folly, a beacon, and can be buttressed and cared for. People from fields of art, agriculture, water conservation, and people who care about fresh food, or clean water, and healthy land all steward Swale in different ways. For me, this work is a reminder that a continued awareness of our interconnectedness leaves us with less room for indifference.
Bonnie Ora Sherk is an ecological artist, landscape architect, and educator whose work has been shown and published internationally for over four decades, most notably and recently in the 2017 Venice Biennale, and currently at Parco Arte Vivente in Turin, Italy.
It began as “Sitting Still l”, a temporary performance installation. It evolved into urban agriculture, ecology, multi-arts and education center that transformed acres of derelict land fragments.
Islais Creek Watershed
The Islais Creek Watershed is the largest Watershed in San Francisco, California, and one that has played a significant role in my life and art for decades beginning in 1970, when I found an area where garbage and water had collected because of the building of a major freeway interchange. This place soon became the site for Sitting Still l, a temporary performance installation in which I became the human figure in an evening gown sitting in this environment facing the audience of people moving slowly in their cars.
At the time, I thought I was demonstrating simply how a seated human could radically transform an environment.
What I did not know, is that I was also facing my future: What would become, beginning in 1974, Crossroads Community (the farm), a pioneering, internationally known, urban agriculture, ecology, multi-arts and education center that transformed acres of derelict, adjacent land fragments including the Freeway Interchange, into a new City Farm Park and one of the first Alternative Art Spaces in the US; the northern frame of the Islais Creek Watershed, which I am still working on—and in—today; the proposed Islais Creek Watershed Northern Gateway Community Park in the currently neglected and flooding 101 Interchange area; and the realization years later, that I had actually been sitting in Islais Creek, water that rose to the surface because of the freeway construction.
Later, in the mid-1990s, I found myself developing the OMI/Excelsior Living Library & Think Park at a four public school, contiguous site (2 High Schools, Middle School, Early Education School) where I had been invited by the Principal of the Middle School to develop A Living Library. During the A.L.L. Master Planning Process that engaged hundreds of students and community members, we discovered old maps that showed the site of Balboa High School, one of the schools, with the Islais Creek flowing beneath it, which had caused massive flooding to the cafeteria which had to be closed, as well as flooding to many homes in the area.
I then realized that I was working in the same Watershed as The Farm, not by design—but through magnificent synchronicity—demonstrating once again, as I had with Sitting Still l, the power of being in one’s alignment, the power of art, and the power of water.
Since then, upstream in the Watershed, the OMI/Excelsior Living Library & Think Park, incorporating my program, A Living Library (A.L.L,), which is a planetary genre of diverse place-based, Branches, meant to be developed world-wide, and interlinked through Green-Powered Digital Gateways, and sponsored by the non-profit I founded and direct, Life Frames, Inc., has taken root, grown, and thrived.
A.L.L. here, over the years, has been working with thousands of students (PreK-12) and community, in hands-on learning by doing, transforming acres of land into ecological wonderlands and Learning Zones that include natives—both riparian and drought tolerant—as well as organic fruit, vegetable, flowers, and herb gardens and other elements.
In 2002, I was invited by another school Principal to create A Living Library at her school and neighborhood in Bernal Heights, also in the same Watershed. Through that A.L.L. Planning Process with students and the community, we decided to develop the Bernal Heights Living Library & Think Park Nature Walk that would interconnect diverse community assets – schools, parks, public housing, streets, and other open spaces in the neighborhood through development of a series of resilient native landscapes with interpretive signage, all leading to the currently hidden Islais Creek at the south side of one of the parks.
Now in place, this Nature Walk, with beautiful new native landscapes and interpretive signage, is a prototype for interconnecting the eleven communities of the Watershed, and transforming its two interconnecting 101 Freeway Interchanges into Islais Creek WatershedNorthern & Southern Gateway Community Parks, and transforming other flooding freeway right-of-way open spaces adjacent to many flooding homes at the confluence of two Creek Forks, into the Islais Creek Watershed Confluence Community Park.
These proposed places will do many things simultaneously through systemic ecological design: mitigate flooding, create resilient landscapes responding to climate change, make areas safe and accessible, provide community and school education including green skills job training, create habitat for diverse wildlife species, among other interrelated issues and opportunities.
The Creek Water and the Watershed have led me and inspired me to do this work, and serve as a natural framework to understand and demonstrate interconnected systems: biological, cultural, technological. The new Gold is Old; it’s Fresh Water!
The qualities of water, allied with my experience of dance, both in the studio and in nature and the city, greatly influence my way of entering into contact with people and environments.
Dancing water
Water, with its physical properties, is a primordial element of my dance and performance practice, in relation to movement, rhythm, space, and life itself. To begin with, our bodies, like that of the Earth, are principally composed of water. For us, proportions vary from 75 percent water for a newborn to 50 percent for an old person.
Dance 510 (One Minute of Dance a Day), Nadia Vadori-Gauthier / June 6th 2016, 11:32 p.m., Port de Bercy, Paris 13th, France. Dancing with Benoît Lachambre.The sky has been milky for a few days and everything seems at the same time strange and familiar, a little unreal. The waters of the Seine starts to recede. The finance Ministry is standing in water. Image from video: https://vimeo.com/169524823
Water has several fundamental characteristics:
Relationship to life: It underlies all life in matter. On the Earth, no life is possible without the presence of water.
Relationship to movement: It is mobile and may take different forms. Its plasticity allowsit to change unceasingly. Water travels, espousing and shaping the territories it passesthrough. Its trajectories are often curved or spiral, with a certain unpredictable quality.
Relationship to the earth: It has a weight and pours towards the earth with the force of gravity.
Relationship to space: On the other hand, it has a quality of capillarity, ascending,
plantlike, which allows it, for instance, to rise along a strip of cotton or expand towards space in every direction, like the surface film of a waterdrop.
Volumetric quality: Between these two antagonistic and complementary forces of gravity [3] and anti-gravity [4] there opens up a multi-directional volumetric space, with no hierarchy among its various parts. To draw a parallel with the dancing body, for instance, this quality allows a body to be lived “in 3D,” moving in multiple directions, as opposed to a vertical body seen in “2D,” with a front and back, a top and bottom. This summons an “immersive” dimension of feeling, rather than an overview, distanced or separated from consciousness. When one dances from this fluid base, consciousness accompanies movement. It precedes or derives from it, inseparable from lived experience.
Rhythmic quality: Obedient to forces of propulsion or aspiration, it behaves dynamically, creating patterns in movement: waves, vortices, fluid rhythms. In our bodies, our liquids have different rhythms. They rebound in our membranes.
Quality of resonance: Water is an element that captures and preserves sonic or
mechanical vibrations and arranges them in natural models (as in cymatics) [1].
These qualities of water, allied with my experience of dance, both in the studio and in nature and the city, greatly influence my way of entering into contact with people and environments. They lead me, through sensation, to enter into a non-hierarchical and non-anthropocentric relationship with earth and space, but also into vibratory resonance with places and materials of my surroundings or with the natural elements.
For the project One Minute of Dance a Day, I created some hundred dances involving the element of water. But even when water is not visibly present in my surroundings, the body out of which my dances begin is principally liquid, moved by a fluid dynamic. By taking as the basis from which my work begins the fluid matter of the body and its cells, I realized that I enter differently into resonance with places and things. I find an alliance with what surrounds me.
Video: Dance 1186 (One Minute of Dance a Day), Nadia Vadori-Gauthier / April 13th 2018, 11:12 a.m., calle de la Racheta, Cannaregio, Venice, Italy.
BMC®
This particularity is also one of the characteristics of my practice of Body-Mind Centering®. This practice was created and developed by Bonnie Bainbridge Cohen, dancer, researcher, dance teacher, and ergotherapist whose practice combines yoga and martial arts. Contrary to other practices of somatic education, this is neither a technique nor a method. Its tools are extremely precise and refined, but there is no particular protocol to follow. Unlike techniques such as Feldenkrais and Alexander, which most specifically consider the muscular-skeletal system, BMC, like Continuum Movement, is based on the experience of the body at a cellular level and a somatic training in fluid movement. Through movement and touch, the practice favors the lived experience of flux physics, that of a fluid base taking as reference the constant navigation of all things. This particularity influences my research. In effect, the body is not envisaged in the perspective of fixed form, identity, or posture; it renews itself constantly within a larger flux. It does not merely travel through space, it transforms itself, without changing place.
The body’s fluids (cytoplasm, interstitial fluid, blood, lymph, cerebrospinal fluid …) are differentiated by movement and touch. They have different expressions, rhythms, densities. The soma of BMC is a fluid body-mind with its cells. There is fluid within the cells and fluid outside them. The exchanges between intra- and extracellular fluids are the liquid respiration of the body: cellular breathing. It takes place in all the tissues: bones, organs, muscles, etc. A cell is a system in constant evolution that records innumerable molecular variations. In this context, it is the metaphoric base of a vibratory resonance common to all that lives. From this vibratory substratum, still formless, there open out new sensorial territories, spaces of resonance by which new forms may be generated.
For the past twelve years, my explorations have progressively led me to address my artistic processes through the sensation of the organism’s fluids and the cellular breathing of the tissues. This brings about a base, in constant motion, from which I enter into dialogue with the elements, places, and things. I find an alliance with materials. My body goes beyond its own organic form to adjust to its surroundings in a vibratory, almost musical fashion, forming harmonies or dissonances. These vibrations include light, space, and color.
This practice establishes modes of corporeality and interrelations that involve a primacy ofmovement and lived experience of the living body, in relation to other bodies and its surroundings. This specificity is essential to my work. It generates its own modes, at once single and collective, non-hierarchical. It brings about a focus on process rather than form, it enters into flows and rhythms rather than focusing on an object. It is, for me, a practice of individuation, of becoming, the creation or reorganization of the self. It facilitates an intersubjectivity that welcomes difference, distance, decentering. It arranges the collective horizontally, encouraging freedom of rhythm and movement in each element.
In the city, more than elsewhere, it seems important to me that we remain connected to nature and its elements, including water, the basis of life and its constant fluctuation. Cities that rivers run through, cities beside the ocean, cities refreshed by fountains or canals, have a special sweetness inviting to reverie and the imagination. The movements of the surfaces of water make the reflections of the sky and the world around them dance; they move them and give them rhythm. Thus the geometric lines of buildings and spatial perception become more sinuous or undulatory. They voyage and thought ripples along with them, opening our senses to constantly renewed possibilities for movement. This fluidity keeps us connected to the forces of life and imagination. It allows us to reinvent ourselves in connection with each other, tracing moving and inclusive lines between our differences.
Video: Dance 579 (One Minute of Dance a Day), Nadia Vadori-Gauthier / August 14th 2016, 10:05 a.m., Water Mirror, Quais de la Garonne, Bordeaux, France.
