Virtual Residency Day One, Naming. How Shall We Name This?

Global warming is the over-arching symptom of human dysfunction in relation to natural resources. The Global Event Project seeks to address that by eschewing the use of jet flight yet bringing disparate international groups together.

This morning, when I let my dog out, I became instantly drunk on the fragrance of the flowers and grasses here after a thunderstorm last night. The far islands in the mist were the earth tones of a Rembrandt. That is the experinece that drives me to solutions.

When I give talks, I often show the Bahai temple in Haifa, as an ideal model of one approach to integrating human inhabitation and the natural world. The gardens of the temple descend to the sea in a series of multi-colored, intricate steps and tiers of exquisite design. It took decades to create. The Bahai faith is founded entirely on principles of beauty and peace. Haifa is a beautiful city that has just been bombed. Surely there is dysfunction in that action.

For Verdearte in Pescia, Italy, I have proposed that we paint a number on each horse chestnut tree. The nuts of the trees are the source of a local flour that is the primary industry of the region. The paint would be pure ultramarine blue pigment and buttermilk, a medium used in the renaissance, a slurry that could grow mosses and biodegrade over time. It is a modest way to name each tree, a thanking and recognition for the bounty each tree provides. There is no electricity in this valley village. There is only quiet beauty and old buildings. Surely we can value each tree that grows. If we don't the loss of albido effect will cook us.

At the Khoj Workshop in India, near the Sai Baba temple, there are also horse chestnut trees. That may mean that whatever aspect of global warming affects Pescia, may also affect New Delhi.

In India there are many chestnut trees and many dams to create electricity. Water is a problem there. So they are controlling the waters to fuel the popultation, which will grow and use the trees to build the houses with cars that will have carbon emissions, like us, here in the states.

I want to hear the sounds of the conversations of the women drawing water at the wells. Hemant has written me that they are setting up sound and camera equipment there now for this virtual residency. In Mumbai, India, they are counting the dead commuters from the bombs there. Pooja Sood writes me that no one they know was hurt in Mumbai. In the mdist of crisis, human nature stills trives for ebauty and meaning.

In Korea, they are not concerned about their Northern Neighbor who has dropped bombs into the Indian Ocean. Anke Mellin sent me a picture of a steaming kettle of water in the marketplace in Gongju, Korea. I can clearly hear the sound of the steam rising in the air.

Somewhere in the world, bombs are still rising and falling. Old men are killing young men, women and children. This will settle the population problem before waves of melted glaciers wash over the densely populated coastlines of the world or global warming desertifies Africa.

Here in Maine, an invasive species has settled on the ocean bottom, brought in by cruise ships from away. It could destroy the shellfish industry. Perhaps soon there will be fewer lobsters in the world. Japan imports a lot of our lobsters, esp for state dinners. What happens when our modes of consumption and travel become so disruptive to our ecologies?

Here in my office in Maine, I am asking sound artists to collect the sounds of people interacting with natural resopurces. I have announced the request on greenmuseum.org, in San Francisco, California. It will wondrously go out to all the world via cyberspace. I am learning new technologies and communicating with people thousands of miles away to see how we can make something beautiful and peaceful, a virtual hanging garden across the seas and continents to speak to all this dysfunction.

How can any of us bear it all, let alone the victims of wars and storms all over the world now? In the bathymetry of my soul, I am sad to have this conversation between desire and desire. How can humans desire destruction in this lovely world as much as we desire beauty? Is an act of destruction like jet fuel on the waters- a quick path to a fantasy of power with a very heavy price? My heart sheds tears.

How do I name this project I have undertaken?

This I know, my tears and cries won't solve any of it. Comedians do a better job of conveying the pathos of these horrors than I can.

When I let my dog in this afternoon, her coat was hot from the sun. The fragrances are more muted.