Seeing a place you visit versus knowing the place

Certain thoughts seem to return to the surface of my mind in slightly different form, again and again. So perhaps this note about the layered way to look at a place repeats an earlier posting, too.

Both cultural and natural landscape are in view in this frame. (author photo) 10/2019

This thought experiment gives slightly different results when you place yourself in an (1) unfamiliar location of your own society and language, compared to a (2) foreign location, compared to your own (3) hometown, either from your years of childhood and schooling, or in your present phase of life. However, no matter which situation you take as your starting place, the process of examining each facet of this composite vision, one by one, will be the same in each case.

The photo illustration here hints at the type of challenge there is to knowing a place deeply, both the local cultural meanings and memories, as well as the rhythms and process of the natural environment there. Books like Walden by H.D. Thoreau (1854), Aldo Leopold (1949) A Sand County Almanac, and Annie Dillard (1974) Pilgrim at Tinker Creek and so many of Rachel Carson’s writings delve deeply into a place and time, mostly in the absence of the built landscape of cultural meanings. Wendell Berry is another well of wonder. Many poets, too, have expressed vision tied to a place or moment that is very penetrating: Robert Frost’s love of the land, or Mary Oliver’s love of the creatures and changing seasons of life come to mind. All of these written approaches to a given natural setting make it come alive with meaning and attachment and memory or story for readers. Certainly this personal relationship to the cycles, textures, and many sorts of life form – animal or vegetable (or even mineral) – leads to a closer connection to a place.

Then there is the scientist’s appreciation for those same non-human elements, structures, processes, and behavioral patterns in a place: this can be at the level of microorganisms, the botanical world, the kingdom of fungi, or the universe of animals in air, on land, or in watery settings. For many visitors to an unfamiliar place, these natural elements are barely examined; seen, but not closely observed. Some tour company surveys list a dozen or more major intentionalities or interests when making a trip that is not business related, or caused by fleeing from disaster. These reasons to pack a bag and dwell temporarily in a strange place include things like action/adventure, practicing one’s hobby or sport, history or art (performing or visual), culture of a place (customs of food and communication, language, social life and current events, including festivals or holiday celebrations). Depending on the main goal, a person is inclined to be preoccupied by that purpose and to disregard or little regard all of the many other layers of significance and patterns of activity that comprise the totality of significance there.

When a camera is part of one’s approach to encountering and engaging with the light, landscape, and subjects in front of one’s itinerary, then a certain set of things to pay attention to will arise, while others will be downplayed or be “cropped” out of one’s mind. Street photographers may glory in the thrum of motion close at hand as colors, shapes, and subjects move into and out of intriguing conjunctions for composition and capture. Landscape photographers or videographers will be attracted to subjects revealed best in changing conditions of light. Sporting event picture-takers have a well-defined stage or arena to convey visually. Portrait artists will have fresh backgrounds and lighting to incorporate in their work. Investigative and photo essayists will select from stories they see at hand. And yet, all of those earlier realities of the ecosystem – visible as well as the parts not seen during daylight or without a strong magnifying lens – are still present and alive at the same as the subjects that fill one’s viewfinder. So, taken all together, to really truly know a place, what are all the layers of meaning to get to know?

The easiest case to imagine is a week or two in an unfamiliar place in one’s own society/language; not the sort of place for an easy day-trip for repeated visits, but a place that actually feels like a sort of expedition without easy recourse to things at home to go back and fetch. Suppose you are 300 miles away from your home and you want to know the new location deeply through active study, inquiry, reading, observing, recording, and eventually communicating to others. Here is a kind of checklist of things to do to paint a rich picture of the place. Of course, the same method could be applied to foreign places; and, for that matter, to the place within walking distance of your front door at home, although it is so easy to take daily life for granted such that one’s vision soon glazes over. And while the eyes move, the mind carelessly skims over the sights, unexamined; without reflection or contextualizing the particulars there in front of the person.

Let me take Charleston, South Carolina as my example, since it is far away from my residence. Once refreshed from the travel travail and established in lodgings for the week, the first thing to do is form some general impressions, looking out the window and making a mental note of the signature sounds and also smells of the place, the look of the light, and superficial patterns of building style, street layout, and so on. As a practical matter, some landmarks (major streets and prominent buildings or natural features) should be learned to aid in navigation and the process of spatializing one’s memories (so that scenes and subjects can be automatically associated in one’s mind’s eye with a location). Then the checklist can begin in the order most convenient to one’s interests and prior knowledge. For me in Charleston, beginning with the natural flora and fauna helps to erase the distractions of cultural clutter. Not being a biological, climatological, or geological expert, I consider all these things by imagination: hypothetically, and with a little help from Wikipedia or other sources that document the ecozone, I project onto the streets, parks, and tidal areas some of the annual cycle of tides, lifecycles of insect life, the migratory flows of creatures of land, air, and water, and also the vast array of domesticated animals alive throughout the city. As an added dimension to this mental snapshot of the natural world that intersects with the city of Charleston, perhaps I would stretch my imagination further in the time dimension. I would picture the same kinds of creatures and cycles from a generation or two earlier, and from the British colonial years and before that. Looking in the other direction, I would imagine these subjects alive in the generations after my time.