Video: Dance 558 (One Minute of Dance a Day), Nadia Vadori-Gauthier / April 15th 2016, 3:12 p.m., Duranti street, Paris 11th, France.
Even in the absence of water, every day I dance the water of cities, the water of our bodies, and their rhythms of fluid pulsation. I am sometimes accompanied by figures that influence my imagination and my dances; among them: Dionysus and Shiva. These two divinities are said to have a single origin. They are both masters of the fluid 2 element and of metamorphoses, as well as masters of time, particularly of a cyclical, tidal time. They are thus profoundly connected to wild nature and its cycles of life/death/life. In spring, water and sap rise up in stalks; nature flowers. Then does Dionysus appear, presiding over the rite of blossoming. All around, water is with us in the trunks and branches of trees, in plants, flowers, and all their vegetal manifestations. To dance water is also, for me, to dance in cellular resonance with the dynamic fluid movement underlying vegetal forms; it is to dance with humans and animals, dance in rain or rivers; dance the pulsing blood in arteries and veins.
The liquid dimension of experience allows me to be in relation to the world. This relation is vibratory and solidary. Water, in me and outside me, connects me to life and nature. Thisdimension of experience, which I explore alone and in a group, particularly with le Corps collectif (The Collective Body), contributes to what Antonin Artaud called “healing life” [3] by restoring its fluid poetic forces to a life that the modern world has drained of its powers.
Video: Dance 182 (One Minute of Dance a Day), Nadia Vadori-Gauthier / July 14th 2015, 11:20 p.m., Saint- Michel place, Paris 6th district, France.
Dance 227 (One Minute of Dance a Day), Nadia Vadori-Gauthier / August 28th 2015
Notes: [1] “La vibration est à l’origine de toute forme,” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=beJQYFSbmt0 , in Mondes intérieurs, Mondes extérieurs – Partie 1 – Akasha, a film by Daniel Schmidt, REM Publishing Ltd. Film (Responsible Earth Media Ltd.), 2009.
[2] David Smith, The Dance of Siva: Religion, Art and Poetry in South of India, Cambridge University Press, 1996.
[3] Antonin Artaud, Le Théâtre et son double [1964], Paris, Gallimard, « Folio », 2009.
Aloïs Yang is a media artist, interaction designer and experimental musician who produces work that investigates the perception of time and space on both “outer” physical world and “inner” metaphysical levels of awareness.
I am a sound and media artist, who spent most of my life time in cities. Urban sonic environment can often be overwhelming, saturated with sonic informations constantly coming at us. Consciously or subconsciously we all build multiple protective filters so to only receive what we want to hear. In my experience, these passive listening processes take a lot of unwanted attention and energy. Instead of looking for calm places or for some silence that does not exist, I developed a habit of “listening meditation”. It is a practice to free my mind from thoughts and to focus in the present. I treat all sounds equally and appreciate them as they are. By opening up my whole sensibility to a certain level I reach a point where I am able to expand and lose myself freely as sound in space. This practice enables me to observe the ever-changing time perceptions offered by the movement of sound. These inspiring moments often lead me to produce new creations based on field recordings. This is how my interest for water and sound began, in artificial surroundings.
How can a tiny event—a drop of water, or the sound of cracking and melting ice—create feedback loops that eventually can be seen as the whole? Every aspect inside a system is connected to others and capable of revealing the bigger picture.
One of the most intriguing discovery I made is that water has the sonic ability to reflect human activities in harmony. It absorbs the directional forces that we push towards our goals and makes things slow down. It reminds us to humbly live with nature.
Some of the first expressions of this work resulted in “Fluid Stones in the Garden” and “Ping Pong Spring Waves”, two recordings based on a “urban meditative sound walk” i did in Vienna, in the Spring 2017.
SOUND 1: “Fluid Stones in the Garden”
SOUND 2: “Ping Pong Spring Waves”
It was followed by “Micro Loop Macro Cycle”, a series of installation, performance, video, and sound production that investigates environmental cycle system through studies of different states of water. “Micro Loop Macro Cycle” is an ongoing project, that took place in the cities of Turku, Finland and London, U.K in 2017, as well as in the Brazilian’s jungle in 2018.
Sound and water are the primary materials of this project. Sound is used as the communicational medium revealing comprehensive sonic informations about the dynamic states of present time and space. While water, the most common substance on Earth, carrying life and present in almost every biogeochemical cycle systems, is used for this very capacity to highly connect to its surrounding conditions: from large scale environmental changes to small molecular scale variations, from energy waves to shifts in chemical substances. Through the understanding of these notions and the observation of water, we gain insights on systematic interactions. It provides us with measurement and connection, indicating our relationship with nature.
Micro Loop Macro Cycle – in 4:16s & 363mb” Recorded at Titanik, Turku, Finland 2017 and in 13:15s & 1145 mb” Recorded at Resilience: Artist in Residence by SILO, Brazil, 2018
The focal point of this project is to present how a tiny event—a drop of water, or the sound of cracking and melting ice—in a given cycle system, creates feedback loops that eventually can be seen as the whole. I also want to show how every aspect inside the system is connected to others and capable of revealing the bigger picture on its own.
Installation
Video: Micro Loop Macro Cycle – in 4:16s & 363mb” Recorded at Titanik, Turku, Finland 2017
Micro Loop Macro Cycle – in 4:16s & 363mb” Recorded at Titanik, Turku, Finland 2017
Video: Micro Loop Macro Cycle – in 5:13s & 425mb” Recorded at Cafe Oto Project Space, London U.K., 2017
Micro Loop Macro Cycle – in 5:13s & 425mb” Recorded at Cafe Oto Project Space, London U.K., 2017
Performance
Micro Loop Macro Cycle – in 13:15s & 1145 mb” Recorded at Resilience: Artist in Residence by SILO, Brazil, 2018
Video: Micro Loop Macro Cycle – in 24:50s & 2940mb” Recorded at Resilience: Artist in Residence by SILO, Brazil, 2018
Micro Loop Macro Cycle – in 13:15s & 1145 mb” Recorded at Resilience: Artist in Residence by SILO, Brazil, 2018
Sound production
Based on the recorded materials of “Micro Loop Macro Cycle”, I positioned myself as a studio artist. With the aim of contrasting and balancing between two realms, one is the realm of nature – to obey and reveal the organic sonic informations created by natural phenomena. The other realm is the presence of consciousness – the search for humanistic aesthetics in the form of minimalistic improvisation. This soundtrack will be released in July 2018, on the sound art label and explorative platform 901 editions. For more detailed information about the project please visit here.
During the journey of making “Micro Loop Macro Cycle”, I understood that the most important thing I aim to do with this work, is to raise awareness on the separation we consciously create with the nature realm. When I position myself as the observer, researcher, or artist, I understand that realm intellectually, and establish relationship based on my needs. For instance, it took me few try and fail to understand how to freeze the ice with higher transparency, for aesthetic reasons in the installation set-up. And not to mention the cognitive works I did by using technology to achieve my artistic visions. On the other hand, I had experienced my capabilities to connect with nature in the unconscious, when mind and body are not separated. This beautiful moment happened during the river performance at a rainforest in Brazil, when I place myself in the state of wholeness, when the actions of art disappears, when I eventually became one within.
I don’t see these two relationships with the nature as a conflict, on the contrary, I see shifting these two states of consciousness as forms of resilience in responds to our ever-changing environment. I believe this human-being quality of incorporation between mind and body, inner and outer, to the natural cycling system will be more and more important in our time of high information and technology exposure, and online virtual reality. Especially in the fast urban lifestyle, where the natural forces are hidden or disguise as products, it is much more complex to feel and work instinctively with these natural states of transitions. I see that the challenge in our daily busy life is to answer the question – how do we identify the pure nature within ourselves? To reconnect with our surrounding nature as much as possible, from one small drop of tap water, to an vast ocean. And how to be flexible and stable at the same time? To cycle through dynamic states of mind, circumstances and conditions we have to face, in a seamless, formless, and effortless way, just like water.
“Boxer Bob Wanders in the Mansion Ruins” by Robin Lasser.
For such a far-reaching social and ecological exposition, Refuge in Refuse: Homesteading Art and Culture centers on a surprisingly small piece of man-made land known as the Albany Bulb. A decommissioned construction landfill, the “Bulb”, as it is affectionately known, pokes out into the San Francisco Bay like, well, a bulb…or a mushroom with a long neck (see below).
The residents of the Bulb themselves built their homes on top of decades of industrial garbage.
An unofficial community created by those without community, this thickly layered pile of refuse on top of the bay was home to a salmagundi of unsanctioned homes, gardens, and artworks for decades from the latter half of the 1980’s until their eventual eviction in 2014.
“Albany Bulb and Neck” by Robin Lasser.
To some, it was an example of a kind of unstructured harmony between individuals and a tract of land, both of which had been cast from society. To others, it was a literal hell on earth of anarchy, drugs, and social misfits.
The reality, as this ambitious interdisciplinary exhibition explores–looking at everything from homeless housing to an invasive tree species–is both in between and to each extreme.
“Boxer Bob’s Mansion West View” point cloud 3D Image by F3 and Associates with Danielle Siembieda, and Robin Lasser.
The show highlights works from dozens of professional artists, urban planners, landscape architects, activists, academics, and university students. Robin Lasser, Professor of Art at San Jose State University and the show’s lead artist, says of the exhibition’s curators “we did not so much ‘curate’ the artworks, as connect and gather vantage points from those who had a stake in the Bulb.”
To that end, the exhibition included much collaboration and even several works of art from former Albany Bulb residents, the last of whom were–in a melancholic twist–evicted from the land before the exhibition opening as the city of Albany prepared to convert the former landfill into an “officially sanctioned” public recreational space to be managed by the state of California. This transitional process is now well underway, so the exhibition also acts, in some respects, as an archive.
From practical solutions for the homeless to expressive works of sculpture, the array of pieces in the exhibition is a bit bewildering at first. Yet as one moves through the SOMArts gallery, past a ramshackle home made from trash; pieces of art constructed from landfill gems; striking images of landfill tenants; and historical surveys of the land, nature and human occupation, one begins to put together a sense of what this land was.
A home, a gallery, an accidental nature reserve, the Bulb is conveyed here as a place where people with little traction in the social system in which they lived could try–and in many cases succeeded–to produce an alternative way of living.
“Mobile Homeless Homes” by Greg Kloehn, image courtesy of the artist.
On the practical side are pieces such as Greg Kloehn’s “Mobile Homeless Homes.” As resident of Oakland, California, Kloenh writes that he was “impressed by the structures in the homeless encampments…” A sculptor by trade, he decided to attempt making a home from illegally dumped garbage, which he then gave to a homeless couple. His curious experiment has since turned into a small production line, with Kloenh having donated twenty such homes to date. The process by which these homes are built and freely given echoes the fortitude, ingenuity, and at times amazingly supportive community of Albany Bulb residents.
