Ecosystem Aesthetics
A Brief Trip into the Age-Old Art of Nature
It is fortunate for us, however, that Nature is so imperfect, as otherwise we should have no art at all — Oscar Wilde
How true, how true — but alas, art is less perfect than nature. When are we going to learn that we can imagine the ideal, but we can never achieve it? For every step closer we get, actual perfection moves ten steps further ahead of us; the more we know the more we don’t know.
I remember the teenage me, tripping my brains out on acid, freaking into doom and gloom, my brain twisting like a fat rubber-band — and this was supposed to be enlightening? Fortunately, in those moments, simply hugging a tree was a lot better, smelling its bark, feeling its protection, getting lost in its tiny mosses and fungi, knowing its roots run deep and its leaves held cosmic truths.
Indeed, it was enlightening — happiness is here on Earth!
Today, when I walk through the woods with qualia floating in my mind, the trees are cheering me on, a stadium of giants chanting “go go go, Tony, you’re on the right path!”
Why would I want more when I can feel like this, wonder like this? Why ponder the perfection of art when I’m experiencing it, a part of it? I am so much older now, and when one moment is all decaying and sublime, I find the next is all blossoming and beautiful — maybe I never really stopped tripping at all!
I am still rising toward or falling away from an intangible ideal. I crave an emptiness into which flows the power of ecosystems — that is my faith. Qualia is that power, flowing into me, helping me endure, giving me meaning, providing contentment.
Ecosystems (nature) are not perfect, but they are, always, almost perfectly balanced. People are less so — as if we just walked up one side of a seesaw to its center, and we can only look at our feet while we wobble dangerously. Art represents those brief moments when we find our balance and we can see past ourselves.
A qualiadelic way to think about art is whether it is a reflection of the human landscape or of ecosystems; to the degree it reflects the former we call it “sublime,” and the latter it is “beautiful.” This aesthetic mirrors the growth and decay that we find in ecosystems. It provides a sort of moral compass that can guide us out of the mess we’ve made of our planet.