Having satisfied my appetite for the place, excluding human meanings, and filled with glimpses, reflections, and imaginings of the natural environment above, around, and underneath Charleston, the next set of checklists have to do with the human activity and traces of subjects that took physical form before the present age. Perhaps most imaginatively of all, I would look for hints and precursors to things that will come to full fruition in decades to come. As it has been attributed to the science-fiction writer of the near-future, William Gibson, “The future is already here – it’s just not evenly distributed.” [quoted in The Economist, December 4, 2003] That is, pieces of the future may be more easily visible in some locations than in others.

Charleston, like any other location, takes its shape historically, reflecting the building materials, methods, tools and aesthetics according to the aspirations and functional needs of the time. Geographic constraints determine where to build and where not to build. The flow of traffic, the livelihoods available to residents, and the climate dictate what areas develop first or last, and where the pace of the place is fastest and slowest. So by looking slowly and thoughtfully and the streetscapes, something of past lives and of future ones, too, can be visualized. Even though those old-time events, personalities, and realities of Charleston do not belong to my own self or my ancestors (or those who may descend from me), it is not difficult to suspend disbelief long enough to “borrow” those memories, as if they were one’s own property, temporarily. When imagination is tired or the limits are reached, then a visit to the city museum or local history section of the library (or genealogical collection) might supply the visual means to place one’s mind in the city at various locations in a variety of decades. Related to this visual filip to embracing other times in and around your location is the concept of jibunshi [Japanese for History and Self]. Starting in the 1980s in Japan these amateur histories took one’s family or town as protagonist and related the regional, national, and international changes, trends, inventions, and cataclysms as the storyline in which the protagonist could be foregrounded. In this same spirit, taking Charleston as the subject but also referencing the major changes of each generation or century helps to ground those larger events on the local ground, thus deepening one’s embrace of the place.

Taken together, the life in the natural environment (excluding the human part) and the cultural landscape deepen one’s relationship to the place. Physically traversing by foot or bicycle also weaves three-dimensional experience into one’s sensations of the place, too. Just knowing how to navigate from point A to point B is the sign of a resident, instead of a disoriented newcomer. In other words, knowing the nature and the society, past and present for a location like Charleston, SC helps to form the modest roots of a personal connection.

Another dimension of getting to know a place and seeing it with the eyes of an insider is to seek out some of the routine places one would visit if residing there for years or generations: a nearby elementary school, the local library, grocery store, hospital, gas station, convenience store and so on. Going to these kinds of places gives a likeness of normal, routine life as a local resident. While making this concerted effort to observe and participate in the place may seem more like work than vacation, the result should be something gained – not the release of floating free as a stranger or spectator without the usual routines and responsibilities of home, but instead the sense of embracing the place as one’s own; of knowing it, warts and all, at least a little more than when first begun.

Finally, and altogether of another order of experience of knowing a place, there are some mental frames or mindsets that can affect the way that one sees the place. One way is to adopt a disaster or trauma perspective: researching or just imagining extreme events of a place in the vast sweep of time up to the present. When events date to the period of written (or media recorded) accounts then a lot of detail is accessible, but places of atrocity rely on forensic digging to form a picture of the particulars – Pompeii, Babi Yar, for instance. Another way is to adopt a capstone perspective, building up one’s preparations to really look forward to going to the place and meeting the myriad sights and sound in person; a culmination to a long process.

A third approach is the time-traveler way, in which the site visit comes vividly alive as if one’s presence is semi-invisible, as a specter from a few generations ago who now has a week to walk the “future” and see how life has turned out. Likewise, if adopting the conceit of person from the future, then the chance to “go back in time” makes the days spent on site very intensified, too. One’s mortality or the transient quality of each passing hour feels more urgent in these conditions.

A fourth approach is the attitude of a religious pilgrim making effort to reach the greatly desired destination – either an actual site associated with a major religious tradition, or more figuratively to reach a long sought after destination (not necessarily part of organized religion past or present). In the same vein is darshan, paying one’s respects by making one’s way to the revered subject and giving homage (a deity in physical/geological majesty such as mountain top; or more figuratively and not strictly a religious practice, but merely an attitude of great longing and respect). By framing one’s visit to a new place (or an old, familiar one of one’s earlier days) as a kind of pilgrimage, the hints of awe or moments of wonder are more likely to infuse the vision. Just reaching the desired destination becomes a kind of achievement that deepens the meaning; and then to abide fully in the five senses in the presence of the place adds more layers of significance to the experience. Besides the physical sensory impressions the waking attitude of privileged audience and awe of the subject adds another flavor to the time spent dwelling in the place; a sort of “umami” that suffuses the other five senses.