The residents of the Bulb themselves built their homes on top of decades of industrial garbage: telephone poles, wires, lead paint, engines and oil, and, reportedly, the entirety of Richmond City Hall when it was torn down to build a rapid transit line.
Such stories are explored through a short video documentary by Robin Lasser. The documentary gives an honest and explicit picture of the push and tug relationship between the city, the environment, and the residents themselves. Lasser’s compelling visual narrative is complimented here by the thoughtful and poignant commentary of well-known lawyer, artist, and activist Osha Neuman. Neuman, a friend and consultant to many of those at the Bulb, talks of the land from a point of view which intertwines social justice and the arts.
Artworks from the Bulb by James Lee Bailey (AKA Jimbow the Hobow).
More than a home for social outcasts and artists, Albany Bulb is also “an impressive urban forest that emerged on its own following the closure of the landfill in 1983”, quips another of the installations in the exhibition. This one, titled Albany Bulb Atlas, is a project from the Global Urban Humanities initiative at U.C. Berkeley, part of an ongoing project directed by Susan Moffatt which looks at the intertwining of the lives of people and trees at Albany Bulb.
“Tree Houses, Tree People” a study by the U.C. Berkeley Global Urban Humanities Initiative.
Drawing comparisons between the environment and those who inhabit it, the work whimsically notes that the tree which thrived here most, the black wood acacia, mirrored the characteristics of the Bulb’s human inhabitants. “In shallow soil or where roots compete, it is a bad actor. Yet in the right place it is well-behaved and beautiful, vigorous and dependable under difficult conditions or of poor soil, wind, and drought.”
The UC Berkeley urban humanities piece is not simply a study or appraisal of landscape transformation, or a cataloging of the natural environment, or even a vision for the future of the land. Rather, it is an effort to build a seamless, almost non-disciplinary review of interactions between people and place.
“Untitled” from the Albany Bulb by SNIFF, paint on wood.
That sentiment is a good appraisal of what the Refuge in Refuse exhibition does as a whole. It gives an impression that the land as it had been stewarded over the past few decades, with minimal intervention, minimal infrastructure, and yet maximum tenacity and creativity, was brought to a far more natural state than could have been achieved otherwise.
“You see how nature can take over and restore what we have destroyed”, says Neumann of the Bulb’s environment.
Although ‘more natural’ is likely a true statement in this case, the debate over whether this state is better or worse than any other is not necessarily an assertion which this exhibition pushes explicitly. More of a strength than a fault, such broad reach allows freedom for the various parts of the show to independently poke and prod at both sides of the issue.
“Boxer Bob with Sugar Ray at Landfill Mansion” photograph by Robin Lasser.
More than a display of artworks, the Refuge in Refuse exhibition, which moves to UC Berkeley this fall through the Global Urban Humanities initiative, is a place to study and know the story of the Bulb.
Through its diversity of views into how people, nature, and the built environment coalesce, this substantial show serves as a reference point for alternative socio-ecological possibilities, not just in a landfill on the San Francisco Bay, but any place in the world where social and ecological well being are prone to clash with contemporary agendas.
Every month we feature a Global Roundtable in which a group of people respond to a specific question in The Nature of Cities.
show/hide list of writers
Hover over a name to see an excerpt of their response…click on the name to see their full response.
Gloria Aponte, MedellínTo select abundant species and biological associations is not enough to design with biodiversity and for people. We must satisfy human scale spaces and habitat.
Ana Luisa Artesi, Buenos AiresIn the intervention of landscape architecture projects, we start with biodiversity’s definition as a reference framework, but then move beyond it it, to the characteristics of the place and the environment, developing and re-developing according to changing local necessities.
Andrew Grant, BathWe are literally a part of the Earth’s living system, and this is where I struggle with some of the conventional landscape architectural approaches to biodiversity that suggest biodiversity is an option, to be embraced or not depending on your point of view.
Yun Hye Hwang, SingaporeBeyond promoting an abundance of species, designers could strengthen the concept of biodiversity in design by understanding the principles of urban ecology aiming at habitat enhancement.
Maria Ignatieva, PerthLocal biodiversity as well as urban non-native biodiversity can become a new design tool, even a key to creating a new generation of landscape design compositions that are sustainable, memorable, and at the same time accepted by people.
Jason King, PortlandEach site we design, as landscape architects, is an opportunity to increase biodiversity as it works in the local bioregion and bolsters local goals, which collectively contribute to tackling that wicked global problem of biodiversity loss.
Victoria Marshall, SingaporeI wonder if landscape architecture has over-focused on biodiversity and neglected ecology. Might landscape architecture look into the puzzles raised by other ecology questions in order to tackle the “grand challenges” in the emerging field of urban ecology.
Daniel Phillips, DetroitThe definition of biodiversity in the city is necessarily hard to pin down, precisely because the value and role of biodiversity in cities is open to so much debate and nuance.
Mohan Rao, BangaloreWhile deploying endemic species is preferred to exotics as a pure aspiration or goal, there are times when a designer needs to take a more nuanced stand on “biodiversity” based on the social, economic, and ecological contexts together.
Sylvie Salles, ParisThe real ambition—to improve biodiversity as bio[socio]diversity—is that biodiversity be part of our landscape experiences, in which landscape architecture focuses on an ecological equilibrium with communities’ interests or wishes.
Kevin Sloan, Dallas/Fort WorthSince each urban site cannot support all the species that are possible, the role of biodiversity is to guide the wild life program and synthetically edit the possibilities into a list that will be ecologically successful, appropriate and possible to co-exist with human activity.
Diana Wiesner, BogotáTo democratize the concept of biodiversity let’s talk about the earth and the forms of life that dwell on it; about how human beings fit in; about the magic and poetry of biodiversity; by listening to people as they share their knowledge of nature.
Diana Wiesner, Bogotá (en esp)Para democratizar el concepto de biodiversidad, hablemos de la tierra y las formas de vida que la habitan; sobre cómo encajan los seres humanos; sobre la magia y la poesía de la biodiversidad; Escuchando a las personas mientras comparten su conocimiento de la naturaleza.
David loves urban spaces and nature. He loves creativity and collaboration. He loves theatre and music. In his life and work he has practiced in all of these as, in various moments, a scientist, a climate change researcher, a land steward, an ecological practitioner, composer, a playwright, a musician, an actor, and a theatre director.
The word biodiversity is one of those words that lives happily in metaphor. But in detail, it is all over the map. Ask 10 people, you’ll get 13 definitions. Even ecologists use diverse definitions, that sometimes make distinctions between native and non-native species, but sometimes not; that alternate between indicating species or ecosystems and their services; and sometimes in the same conversation. And then there is the subtle and not so subtle distinctions between definition, meaning, and action.
There is important meaning and consequence inside the ideas of biodiversity, and ecology too. Indeed, there is a global wicked problem of biodiversity loss that finds expression at all scales. Biodiversity is a fundamental building block of ecosystems and their services. There’s definitely a pony in here. But what pony? And what pony do different people see?
Landscape architects are the practitioners of biodiversity’s meaning through their acts of shaping nature into “spaces”. They have their hands on definitions of biodiversity that they use in their work, and that we experience in the landscapes their create. But they aren’t necessarily the same definitions as a scientist’s. Or even a regular person’s. So, how do landscape architects view the word “biodiversity”? How does it find meaning in their work?
We asked twelve landscape architects this: As a designer—someone both supporting and manipulating the environment—what does the word biodiversity mean to you? Perhaps nothing? Perhaps something specific? Perhaps something metaphorical. What is it? And how does it find expression in your work, in your design?
Gloria Aponte is a Colombian landscape architect who has been practicing for more than 30 years in design, planning and teaching. She lead her own firm, Ecotono Ltda., in Bogotá for 20 years. She led the Masters program in Landscape Design at Universidad Pontificia Bolivariana, in Medellín. She is a consultant and belongs to "Rastro Urbano" research group at Universidad de Ibagué, and also the Education Clúster at LALI (Latinamerican Landscape Initiative).
To select abundant species and biological associations is not enough to design with biodiversity and for people. We must satisfy human scale spaces and habitat.
In general terms, biodiversity is the expression of variety of life. From the scientific understanding it has been interpreted as an external phenomenon, but from the landscape design point of view, feelings acquire a definite importance.
A landscape design focus means the equilibrium between nature, built world, and human perception. To analyze the first, its composition functioning and ecosystemic services, the science realm would be enough, but the other two components let us have the complete spectrum; it is to say, the landscape.
Figure 1: Landscape interpretation scheme. Source: G. Aponte.
Perception plays as the starting point of a dialog between human beings and the other parts of nature that ends up in a built environment. I say the “other parts of nature” because humans are as nature as a plant or a bird. Although this principle widely recognized by indigenous peoples from many places of the world, nowadays is usually forgotten. One important difference with the rest of nature is that humans want to see their thoughts reflected on those other parts of nature, sometimes imposing it, without regard to what nature actually is. Such an attitude carries the risk of nature capriciously violated as the result of a selfish and unappropriated happiness search.
Although the term biodiversity is new, with no more than thirty years of literary use since W. G. Rosen (1985) and E.O. Wilson (1988) put it in well known writings, the fact itself and its impact in people’s life has been there forever. It is not just variations of flora and fauna as it is usually understood, but of all life expressions and needs. Biodiversity depends on many other natural not alive diversity factors, nevertheless dynamic, such as landform and water.
Figure 2. Well preserved biodiversity in the middle of a big city. ThePedregal reserve in UNAM, México. Photo: G. Aponte
Considering people as another ingredient of biodiversity, together with their culture as one more characteristic of human diversity, the three factors of landscape appear again.
Biodiversity in urban environments has to be much more than “use” or “inclusion” of species of flora and fauna. Urban biodiversity starts with the recognition of all its types of local expressions, starting from the very base. It means the attention to elements of natural support to the “bio” development: those that propel, stimulate, and let native variety develop and, as a consequence, support biodiversity.
Urban biodiversity also considers people a “bio” component: diverse community groups, diverse age groups, that establish different types relations with the place and its components.
Figure 3. Stimulated tropical biodiversity in Marina Bay Sands. Singapore. Photo G. Aponte
What I have promoted in professional and academic practice is the discovery of actual existing nature, first from the sensible and perceptional approach to re-activate feelings, to experience the psychological welcoming provided by natural diversity, then compare those with scientific registers: to validate—in our usual occidental way of knowledge—their native origin or their good behavior as introduced material. In this matter it is important to be open but not too much, to accept introduced species but in reasonable proportion to maintain local identity.
Finally, design responds to the integration in equilibrium for better experiences for people. It means to provide pleasant spaces, inspiration for connivance, and promote happiness for people, based on human’s ethological needs of being involved in a natural world (i.e., biophilia).
The preservation of as much as biodiversity and well connected ecological nets trough city is one of landscape architect’s responsibilities. To select abundant species and biological associations is not enough to design with biodiversity and for people. We must satisfy human scale spaces and habitat. Spontaneous or manipulated, landscape nurtures people’s spirit, and a biodiversity based urban landscape undoubtedly will bring happiness to inhabitants.
Ana Luisa Artesi is Head and Founder of the studio Ar&A – Arquitectura y Ambiente, an interdisciplinary office, whose focus is on highways, private and public landscapes, individual houses, multi-family buildings and housing developments
In the intervention of landscape architecture projects, we start with biodiversity’s definition as a reference framework, but then move beyond it it, to the characteristics of the place and the environment, developing and re-developing according to changing local necessities.
When talking about biodiversity, I think about:
Diversity
Difference
Micro and Macro
Complexity
Definition
Biodiversity is the variety of living organisms from all ecosystems and ecological complexes of which are they part.
“There are many dimensions of Biodiversity. Every biota can be characterized by its taxonomic, ecological, and genetic diversity and that the way these dimensions of diversity vary over space and time is a key feature of biodiversity. Only a multidimensional assessment of biodiversity can provide insights into the relationship between changes in biodiversity and changes in ecosystem functioning and ecosystem services.”
—Global Assessment Reports of the Millennium Assessment
Biodiversity is everywhere and it is very complex and difficult to appreciate. All ecosystems—managed or unmanaged—are included. Wild lands, reserves and natural areas, but also plantations or cultivated areas, all have their own biodiversity. Every action undertaken by man concerns the maintaining of the ecosystem services. Millions of different species of plants, animals and microorganisms coexist in genuine and adapted ecological niches.
Diversity of genetic systems structures each species and combine in an evolution and constant change. Individuals and communities coexist in territorial and survival struggles, within ecological niches rich in relations and diversity. Diverse natural kingdoms and human society live in urban and suburban environments in an intricate relationship fabric.
Fight
Survival
Necessity
Interdependence
Adaptation
Transformation
Mutation
Science
Awareness
Landscape Architecture
The ecological science can be integrated into landscape architectural projects by taking the concept of biodiversity and its philosophy and understanding ecosystem related to urban necessities.
The continuity of the Parks: biodiversity corridors
Teams of landscape architects, ecologists, and researchers in coordination with social actors are needed to implement solutions and creative proposals for urban sustainability and the interaction of people with nature. In the intervention of projects, we start with the definition as a reference framework, which is analyzed according to the characteristics of the place and the environment, and is redeveloped according to changing local necessities.
Design concept is not a repetition of typology, but provides solutions according to the site requirements. The challenge is to recognize the complexity of nature to give appropriate responses.
Corridor on the side of Ricchieri Highway, includes a cataloging of the elements in a database that will be updated and evaluated throughout the project: its qualities; its potential; its history (its layers both in terms of social and nature); the evaluation of its loading capacity; implementation of the necessary policies for the mitigation of impacts.
The growing of Nature in Cities
The presence of man and his activity constitute another part of the local biota—their actions are directly or indirectly reflected in the environment, forming an extensive ecological and biocultural system.
Activities such as hikes, aerobic tours, and bicycle rides enrich these Areas for meeting and recreation
A bridge can be designed as biological or ecological corridor that supports life forms containing plants and associated biodiversity.
Greening trails, edge walks, and groves can be traveled by pedestrians, small vehicles, through a natural landscape, by the margin of a river, or the sea, or a park in the city. These are spaces for life and biodiversity. The interactions of man and fauna, insects and microorganisms that inhabit or travel through these spaces is verified. These spaces provide places for observation, study, and appreciation of individuals.
Bridge of Innovation: The paths can cross watercourses, until crossing an avenue, railroad, etc. by a bridge, viaduct or footbridge.Residual spaces can be included into nature corridors, widening streets and avenues, and surrounding areas of stations and transport terminals. De la Serna Bridge Side Park is a linear urban oasis that crosses railways and links two parts of the city that were not connected before.
Andrew formed Grant Associates in 1997 to explore the emerging frontiers of landscape architecture within sustainable development. He has a fascination with creative ecology and the promotion of quality and innovation in landscape design. Each of his projects responds to the place, its inherent ecology and its people.
‘We are all Bloody Animals…its really weird that with all our technology, with all our instruments, with all our intelligence, still we are really basic.’ – Anthony Gormley, artist
‘We are all Lichens Now’ – Scott F Gilbert, biologist
We are literally a part of the Earth’s living system, and this is where I struggle with some of the conventional landscape architectural approaches to biodiversity that suggest biodiversity is an option, to be embraced or not depending on your point of view.
Anthony Gormley’s work is all about our perception of the connections between us as humans and the world around us. He makes the point that despite all of our extraordinary ingenuity in inventing machines and systems and technologies, we are still just “bloody animals” with all the raw instincts of nature. Scott F. Gilbert goes further by describing the influence of symbiotic microorganisms that exist across species and disrupt the boundaries of classification. We are actually all bound into a collective biodiversity.
My body supports a huge diversity of microorganisms. I am biodiverse. I am part of biodiversity.
I am an animal and my habitat is the city of Bath. From here I imagine plans and designs for pockets of land across the world but always have in mind my connection to the species that exist there or could exist there. Biodiversity to me is not a tick box topic to collect points on an environmental accreditation form. Biodiversity is the foundation and inspiration for all my work.
As a designer I look for the potential to enrich a place with diversity of species but also to shape it so humans can co exist and draw inspiration, wonder and joy in the experience of that place. I also think we have a duty to go beyond the confines of our project site boundaries and to join forces with those desperately trying to slow or halt the extinction of species. As Roberto Burle Marx said “it seems to be almost an obligation of the landscape architects to combat destruction and to preserve certain ill fated species in danger of extinction in order that they survive for the education and enjoyment of future generations’’. Roberto Burle Marx Lectures. Landscape as Art and Urbanism. 2018
If our role as landscape architects is to design for the experience of landscape alongside conservation of the natural world then we must start with an understanding that biodiversity underpins the functions of ecosystems on which we depend for our food and fresh water, and provides the resilience and flexibility of the living world as a whole. We are literally a part of this living system and this is where I struggle with some of the conventional landscape architectural approaches to biodiversity that suggest biodiversity is an option, to be embraced or not depending on your particular point of view. McHarg’s Design with Nature, and many of the environmental planning and design tools since, sets “Biodiversity” up as a factor in the design process and often just a factor among many. It becomes a tick box item rather than a fundamental driver and inspirer of the process. E O Wilson’s “Biophilia” is closer to my heart, but its definition—“the idea that humans possess an innate tendency to seek connections with nature and other forms of life”—also implies some form of disconnect or difference between humans and other life forms.
“Beasts and Senses” is a shorthand title for designing with biodiversity and the human experience in mind. It is a title I have used at Grant Associates since I started the practice over 20 years ago and I still keep coming back to it as a prompt for starting each project. Over the years we have applied this in many different ways. At New Islington in Manchester we had the idea of using an image of the very rare Floating Leaved Plantain that existed in the nearby canals, as a motif for the streetscape and developed a grid of large cast iron discs decorated with the motif and thus bringing a sense of this species to the street in a way that enhanced the character and quality of the space.
At Gardens by the Bay we used the image of the orchid, Vanda Miss Joaquim var. Agnes, the national flower of Singapore, as a metaphor for the project. This orchid represents the most cosmopolitan species in the world in one of the most cosmopolitan cities. A plant of beauty and intrigue. A plant with an extraordinary physiology that allows it to exist and to remain beautiful, in the harshest epiphytic conditions.
Credit: Andrew Grant
The subsequent designs and implementation of the Gardens translated these qualities into a powerful spatial and sensory series of experiences but also transformed the site into a biodiverse haven. It is not only a fully fledged botanical garden with over 19,000 species of plants, but it has attracted huge numbers of bird, insect, reptile species and has become the home of the largest population of Smooth Otters in the whole of Singapore. Finally, we recently marked our 20 year anniversary of Grant Associates by investing time and funds into a special conservation project in Madagascar. There we are working with Bristol Zoo and the AEECL to conserve and protect the habitat of the critically endangered Blue-eyed black lemur and the Sportive lemur along with all the species that co exist in the small fragments of forest that remain.
In summary I think these three projects portray my personal approach to biodiversity in design. Celebrate Biodiversity – Create Biodiversity – Conserve Biodiversity. Be an animal!
Yun Hye Hwang is an accredited landscape architect in Singapore, an Associate Professor in MLA and currently serves as the Programme Director for BLA. Her research speculates on emerging demands of landscapes in the Asian equatorial urban context by exploring sustainable landscape management, the multifunctional role of urban landscapes, and ecological design strategies for high-density Asian cities.
Beyond promoting an abundance of species, designers could strengthen the concept of biodiversity in design by understanding the principles of urban ecology aiming at habitat enhancement.
Landscape architecture is playing an increasing role in the promotion of urban biodiversity. As I see it, biodiversity is an overarching impetus, guiding landscape designers to contribute to the planet’s ecosystems in a practical sense. As a design scholar based in Singapore, I have found several opportunities to apply biodiversity in both my designs and research. Five strategies of these works are listed below.
Utilizing naturally growing plants: Singapore’s ecosystem is extremely diverse and structurally complex, as the city state is located in the equatorial zone. But in design practice, plant selection commonly relies on the limited plant species available in the local horticultural industry. In taking advantage of the tropicality, however, designers could explore other alternatives to promote biodiversity. For example, in one garden design project we selectively utilized some of spontaneously growing plants not available in the market but which are not aggressive, are generally well-suited to support local habitats and are tolerant in an urban context (see project photo below).
‘From Lawn to Forest Garden’ project (2017). The enchanted garden in NUS (National University Singapore) campus came naturally by promoting growth of spontaneous vegetation. Photo: Zi En Jonathan YUE
Increasing public acceptance of biodiversity: Urban dwellers are often known to prefer orderly parks with low-diversity greenery. However, they are becoming conscious of nature conservation, suggesting a shift in perception of biodiversity. The challenge is how to improve social acceptance for biodiversity (defined it as living organisms that have structural and genetic heterogeneity and spontaneity to flourish over time). A forthcoming article in JoLA ‘Intended wildness’ exploring design and management strategies to realize an ecological aesthetic and address social acceptance while promoting spontaneous growth for biodiverse green spaces in a tropical compact city expands on this.
Considering principles of ecology: Beyond promoting an abundance of plant species, designers could strengthen the concept of biodiversity by understanding the principles of urban ecology aiming at habitat enhancement. Design considerations could include larger-scale ecological networks, geological/historic site conditions, interactions between flora and fauna, habitat requirements supporting genetic diversity, microclimate, and functional traits of plants, soil and water. A recent paper identifying actionable design strategies through an ecological lens suggests how biodiversity could be developed in design projects.