A fifth mindset or mental frame comes from speaking a foreign language well enough to process the experiences in description and reflection that way. Each language shapes the person’s worldview at the same time that the worldview affects the language used to portray the place, interact with the cultural landscape and the natural environment, and articulate one’s responses to things there.

Doubtless there are many more mental frames to organize the experience of visiting a new place in one’s own country or in a foreign land and language. But as the components and checklists for purposefully drilling down and getting to know a location and its surroundings, these examples point the way to achieving some direct, personal grasp of a moment and a place. It puts one in the in-betweeny (liminal) position of not-insider, not-outsider. One can see the streetscape in slightly familiar and normalizing terms, complete with historical memories or knowledge. But also one can see the streetscape with fresh eyes and the impressionable sensitivity of an outsider. This intermediate position, perhaps, is the best one for putting thoughts into words since the total insider might take for granted much of the detail there and the total outsider might not perceive the details that comprise the character and meaning of a place.

In summary, for a person who wants to see a place (their own or a distant one) fully and deeply, these methods of the thought experiment should provide a good beginning. After that, it is up to one’s degree of motivation and the amount of energy and ambition that one brings to the task of embracing and then articulating the contours and meanings of the place, whether that takes the form of words, pictures, video and audio clips, or some combination of all these things. There do seem to be so many ways to read the natural environment and cultural landscape. Surely some of these will suit just about any traveler to distant places, or when viewing one’s own routine surroundings as an outsider might.

Hungry to see through… how much to satisfy the appetite?

House demolished, south of central Echizen-city, Japan – memories lost

Early to bed, early to rise makes it easy to go for a morning walk when things are quiet and the light grows strong enough to perceive colors. Generally, two sorts of scenes can catch my eye and call out for a panorama, a photo, or a video snapshot (holding the composed scene still with usually few moving subjects or sound). Certain qualities of light (mild or strong, clear or suffused by dust or mist or haze) and the shadow that is half-filled by light from indirect reflection of sky or nearby structure is one kind of scene that attracts my attention. The other kind seems to be about things that demonstrate something about the social life here in rural Japan, or changes to past ways of living and making livelihoods – abandoned worksites, dwellings, public spaces in disrepair when certain recreational pursuits go out of practice or fashion (jogging and gateball grounds seem to be going away but ‘woh-kingu’ [walking] in the fitness sense is gaining ground, at least among those age 50 and above who have the time, or else who make the time to do so).

A detective, an archaeologist, and a forensic specialist all can read the scene while most others are functionally illiterate to clues in plain sight. They can view a situation and interpolate, extrapolate, and extend the time frame of clues to come up with a picture or movie that most untrained eyes miss. The same is true of a farmer’s eyes when reading a field, an architect when reading a ruin or a blue print, a pianist when looking at written music or hearing it performed. For the person with a camera though, the subjects of light and subject matter itself are what speak with the loudest voice. Light is a subject of universal interest and a source of beauty, but social observations are specific to a place and time. A trained social observer can see through the surfaces and read a more complete story in the scene. Extrapolating to a few more weeks or even decades of morning walks with camera in hand, the question arises, “how much (seeing) is enough”? Or “when will you have captured all there is to say on the matter”?

It is true that walking around with a lens in one’s hand or camera-phone in one’s pocket can lead to a preoccupation with composition, patterns and textures, visual rhythms and quality of light that shifts with the sun’s progress across the sky and then the motion of moon or artificial source(s) of light at other times. But the ability to point and shoot social observations, too, as an aide-de-memoire or writing prompt is a great tool for opening up subjects that otherwise might pass unnoticed and without remark. But after a dozen or a hundred of these visual records, (1) what is the result? (2) What do we see or know different to before? (3) What of significance comes from it? (4) And how much picture taking is enough to accomplish the goal of figuring out what it is that the eye encounters (when enough dots are in place, the overall shape can be seen without the need to complete the picture with all data points in place).