Continuous monitoring process afterwards: Biodiversity is not a static concept but is adaptable over time. Yet this aspect of biodiversity is de-emphasized and underappreciated in contemporary landscape practice. For example, designers are typically responsible only until the completion of a project, as highlighted by Felson. They may pay less attention to the inherent biodiversity of constructed landscapes and over/underestimate their outcomes based on achievement at the time of the construction. In fact, biodiversity may flourish several years later. A mangrove planting project we documented in Manila is a prime example (project photo below).
Baseco Kabalikat Mangrove Project, Manila. After several years of failures due to major typhoons, mangrove patches were established and now attract aquatic fauna. Photo: Yun Hye HWANG
Interacting with scientists: To address biodiversity, designers should seek out interactions/collaborations with ecologists. Ecologists could provide more concrete theoretical data that contribute to design ideas. For example, they can list target species, suggest habitats that suit the design site, gauge ecological functionality of design proposals, and explain what to do in the frame of urban ecology. For better communication between designers and ecologists, I recently suggested “redefining working scopes” and “creating a more open design process” in the TNOC roundtable, “What ecologists and landscape architects don’t get about each other, but ought to”.
Maria is working on the investigation of different urban ecosystems and developing principles of ecological design. Her latest FORMAS project in Sweden was dedicated to the lawn as cultural and ecological phenomenon and symbol of globalization.
Local biodiversity as well as urban non-native biodiversity can become a new design tool, even a key to creating a new generation of landscape design compositions that are sustainable, memorable, and at the same time accepted by people.
Urban biodiversity and landscape design: two sides of the same coin
I started my career as an educator and a consultant in landscape architecture and urban ecology in St. Petersburg, the most European city in Russia. St. Petersburg is the UNESCO Heritage site with numerous historic parks and gardens. For me, urban biodiversity at that time meant first of all spontaneous vascular plants, which found the refuge in bosquets and parterres, manicured lawns and even in the cracks of granite embankments. I remember how happy I was to find rare orchids and ferns just in the very heart of St. Petersburg in the Summer Garden. In mid-1990s, my understanding of urban biodiversity was pretty much European, mostly related to the German School of Urban Ecology. The main task of the new science of urban ecology was to find, describe, and understand urban plants and their associated plant communities, as well as to look for analogues within the surrounding natural ecosystems (urban biotopes and their analogies in nature). Interestingly enough, my dual nature of an urban ecologist and landscape architect (garden historian) directed me to the strategy of protecting rare plants and spontaneous nature even when it contradicted the main strategy of restoration of historic gardens and management policy aiming to keep the manicured and tidy heritage of landscape architecture.
By the end of the 20th century, biodiversity was understood as biodiversity of native ecosystems. There were so many unexplored nearby forests and meadows, bogs and mountain vegetation in Russia, so why should botanists or ecologists be bothered to investigate unusual, complicated urban biotopes and try to think about the diversity of species next to apartment blocks or “dirty” unpleasant industrial zones?
The real understanding and re-evaluation of urban biodiversity came to me only after living and visiting different countries. Without problems, I can recognise lawn or hedge species and park vegetation in New York City and Christchurch (New Zealand). However, these were familiar to me from childhood — urban plant pallets were all foreign here and had no analogues in the surrounding native ecosystems. So I discovered a new term, “native biodiversity” (native urban biodiversity), which is actually quite absurd from an ecological point of view. However, particularly in New Zealand, this native biodiversity term was a necessity. Island ecosystems are very vulnerable to many of introduced “familiar” urban plants. Thousands of exotic plants escaped from cultivation. Here in New Zealand it became extremely clear that me and my landscape architecture peers are responsible for making our urban environment so similar, so uniform. Here in New Zealand I had to switch my urban ecology “eyes” from passive “contemplation” that described urban plant species towards a new understanding of the truly complex character of plant communities. My landscape architecture eyes were in search for inspiration from the extremely diverse native and local biodiversity. Now I introduced a new term to my vocabulary: “urban biodiversity and design. Local biodiversity as well as urban non-native biodiversity can become a new design tool, even a key to creating a new generation of landscape design compositions that are sustainable, memorable, and at the same time accepted by people.
My latest urban destination is Perth, in West Australia. Here I realise how difficult is to design with native biodiversity and try to mimic natural processes in urban environment because of a very limited experimental works. Compared to the centuries of garden design and exploring new varieties of plants, landscape architects have a very limited knowledge of how to marry design with nature and native plants in urban environments.
Each site we design, as landscape architects, is an opportunity to increase biodiversity as it works in the local bioregion and bolsters local goals, which collectively contribute to tackling that wicked global problem of biodiversity loss.
Biodiversity is one of those rare words landscape architects should use often, and with confidence to describe a unique value our profession can add to the world. Few terms are as clear, concise, and inspiring, the embodiment of a goal to value abundance and variety. I’d disagree that biodiversity is just about metaphor, but rather, is one of those ecological referents that is distinctly defined and can be measured with specificity, the variety of life in terms number of species (species abundance) and how they are distributed in a community (relative abundance). Confusion can arise when we couple measurement of biodiversity with performance. Once measured, it provides many guides for this performance and designs by informing specific goals to be met — how a site works in comparison to a reference ecosystem condition, habitat values based on indicator species, presence and absence of pests or invasive species, and the ability to withstand disturbance. While it is perceived and often true that high biodiversity means a healthy, more stable, ecosystem, in the end, biodiversity on its own doesn’t embody these values, but simply provides the necessary data to measure performance.
A quick look at the Google Ngram shows how little usage the term had prior to the 1980s, which surprised me, until I realized that it is a relatively new portmanteau which locks both biology and diversity (both terms which go way further back in defining ecological science) into a tidy package. Biodiversity has a timelessness, along with a simplicity and coherence makes it a powerful term because of its lack of ambiguity. Many terms borrowed from ecology and science are misunderstood and misused, and as we know, there’s an overabundance of jargon in the world of landscape architecture and design. These terms are employed at times to inform key processes, however can also be used to obfuscate, dumb-down, or greenwash. Biodiversity, however, is a measure, and thus transcends being a buzz-word (with the exception being if you’re actually measuring bees), avoiding jargon status occupied by many other terms used by landscape architects, sustainability, and placemaking.
Biodiversity is also engaging, as it is inclusive of larger contexts (global and regional biodiversity) but offers a simple and measurable vehicle for what we can do locally. The global challenges are pointed out in the Millennium Ecosystem Assessment, and perhaps more poetically in Richard Weller’s ambitiously engaging Atlas for the End of the World, which showcases critically endangered bioregions, creating “…essential groundwork for the future planning and design of hotspot cities and regions as interdependent ecological and economic systems.”
Biological Hotspots – From Atlas for the End of the World – http://atlas-for-the-end-of-the-world.com/world_maps/world_maps_biological_hotspots.html
It’s an overwhelming and somewhat depressing concept to reconcile, because it seems insurmountable. However, each site we design, as landscape architects, is an opportunity to increase biodiversity as it works in the local bioregion and bolsters local goals, which collectively contribute to tackling that wicked global problem. Certification schemes such as SITES provide a much more robust tool for measuring design goals and performance, and guidelines such as Salmon Safe provides additional, regional strategies which encourage urban ecology in development. Coupling this into multi-functional landscapes, biodiversity can be a key ingredient in green infrastructure, such as the shift from sedum-specific to more biodiverse green roofs, which amplify what we’re currently doing with a great focus on biodiversity.
Bonneville Power Administration 905 Building – Habitat Roof. Deswign & Photo: Jason King
At a functional level, biodiversity isn’t just about habitat, but can also provide functional ways of ensuring our designs have adaptability and resilience, because we are modeling them. This isn’t about native purism, but acknowledging novel ecosystems that require new assemblages, but using cues from natural reference ecosystems in designing using multiple species, three-dimensional structural canopies, and incorporating species. Modern monocultures may be striking in their formality, but are at risk for shifts of climate, pests, and other issues. This local action to global connection obviously is limited by the scale of the work we do, and there’s only so much that can be accomplished on each site. Thus, landscape architects need to continue expanding our reach and influence beyond site boundaries into policy, planning, and strategy to expand our reach and impact.
By casting a broad net about the component parts, bio- (living organisms) and -diversity (variety), the term is able to be inclusive and also applicable to so many situations. I think of this in terms of ecology, and the shift towards both incorporating humans as key organism into ecological studies allows us move beyond ideas of untouched nature and natural processes, and truly measure human impacts in the Anthropocene. In short, it now shows that humans are intertwined (and culpable) in destruction, and can be important actors in regeneration. The term also hints at a viable metric for equity, which is often hard to measure. We tend to be focused on non-human diversity, but accounting for the full range of species, and how much diversity (of usage, participation). our designs yield. The term is a way of expanding the potential for dialog around regenerative design potential for us as designers, and a key metric for success of these landscape in terms of actual performance.
Chapman Swifts – used under Creative Commons 2.0 from Kat+Sam – https://www.flickr.com/photos/39871249@N07/5398763612/
Last week, like many in Portland, my wife and I ventured up into Northwest to view the annual gathering of the Vaux’s Swifts as they looked to bunk down for the night in the old Chimney at Chapman School. A sideshow twenty years ago, it’s now blossomed into a full spectacle, with thousands of people of all ages and walks of life each year coming to experience the event. While the drama of raptors zooming through the tightening funnel of swifts was accompanied by the oohs and ahhs of the crowds, it showed an important lesson about biodiversity.
By saving the Chimney at the school, we’ve created a place for this unique species to have a home on their annual migration route. By creating a city that is verdant and varied, we create a destination for species, including humans, that are attracted by these unique qualities. And by highlighting a somewhat oddball but magical event to celebrate this, we come together, diverse groups of species, humans and non-humans, exhibiting variety and richness, in a display of true biodiversity.
Victoria Marshall's design practice is called Till Design. She is a registered landscape architect and is trained in both landscape architecture and urban design. Marshall is currently a President’s Graduate Fellow at the National University of Singapore where she is pursuing a PhD in the Department of Geography.
I wonder if landscape architecture has over-focused on biodiversity and neglected ecology. Might landscape architecture look into the puzzles raised by other ecology questions in order to tackle the “grand challenges” in the emerging field of urban ecology.
What is a biodiversity inflected landscape architecture, where is it deployed, and why now? This is what came to my mind when I was asked to write about landscape architecture and biodiversity. In my understanding, landscape architecture is a critical, cultural practice. By this I mean it is a practice that interrogates, reflects, and analyses culture. In my definition of culture I include the entangled way that humans and non-humans make each other. Accordingly, I understand biodiversity as an ecologically informed feature of culture, and that a landscape architecture project may or may not engage biodiversity. A critical, landscape architecture, for example, can actively advance the field of work around biodiversity. Or, it can engage design strategies to shape other ideas of Nature. Or, landscape architecture can critique biodiversity as a type of fetishization of scientific narration, representation and aesthetics. The important thing to remember, to my mind, is that landscape architecture is an active cultural practice that engages art and design in ways that are always in a dialog with how the world is becoming.
I have raised the topic of critique here so that the relationship between biodiversity and landscape architecture might be looked at more broadly, and as something that is still being formed. I do this because I have struggled with “biodiversity”, as I find it abstract. I share below how I get around this concern by briefly noting something about my own design and research practice, and showing where I fit biodiversity in.
I see close connections between biodiversity and landscape ecology, and I see that landscape architecture has formed a close relationship with landscape ecology. While there is room for landscape architecture to keep focusing deeper into the biodiversity research questions that come with landscape ecology, such as habitat or land-use types as well as, species community and gene issues, and more (Botzat, Fischer & Kowarik, 2016), ecology offers more than biodiversity. For example, I have undertaken collaborative research in urban design and urban ecology about land classification. I wonder if landscape architecture has over-focused on biodiversity and neglected ecology. Might landscape architecture look into the puzzles raised by other ecology questions in order to tackle the “grand challenges” in the emerging field of urban ecology (Pataki, 2015)?
Second, there is the big topic of the cultural characteristics of Nature. Stakes in conservation and change are always formed from a special mix of society and environment, as well as belief practices and institutions. Landscape architecture practices can support, mediate, or resist, such subjectivities. My current research is in the field of geography and it is a study of the “lived ecologies” of peri-urban Kolkata as political ecologies, as landscape, and as a dynamic biophysical spatiality. I do this, in part, with the hope that ecological research questions, such as those that come from biodiversity work, might be asked of this understudied condition in Asia. That is, while I do not measure biodiversity effects, I hope that my research work lays a foundation for applied and research ecology practices that support such urban-rural systems.
I toggle between these approaches. That is, between a critical engagement with urban ecology tools and work that aims to inform what, and where, urban ecology questions are asked. My tangible, biodiversity inflected, landscape architecture is therefore, a creative practice of locating the ”design element” within the ways that I collaborate and co-create with science and society. I believe that my approaches, and others, do work to keep the field of landscape architecture, and others, continuously open. This is important because a diversity of practices might sustain an agile responsiveness to the novel conditions and situations designers, scientists, and researchers inevitably find themselves in today.
References:
Botzat, A., Fischer, L. K., & Kowarik, I. (2016). Unexploited opportunities in understanding liveable and biodiverse cities. A review on urban biodiversity perception and valuation. Global Environmental Change, 39, 220–233.
Pataki, D. E. (2015). Grand challenges in urban ecology. Frontiers in Ecology and Evolution, 3.
Daniel Phillips is an urban ecologist and landscape architect. He is the co-founder of COMMONStudio, a collaborative creative practice with independent projects and research spanning many countries.
In order to better shape urban biodiversity, let’s reconceive the possibilities it already holds!
The definition of biodiversity in the city is necessarily hard to pin down, precisely because the value and role of biodiversity in cities is open to so much debate and nuance.
The (city) limits of biodiversity as a useful heuristic.
Landscape architects often rely on distillations of broad ecological principles to inform design decisions. The promotion and preservation of biodiversity is a great example of how established scientific knowledge can be applied as a useful heuristic device to inform decisions such as plant selection. Biodiversity is understood by many practitioners and managers as shorthand for “complexity”, and more complex ecosystems tend to be more resilient. It’s the same heuristic that we often apply to investment portfolios: The more diverse, the better.
Yet, borrowed as it is from the field of conservation biology (which has historically focused on “pristine” ecosystems), conventional biodiversity principals certainly don’t make a seamless transition onto the urban environments where landscape architects do the majority of their work. Cities are highly disturbed and irrevocably altered environments with compacted, under/over-fertilized soils, vast impervious surfaces, heat islands, and widespread contamination. Beyond these novel biotic and abiotic conditions, the cultural landscape of cities vibrates with the friction of competing values and needs.
It’s clear that the definition of biodiversity in the city is necessarily hard to pin down, precisely because the value and role of biodiversity in cities is open to so much debate and nuance. Urban environments are among the most complex and fascinating ecosystems ever produced, and they surely deserve their own distinct modes of rigorous inquiry to drive new theories and practice. Should we value overall species counts? Functional traits? Presence of Keystone species? Preservation of functional patches and corridors through urban gradients? Of course, it always depends on a host of other requirements and considerations.
One problem is that achieving “biodiversity by design”—the intentional planting of specific species in highly constructed environments—is that it tends to focus on assemblages that can be imposed and managed by official sanction, while ignoring those that arise spontaneously as unwanted noise. But what if some of the plants we’re so quick to erase as “weeds” are actually performing vital regulating, supporting, provisioning, or cultural ecosystem services for free? Does it make sense to replace them for those that can only thrive with constant inputs of resources and maintenance? It’s here that a blind insistence on narrow notions of nativism, and the fetishization of corrective ecologies with the “right” species, only blunts our agency and keeps us focused on the past. Luckily, a growing body of urban ecology research offers a way out of these conceptual traps while offering a crucial reframing of the question at hand: What might cities already be trying to tell us about their own emergent patterns of biodiversity?
The “Global Urbarium”
Commonstudio’s “Global Urbarium” is our unfolding multi-city survey of spontaneous urban vegetation that seeks to highlight and understand the subliminal forms of natural process that occur in our cities. It draws on methods of citizen science, herbarium collection, and field ecology with intended applications for designers and managers. To date, the project has explored diverse urban contexts from Los Angeles to Rome, Budapest, and Bangalore. The most recent iteration of the Global Urbarium aims to understand the common plants which define post-industrial cities of the midwest. It focuses on four so-called “legacy” cities: Detroit, Pontiac, Flint, and Saginaw. These sites roughly constitute a post-industrial corridor of inquiry, travelling in a northwestern transect across the “Thumb” of Michigan. Aided with a grant from the Graham Sustainability Institute, the Rustbelt Herbarium is the most ambitious of these efforts to date and the first of its kind in the region.
Daniel Phillips and Kim Karlsrud collect plants near a former factory in the outskirts of Flint, Michigan. Photo: Daniel Phillips
Some of the plants we find in our sampling sites are hardy natives, others escapees or remnants of local gardens. Others are common “pan-global” weeds that we’ve encountered in many other cities around the world. Some are buzzing with pollinators or teeming with invertebrate life, or rooted proudly in the mouldering rubble of an abandoned factories. We try not to judge, but to merely observe, collect, and take detailed notes. In addition to a publicly facing digital herbarium available on Instagram, we are building a database which will serve as a foundation for inform future studies, comparative analysis, and interdisciplinary tools. Our ultimate goal is to make this data actionable to researchers and practitioners who may be interested in incorporating these messy features of the urban ecosystem into their purview and projects.
Digitally preserved specimens from Commonstudio’s “Global Urbarium”. Credit: Daniel Phillips
For too long, urban ecosystems have been subject to a strange mode of “double blackmail”—too urbane for naturalists to take seriously, and too wild for urbanists to sanction. It’s clear that cities are already way more biodiverse than we had imagined. But if we want to better shape urban biodiversity by design, we would do well to study it’s nuances and messy complexities in more intentional ways.
Mohan S Rao, an Environmental Design & Landscape Architecture professional, is the principal designer of the leading multi-disciplinary consultancy practice, Integrated Design (INDÉ), based in Bangalore, India
While deploying endemic species is preferred to exotics as a pure aspiration or goal, there are times when a designer needs to take a more nuanced stand on “biodiversity” based on the social, economic, and ecological contexts together.
The provocation is bang on target when it says that the term Biodiversity is understood, meant and defined in a bewildering array of ways by different people. For ease of discussion, my response is limited to factors determining the use of endemic or exotic vegetation in practice.
My practice covers a fairly large diversity, in geographical, social, economic, and cultural contexts. And my interpretation (not meaning or definition) of the term biodiversity varies substantially in response to a combination of such contexts. It is useful to unpack some of these contexts to explore possible ways in which one could deal with biodiversity.
In an ecologically oriented intervention, I interpret biodiversity (referring to vegetation in this note) in fairly strict terms. It would include origin (whether endemic or not), habitat (as understory, relationship with other specimens, etc.), position in the succession order (whether they are pioneer species, for example), ecological function (nitrogen fixing, essential food for fauna, etc) and so on. More importantly, its relevance to other biotic systems and consequent impacts would be more carefully understood.
In an ecologically sensitive context, I interpret biodiversity in fairly strict terms. This would include exclusive use of endemic species and integration of their key ecological functions (nitrogen fixation, as a habitat for avifauna, etc.) in the landscape structure. Equally important is understanding their relevance to other biotic systems such as soil chemistry, ground water regime, etc.
In one particular instance, a recreational development close to a wildlife corridor meant that we had to ensure the complete absence of several species whose flowering and fruiting characteristics are known to excite the elephants which frequent the corridor!! Though all these species were indigenous to the region and have specific ecological benefits, the choice had to be made based on safety issues.
Dealing with the ecological context is relatively simpler compared to the challenges of addressing the issue of biodiversity in specific social and cultural contexts. In creating social spaces, ecological characteristics become less critical than aspirational aspects of the vegetation palette. In the South Asian context, for instance, this means confronting quite of a lot of baggage carefully handed down from the colonial era when designed landscapes signified power, exclusion and domination—characteristics deeply rooted in the visual language of even current day public space design. Given this historic baggage, most public spaces are “expected” to be formal in nature; populated with Roystonea regia or Cupressmacrophylla and of course, hedges of Duranta goldiana enclosing formal lawns.
In such contexts, rather than focus on what is truly indigenous, I often choose the middle path of what is not overtly invasive. Many specimens, while clearly exotic, may not necessarily be aggressive or invasive; one could say they are comparatively benign. As long as their impact on other biodiversity—floral, faunal, and avian—including soil and water regime is clearly understood, the conflict between use of endemic versus the exotic can be handled more sensitively.
Such an approach has helped address the ecological aspect (to a lesser extent) and the social dimension of the space created in a fairly balanced manner.
The challenge gets more extreme when dealing with productive landscapes; especially those meant to provide for nutritional and food security.
For example, in interventions around the flood plains of a river that are also the commons for the informal settlements that surround it, the choice of vegetation catering to the food, fuel, and fodder requirements for the underprivileged needs an extremely careful assessment.
Exotic and invasive species are often specimens of choice in such situations due to their faster growth rates.
However, the negative impacts of such choices even over periods as short as three to five years, can be quite drastic in terms of changes to the soil and water regimes.
The inherent requirements of exotic species, such as additional fertilizers, pesticides, increased water demand, soil management, etc., imposes an increased economic burden on the users.