1) Result of accumulated social observations (visual or written notes).
Many things happen after capturing, annotating and sharing sets of visual observations. For the person making the pictures there is a learning curve whereby observations are sharpened, a taste for such matters grows, interest in other’s similar work gets stronger, and the ability develops to verbally express what the image points to. In other words, for the person with the eye and the lens, thinking is enriched and vision begins to reach beyond the surface (or maybe this urge to see and know is a function of middle-age, a point on the life course that is equally distant from one’s birth and one’s death). As a result, whether imagined or real, there is an increasing awareness and sensitivity to what one witnesses in the many social contexts public, commercial, or private, such that some of the underlying intentions, ideals, and tensions are perceptible; that is, what was invisible before can now be perceived in one’s glimpse of a place or person, taking into account the moment, but also being attuned to what came before and what likely will come after the frozen moment – one’s angle of view (to use a lens analogy) is both wider and longer to see not just the minute or the calendar day, but also the generational changes and continuities. Even the lives of the plants and animals enter into the frame of view when gazing at a social setting.

So the eye (sensitivity to light and meaning), the hand (lens work), and the heart (aware of lives outside one’s own; even outside of one’s own species and one’s own culture/language) all amplify their earlier range of powers as a result of feasting on social observations and capturing them with camera. To a lesser degree these same results echo in people who view, read, watch the body of visual materials coming from the person who is making these pictures.

2) What we can see different to before amassing those images.

Before undertaking sustained effort at recording those places and moments that speak loud enough to attract one’s lens, the landscape of meanings and materials is mute, or they mean something just instrumentally. The subject matter is only important to those who work there daily, or live nearby or who built and maintain an organization or structure. To all others who are passing by, the location or activity is no more than background to their own purposeful patterns of life course, life stages, and arc of life story with self as the main character. But by framing the picture and then commenting on it, the subject gains definition, presence, and meaning for people other than those directly (instrumentally, functionally) concerned. In other words, the act of describing and engaging others who normally have no interaction builds a bridge to introduce the subject into their own worlds of meaning. And even among those who daily interact with the subject, the location, and the structures, there comes a certain routinization that leads to blindness or taken-for-granted feeling for the thing. But now by re-seeing (literal roots of the word ‘respect’ is re+spectating; or seeing with new eyes, seeing for a 2nd time) the familiar subject from an outsider’s point of view, the thing is put into a new frame or a new light. In conclusion, what is revealed was always there, hiding in plain sight. But by going through the exercise of the visual project, now the outlines of meaning are traced in bold line and stand out to reveal: (a) the passage of time so that the present closely ties to what came before and what will follow, and (b) those connections between the people directly engaged and knowledgeable of the place or subject and the people who have regarded the thing as mere background and cut off from their own concerns.

3) What of significance comes from the project.

For the picture maker and for those who appreciate the results, the surrounding settings and moment in time becomes richer, more resonant with meaning, and more relevant to one’s own place in the passing seasons and lives. And in the event that one of these viewers or picture makers occupies a position of decision making (public arena for discussion, or seat of authority), then perhaps this wider angle of view on the world will lead to actions, budgets, enforcement, and public campaigns that will encourage others to take the wide view; something like the “7 generations” philosophy among some Native American peoples: in addition to the concerns of those living at present, taking into account the wishes and accumulated wisdom of one’s parents, grandparents, the generation before them; but also into the future, taking into account the impact on one’s children, grandchildren, and the next generation that follows them. A person’s life experience and scope of direct memory can only apprehend that window of 150-200 years, but that is sufficient to spread the weight of a decision beyond one’s own immediate lifetime. By gathering and verbalizing scores of social observations sparked by visual observations, then perhaps something of this wider experience of one’s cultural landscape and social geography will gain prominence as part of one’s everyday appreciation of one’s place in the scheme of things during their individual “3 score and 10 years” of lifetime.

4) How much is enough to outline the project’s subject of Social Observation.
The appetite for reacting to scenes that speak to one’s sense of social significance varies according to the person holding the lens. One person may just make a handful of social observations, while another may go on for years, taking the same picture to express sentiments again and again that first appeared in their earlier work. And for the viewer, too, some will grasp the meaning after seeing a few pictures that intersect their own place or time. But others will never tire of seeing familiar things framed in an unfamiliar way; or to see things altogether novel and unfamiliar for the first time. Perhaps the point of saturation or satisfying that appetite and responding to that hunger comes when the general trajectory of the project emerges; when one can see where the effort is leading and can articulate that sentiment. After that point, not every potential picture needs to be actually captured. Instead, it is enough to compose the image in one’s mind’s eye, then to give a nod or a wink as the moment passes, and to feel satisfied with the idea of capturing that observation, without actually going through the motions. Of course, when there is no longer any physical trace of the a-ha moment, then the possibility of communicating the insight to others is lost. So maybe the most productive and valuable circumstance comes after one’s eye has begun to respond, one’s lens is well practiced and one’s heart is interested. That middle ground –no longer naive or unresponsive, but not yet fully understanding where the exercise will develop into– is maybe when most of the pictures and commentary are made. But while the light and the social settings of built-landscape or seasonal events speak to one’s eye, then let the picture making continue!