The choice would then get limited to the indigenous palette—they are hardy, resilient to pests and extreme weather and more amenable for multiple canopy structures. While it may seem fairly obvious to the professional, the decision to pursue the indigenous route needs extended engagement with the users to debate short-term efficiency versus long-term sustainability. In this instance, though the choice of vegetation used is clearly driven by their endemic nature, it’s not the ecological paradigm that is driving design decisions, but economic and social frameworks defined by the users.
While deploying endemic species is preferred to exotics as a pure aspiration or goal, there are times when a designer will need to take a more nuanced stand on the issue based on the social, economic, and ecological contexts together.
Sylvie (PhD in Urban Studies) is an architect and senior researcher at the Larep (landscape research laboratory) and full professor in landscape architecture at the École Nationale Supérieure de Paysage de Versailles.
The real ambition—to improve biodiversity as bio[socio]diversity—is that biodiversity be part of our landscape experiences, in which landscape architecture focuses on an ecological equilibrium with communities’ interests or wishes.
How to design living processes—improving biodiversity—through an anthropic oriented common mindset? This question resumes the landscape architect paradox in France, where biodiversity became an urban design’s goal within the framework of the Grenelle’s Laws in 2010.[1] Since the 1960s, the landscape has been a living environment only for landscape ecologists; not for an aesthetic distant vision, nor for people. The landscape architects, Bernard Lassus,[2] as well as the philosopher Alain Roger[3], promoted the idea that the landscape—a cultural notion developed from aesthetic—had nothing in common with the environment, which was only an ecological scientific notion. These distinctions progressively subsided in the 2000s. Now, local authorities have to implement government action plans as “green infrastructure” and “nature in the city”. Here, the biodiversity is more a bio[socio]diversity, focusing on what is significant to inhabitants than for living beings… as if man was not a living being!
French landscape architects used to deal with environmental approaches that improve human quality of life; for example, rainwater management of the 70s’ new towns. Thus, in urban design, biodiversity is considered as a link between human ecology and natural process. The attention to the living beings’ diversity is filtered out by an attention to the way people perceive and use their own environment. Here, in the word “biodiversity”, the biologic sense is closely attached to the common sense of “what is our environment”. Design with biodiversity involves a new aesthetic because environmental matters were mainly run by technical approaches, because horticultural processes ran gardening. The French landscape architect, Gilles Clément (http://www.gillesclement.com/), has been a leading figure to disseminate a new landscape and gardening culture; based on the ecological richness of abandoned spaces (Third Landscape), and on the accompaniment of natural processes (Garden in Motion). This culture favors an aesthetic vision, which encouraged urban brownfield and urban wild. These new images of the nature, for townspeople, are also little spots of biodiversity; but they are not connected to form a corridor. .
The real ambition–to improve biodiversity as bio[socio]diversity–is that biodiversity be part of our landscape experiences. The Chevreuse’s Regional National Park, Southwest of Paris, promotes “Landscape and Biodiversity Plans” to combine urban planning; landscape preservation, and biodiversity restoration. It’s a step, where landscape architecture focuses on an ecological equilibrium with communities’ interests or wishes. When I worked on this project, I proposed to involve artists to bring out a sensitive environmental experience, and to help people to center on their own involvement in living processes. It did not happen, because the board assumed that urban planning was a technical matter. They didn’t understand that biodiversity, as a landscape object, articulates material facts—to improve ecosystems— and symbolic values as pleasure, comfort, or beauty. Nowdays, ecology asks us to no longer dissociate ecosystems functionality and human well-being. Sensitive, socio-symbolic, and biophysical qualities of our environments have to interact. That’s enlarged the boundaries of the biological diversity. Biodiversity refers to equilibrium —between social and natural processes— focusing on the ways human and non-human share the same habitat, and, for a landscape architect, on the ways to make visible this common use. For the biologist, Jacob von Uexküll,[4] men and animals have the same kind of relationship with their surrounding environment; based on the perceptions they have and the uses they make. Just as, in landscape architecture, the word “biodiversity” refers to a subjective lived environment. So foster biodiversity is a sensitive act, more than a scientific one.
[1] Grenelle’s Laws for “a national commitment to the environment” set an action framework to address the ecological emergency. One important goal is taking biodiversity into account in urban planning.
[2] Bernard Lassus, The Landscape Approach, Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1998.
[3] Alain Roger, Court traité du paysage, Paris: Gallimard, 1997.
[4] Jakob von Uexküll, A Foray Into the Worlds of Animals and Humans: With a Theory of Meaning, translated by Joseph D. O’Neil, Minneapolis/London: University of Minnesota Press, 2010 (first edition, 1934).
Kevin Sloan, ASLA, RLA is a landscape architect, writer and professor. The work of his professional practice, Kevin Sloan Studio in Dallas, Texas, has been nationally and internationally recognized.
Since each urban site cannot support all the species that are possible, the role of biodiversity is to guide the wild life program and synthetically edit the possibilities into a list that will be ecologically successful, appropriate and possible to co-exist with human activity.
When people who aren’t scientists — in other words, people like me, a landscape architect and Professor of Architecture — think of biodiversity, we usually think of flora and fauna, of soil samples and climate data for forests, repairing ecological imbalances, and reconstructing preserves. We don’t normally think of urban parks, Brownfield, sites or municipal watershed networks.
But the US cities that have rapidly appeared in the last century — most especially suburban mega cities like Atlanta, Phoenix and Dallas / Fort-Worth, etc. — have given rise to unprecedented problems and environmental challenges. As readers of “The Design of Cities” already know and appreciate, the list of problems and relevant topics is long and seem to multiply as fast as they are identified and remedied with innovation.
A new way of re-conceiving biodiversity is now possible with the appearance of the new cities, especially since the new urban forms are replete with wildlife. An overview of the contemporary city and how it supports wildlife, versus how the historical city form excluded it, is first.
Prior to the twentieth century the relationship between city and nature was a set pattern of relationships that repeated.
Pre-modern cities were typically dense formations of buildings with spatial networks of streets and public spaces all within a physical boundary. Whether the boundary was a fortification wall or a natural barrier like a river, mountain or the water surrounding an island, the outcome almost always produced an identifiable object — the city or town situated in a landscape. In these cities, being inside or outside the city, was never a geographical matter in question.
Surrounding the city was the “field”. Agriculture, commercial exchange, open visibility for protection against advancing mercenaries were just a few of the roles serviced by this mediating zone. Danger, lawlessness, and predators roamed freely out in the wilderness, which was the final layer beyond the field.
Biodiversity is no longer a concern that is exclusive to wilderness. It is and can be an integral consideration for contemporary cities, since the low density of suburban mega cities offers an abundance of open space where wild life can take hold.
Nature sightings within contemporary cities like Dallas are now commonplace. Once, where only pests and vermin plagued a city like ancient Rome, it is now a privilege and delight to see migrating waxwings in a backyard tree, monarch butterflies in lantana, or to hear the whistling cry of a red tailed hawk overhead. Exterminating the natural life, for whatever reason, is futile. It will only return since the sparse density of a suburban mega city gives nature and us and new kind of opportunity to co-exist.
Where biodiversity was a condition and priority only for environments outside a city, now it can now mean a synthesis of human and natural life in the city.
ReWILDing is sweeping the world. The process of making a ReWILDed landscape begins with the determination of an inventory of wild life that a site can reasonably and appropriately support. This is a task greatly improved with scientists and experts that specialize in biodiversity.
Once the wild life program is established; plants, landforms, and patterns take shape accordingly. Establishing the biodiversity of a ReWILDing program is an inseparable part of this activity. Since each urban site cannot support all the species that are possible, the role of biodiversity is to guide the wild life program and synthetically edit the possibilities into a list that will be ecologically successful, appropriate and possible to co-exist with human activity. Applied incrementally, regions within a suburban mega city will transform patiently, with each new project, to collectively generate a more balanced urban ecology where the built and bio-morphic are synthetically integrated.
I see ReWILDing not as a trend or the latest environmental thing, but rather as the next step for sustainability and a logical final step in making American and especially, sprawling Texas cities unique from our European and colonial predecessors. A new kind of approach and application to biodiversity will help carry both activities, forward.
To democratize the concept of biodiversity let’s talk about the earth and the forms of life that dwell on it; about how human beings fit in; about the magic and poetry of biodiversity; by listening to people as they share their knowledge of nature.
Biodiversity and urban “weeds”
After finishing my general architecture studies, I began working in the specialized field of landscape architecture. My ensuing research and newfound interests have allowed me to go down a poetic path that leads through nature, high and folk culture, ecology and community affairs. My professional endeavors have branched out into the interrelated fields of biology, art, geography, conservation, hydraulics, hydrology and sociology.
However, during the early years of my career, I rarely came across the word “biodiversity”, and it has only been in the last decade that the meaning of this term has become clear to me. I can further add that I have discovered that this concept is still missing from the educational background of a number of practicing architects.
Intuition and common sense correlate the term biodiversity to biological life and diversity; to the entire, complex system of relationships among living beings, one that recognizes their uniqueness as well as their differences. As a landscape architect acquires professional experience, she or he comes into direct contact with this concept and uses it as a way to understand the interrelated worlds of flora and fauna with other biological systems, including those of water, soil, air.
Subsequently, on a variety of levels, the practicing landscape architect begins to understand how evolution and biological change have occurred within a specific geographical context. Furthermore, biodiversity also involves human beings in this web of biological relationships that can be both tangible and intangible.
Listening to people as they share their knowledge of nature, these words include creativity, calmness, seeds, people, interconnection, safety, spirit, and many others1. Image from Cerros de Bogotá
A designer of urban scenarios and landscapes tries not to focus solely on how to make a site beautiful. This is especially true in a geographically diverse country like Colombia, where educated professionals also need to help encounter solutions that can contribute to reducing the nation’s poverty and social inequality, to improving its education system and to fostering respect for human rights. As requisite as rising to these challenges may seem, when public policies are being shaped, environmental initiatives are often left out of the discussion. Therefore, so that these socio-economic goals can be met, professional experts, whose job it is to transform the landscape, should use the tools they have at their disposal to advance the causes of social and ecological transformations.
In Colombia, the modern phenomena of sprawling urban areas combined with booming population growth have brought constant changes in the configuration of the landscape, as well as in the dynamics of urban ecosystems.
Consequently, it has become increasingly clear that landscape design should be based upon biodiversity, so as to ensure society’s well-being and sustainable development.
The accelerated growth of cities and “the massive and chaotic occupation of territories results in natural spaces becoming insularized and the consequent loss of their biodiversity”.1 In urban areas, the fragmentation of natural landscapes, where vegetation is restrained, leads to their homogenization and reduces their impact on biodiversity.
In addition to this fragmentation, other urban development processes have had a significant impact on ecosystems and their biodiversity. These include repetitive formulas for constructing public spaces (for example, laying out monotonous grids on irregular topography), homogenizing the landscape, and expanding suburbs and conurbation.
Therefore, it is essential that the concept of biodiversity be included in landscape guidelines so that green spaces and corridors can be woven into urban territories. Such guidelines should be in line with public policies that aim to create resilient and sustainable cities.
It is possible to achieve connectivity in urban areas and to preserve and construct green zones when environmental restoration encompasses both the restitution of flora and urban tree planting. Hopefully, all of these endeavors can be carried out hand in hand with local residents.
It is common to hear both experts and the general public refer to “A natural setting in a city”. However, a more apt term would be “A city in a natural setting”. This reversal of priorities would make it easier not only for urban dwellers to understand the importance of biodiversity, but would also help to clarify the need to rationalize growth in accordance with environmental standards.
Biodiversity can be described as a global system in which living organisms are placed and in which their relationships to humankind are defined. In order to help everyday urban dwellers better comprehend this complex, interdependent network, their attention should be drawn to the cracks in the pavement where they place their feet innumerable times, night and day, and where, in their words, “noxious weeds” are growing. These city dwellers should be encouraged to exchange the term “weeds” for “friendly greens”, since these humble plants bring a multitude of benefits to their urban lives.
Cracks designed to give space to the biodiversity of goodness, in the Agora Bogotá project. Landscape design by Diana Wiesner
The term biodiversity can be understood by any number of definitions available to experts. The Convention of Biological Diversity (CBD,1992) defines it as, “the variability among living organisms from all sources including, inter alia, terrestrial, marine and other aquatic ecosystems and the ecological complexes of which they are part; this includes diversity within species, between species and of ecosystems”.2
Because this definition may seem complicated to the general reader, as I have pointed out elsewhere, it, and other similar concepts, should be democratized by taking it out of the exclusive domains of scientists and making it more easily available to local communities.3
The best way to democratize the concept of biodiversity is by simply talking about the earth and the forms of life that dwell on it, as well as about how human beings fit in; by talking about the magic and poetry of biodiversity; by listening to country people and common people as they share their knowledge of nature. Landscape architects work directly with life, and we hear these stories before we intervene in a given space; which is why the idea of biodiversity was surely imprinted in our DNA long before we were given these long, complex definitions to deal with.
Notes:
1 —Wiesner, D. (2015). Democratizing sustainability conversations. En The Nature of Cities. From https://www.thenatureofcities.com/2015/11/29/conversations-on-sustainability-must-be-democratized-towards-soul-resilience/
2 — The Convention of Biological Diversity, Rio de Janeiro, Brazil (1992).
3 — Special Plan for Environmental Sustainability Indicators for Urban Growth in Seville. (2007) Office of the Mayor, Seville, Spain
[Translated from Spanish by Steven William Bayless, Sept., 2018]
Biodiversidad y «malezas» urbanas
Para democratizar el concepto de biodiversidad, hablemos de la tierra y las formas de vida que la habitan; sobre cómo encajan los seres humanos; sobre la magia y la poesía de la biodiversidad; Escuchando a las personas mientras comparten su conocimiento de la naturaleza.
Años después de estudiar Arquitectura del paisaje y de trabajar e investigar sobre el paisaje, mis actividades fueron llevándome por una senda poética frente a la naturaleza, la cultura, el arte popular, la ecología y las comunidades. Mi quehacer se amplió hacia un universo de interrelaciones que se enriquecieron cada día con aprendizajes desde otras disciplinas como la Biología, el Arte, la Geografía, la Ecología, la Hidráulica, la Hidrología y la Sociología. Durante mi carrera en arquitectura, pocas veces escuché la palabra «biodiversidad», y solo hasta hace unos diez años empecé a aproximarme de manera conciente a ella. El desconocimiento de este concepto se evidencia en la formación algunos arquitectos.
La intuición y el sentido común relacionan la palabra biodiversidad con vida y diversidad biológica, con todo el sistema complejo de relaciones entre los seres vivos, reconociendo su particularidad y su diferencia. Cuando un arquitecto paisajista inicia las actividades que le dan experiencia, la asociación directa con este concepto lo lleva a entender el mundo florístico, asociado con el mundo animal y con otros sistemas: el agua, el suelo, el aire. Este profesional entiende la evolución y los cambios de una geografía particular en diversas escalas. La biodiversidad involucra al ser humano en ese sistema de relaciones que pueden ser tangibles o intangibles.
Un diseñador de temas urbanos y de paisaje no solo debe pensar en embellecer los entornos; en un país geográficamente diverso como Colombia, es necesario tener en mente compromisos como hacer aportes a la disminución de la pobreza y la desigualdad, aumentar la calidad de la educación y promover el respeto de los derechos humanos. Aunque estos son retos evidentes, la variable ambiental no lo es tanto en las prioridades políticas. El diseñador de paisaje debe utilizar las herramientas que lo apoyen en la búsqueda de un cambio social y ecológico que lo acerque a estos objetivos.
Pieza gráfica de palabras asociadas a la biodiversidad.1 Cerros de Bogotá
En ese orden de ideas, el diseño de paisaje debe estar estructurado sobre la base de la biodiversidad como fundamento del bienestar humano y del desarrollo sostenible.
Fenómenos como la expansión de áreas urbanas y el crecimiento de la población de manera exponencial han generado cambios progresivos en la configuración del paisaje y en todas las dinámicas ecosistémicas de los ámbitos urbanos.
El crecimiento acelerado de la ciudad y «la ocupación masiva del territorio de forma dispersa conlleva la insularización de los espacios naturales con la consiguiente pérdida de biodiversidad». La fragmentación del paisaje y el uso limitado de la vegetación en áreas urbanas tiende a homogenizar y a limitar el aporte a la biodiversidad.
Otros procesos urbanos que, además de la fragmentación, tienen efectos relevantes sobre la biodiversidad y los ecosistemas son las fórmulas repetitivas de solución en el espacio público (por ejemplo, cuadrículas continuas sobre geografías irregulares), la homogeneización del paisaje, los procesos de periurbanización y la conurbación.
El concepto de biodiversidad hace parte de los lineamientos en los que se basa la red de espacios y corredores que conducen los procesos ecológicos esenciales a través del territorio en una ciudad, en concordancia con los objetivos públicos de promover ciudades resilientes y sostenibles.
En las áreas urbanas es posible la conectividad a través de las zonas verdes y protegidas en las que se pueden proponer acciones de restauración ecológica, revegetalización y arboricultura urbana. Todas ellas, ojalá acompañadas por la ciudadanía.
Generalmente se habla de naturaleza en la ciudad, en lugar de entender que la ciudad está en la naturaleza. Esta comprensión invertiría las prioridades, y, de esta manera, la biodiversidad lograría ocupar, en la mente de los ciudadanos, el lugar estructurante que le corresponde en el ordenamiento territorial.
En tanto que la biodiversidad es un sistema de organización de organismos vivos en la Tierra, claramente relacionada con el hombre, se pueden presentar a los ciudadanos comunes hechos que son cotidianos para ellos. Por ejemplo, podríamos señalar una grieta en el pavimento llena de plantas que denominamos «malezas» cuando en realidad deberían llamarse «buenezas», por todos los servicios que prestan; sin embargo, diariamente las pisoteamos o las valoramos peyorativamente. Este sería un buen ejemplo de biodiversidad urbana mal entendida por la mayoría de los ciudadanos.
El concepto de biodiversidad puede tener numerosos significados entre profesionales. El Convenio sobre la Diversidad Biológica (CDB, 1992) la define como «la variabilidad de organismos vivos de cualquier fuente, incluidos, entre otras cosas, los ecosistemas terrestres y marinos y otros ecosistemas acuáticos y los complejos ecológicos de los que forman parte; comprende la diversidad dentro de cada especie, entre las especies y de los ecosistemas».
Esta definición puede ser compleja para un ciudadano común, por eso, como lo mencioné en otro artículo , es necesario democratizar los conceptos que alejan a los científicos, encerrados en sus centros de investigación, de las comunidades.
Grietas diseñadas para dar espacio a la biodiversidad de las buenezas, en proyecto Agora Bogotá. Diseños de paisaje Diana Wiesner.
Una forma de democratizar el concepto sería simple: hablar de la vida en la Tierra y sus relaciones, incluyendo la forma como el hombre se relaciona con ella, hablando de su poética y su magia, escuchando las voces de los campesinos y de la gente del común cuando se refieren a todas las formas y expresiones de vida. Por eso, en mis proyectos tambien diseño grietas donde caben las “buenezas”, las yerbas espontáneas como pequeños brillos de biodiversidad en medio del asfalto.2
Los arquitectos del paisaje trabajamos con la vida y escuchamos las historias sobre ella para intervenir un lugar, por tanto, ya tenemos incorporado el concepto de biodiversidad en nuestro ADN, seguramente mucho antes de acceder a la definición compleja.3
In 1993 or thereabouts I entered a contest for women to depict what they did on a particular day. That day, I went to meetings early in the morning at Harlem Hospital. I took photos of the abandoned buildings on West 136th, where I parked my car, and photos of a huge plastic bag in one of the stunted trees. Later, on my way back to my office on W. 166th Street, I stopped to take a photo of man who was selling nuts on the street in front of a burned-out building. He smiled with tremendous pride—when I took him a copy of the photo a few weeks later, he grinned and said he’d send it to his mother so she would know he was trying to make something of himself. There were photos of the Stuyvesant High School students that I was mentoring for the Westinghouse Science Competition, and photos at home in Hoboken with my daughter Molly and some chocolate chip cookies fresh out of the oven. We were reading Ian Frazier’s New Yorker article about plastic bags in trees. I didn’t win the contest, but the exercise etched what I saw in memory.
So I conclude that there is a major disconnect between the actual words and meaning of Goal 11 and the intentions of cities and the research community. All the city lobby groups and mayors were great in supporting its inclusion, but I wonder if the meaning of the words was really grasped.
People living in cities—coastal and land locked—depend heavily on the sea as a food source and for transportation to sites of employment, recreation, and leisure. Unlike many urbanists who focus only on land boundaries of cities, Beatley takes one big step forward in this book: he extends the boundaries of cities not only to coastal areas, but to the deep blue sea, even to parts inaccessible to an ordinary person. Because coastal cities constantly use marine resources, it is only logical to include the vast marine ecosystems of the world in cities’ boundaries. Beatley gives us a new perspective in viewing water masses (rivers, lakes, seas and oceans) as an extension of our cities and, in the end, an extension of ourselves.
Finally, I think among the many reasons urban nature advocates need to expand their partnerships is the need to connect art with nature. Look for partnerships with groups such as our Regional Arts and Culture Council. As it turns out, I was unaware that Portland has an active mural culture. Had I known this, I would have reached out to them for support. Later, I testified before Portland City Council to support that community. Diversifying urban nature advocacy should include the arts, which is why I am pleased The Nature of Cities launched Up Against the Wall: A Gallery of Nature-Themed Graffiti and Street Art.
Add a Comment
Join our conversation