In 1995, Finnish architect Juhani Pallasmaa curated the exhibition Animal Architecture at Helsinki's Museum of Finnish Architecture, inspired by Karl von Frisch's book. In it, other species' construction prowess is contrasted with human architecture, raising relevant questions regarding ecology: in materiality, symbology, and in how we relate to other species, ecosystems and nature as a whole. This exhibition resulted in a book, where given examples of other species architectural choices are richly presented—including how our ancestors might have learned from other species creations, and adapted such knowledge to our own circumstances and needs. Such would be, by example, the case of the “invention” of paper, which might have resulted from the observation, and copy, of wasps process of making nests. Pallasmaa’s highlights on the relationship between our doings and other species artefacts and constructions remain pertinent, and even essential: as today, we have new challenges, from the social to the environmental, and learning from more than humans processes and creations becomes essential. In recent years, the discipline of biomimicry has been exploring innovative designs and processes that result from similar observations.
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From airplanes to architectural structures, learning from Nature has become pivotal in the physicality of new designs. However, Pallasmaa’s inquiry presents deeper and pertinent questions beyond form: on issues of intelligence and beauty, within humans and more than humans, while challenging our tendency to prioritise short-lived cultural trends in contrast with longer, adaptive biological processes. In that sense, I believe Pallasmaa’s questions remain fundamental to our cultural landscapes, while providing a rich tapestry of thought and fertile soil for further enquiring these issues. This is of prime importance, if we are to change our human-centric doings towards a planetary-centric being, that acknowledges the complex interconnection and interdependence between species, elements, and systems that constitute life on Earth. I believe we can and should wonder about how art, design and architecture, and cultural disciplines and innovation practices as a whole, can align with evolutionary and ecological realities and learn from other species local practices, rich in adaptive skills. After all, looking at these is seeing thousands of years of biological processes, in which adaptation, circularity and cooperation are fundamental principles, for individuals and the whole.
It is with these ideas in mind, and particularly, of enquiring what I like to call other species “vernacular designs”—their adaptation to local specificities and contexts, accompanied by evidencing questions about aesthetics and intelligence as non-human exclusives, that in this series I return to Pallasmaa’s work.
I am equally interested in a perspective where the importance of relationships is central to human’s wellbeing, and that highlights how the relationship we have with Nature herself—beyond our fellow humans and including also other species, elements, phenomena—plays a defining role in our wellbeing. Palaeontologist Juan Luis Arsuaga considers that the “golden age” of humans was the Palaeolithic: where our ancestors lived naturally, with their families and in small communities, stress-free. Good relationships had a primal role in social functioning and wellbeing: individual, communal and ecological, between humans and more than humans. Nowadays, in some Indigenous and traditional communities, it is still normal to have the parasympathetic nervous system activated most of the time, in a healthy state that permeates community and environmental harmony. The absence of this is often related to social, political and environmental, direct and indirect, pressures from our own society.
So my concern and focus is in how these relational qualities can be nurtured through artistic practice and research. In that sense, the starting point for this series was studying the “vernacular design” of bivalve seashells found locally: one of the many seashores facing the effects of climate change, through its rising and warming waters. I found these bivalve structures to be particularly interesting for this because they are overly abundant here and highly related worldwide: not everyone might know the specificities of these species, yet most, if not all people, can identify a seashell. I have also noticed that despite of this, most people haven’t really looked at these incredible structures, in their aesthetics, material qualities and unfortunate threats. Seashell bearing species are at risk due to ocean warming and acidification, where the rising waters’ pH makes the carbonate calcium process that allows for these structures difficult and, in extreme situations, impossible. Clams, lobsters, crabs, corals and many other marine shell-bearing species, including microscopic ones, are directly threatened by this process, with some species in the Southern Ocean already being affected: they can’t make seashells. It’s hard to imagine beaches deprived of these species: what beauty would a beach have without these elements of Life? And naturally, it’s hard to understand the full impact scale of their disappearance, since they are fundamental in ocean’s ecosystems and for many human’s survival. Intelligence and fragility, beauty and threat: this series underlines circumstances and qualities between these states while holding them, tenderly and metaphorically, with the whole body.
It can be challenging to connect, emotionally, to other species: I attribute this to cultural contexts and habits, as children naturally exhibit an interest in and care for others, humans and more than humans alike. And it’s essential to note that these same practices of care are still widely extended throughout many traditional communities worldwide, ingrained in their cultural practices. For the rest of us, it simply takes practice, ritual and culture to refocus and forge emotional bonds to each other: to those similar to us, and to those that are different. Understanding that others’ wellbeing is essential for our own, that we exist in biological interdependence, and translating that into cultural practices that underline these mediations and positive outcomes for all has been the aim and the joy of this work.
The title The Whole Body is Hands and Eyes refers to a metaphor from a Zen teaching, epitomising presence and compassion. McMullen teaches that when we’re fully aware and present our whole body feels differently, and moves in the direction of acting with kindness and wisdom—like being in bed and reaching your hand for a pillow, in the dark night. When we know, we know—and that state of compassionate awareness is at the heart of this series. These works represent the movement of a caring dialogue with Nature: of listening with the whole body while traversing the emotional landscape that defines our relationship to her through gratitude and reverence, compassion and awe. Behaviours and emotions, observation and imagination, curiosity and relatedness unfold in the intimate tapestry of a personal chronicle, weaving together threads of time, place and beings. Here, mollusks, while also there, structures resembling Venice Palazzos, traditional brick vaults, traditional pottery and vases: all remain similar remembrances of lessons taken through lifetimes, in materiality and adaptation, in the reasons of aesthetic choices that we cannot fully comprehend and of intelligences we can only admire. Interconnection and future possibilities extending beyond the boundaries of our often leisurely, distracted and mundane human experience of the beach to encompass the broader ecosystem, its essence and multiplicity, the design and intelligence of small mollusks, while reframing this complexity within the fundamental compositions that form planetary health.
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Further reading
McMullen, E. (n.d.). Your Whole Body is Hands and Eyes. Lion’s Roar
Orr, J. C., Fabry, V. J., Aumont, O., Bopp, L., Doney, S. C., Feely, R. A., ... & Yool, A. (2005). Anthropogenic ocean acidification over the twenty-first century and its impact on calcifying organisms. Nature, 437(7059), 681-686. https://doi.org/10.1038/nature04095
Pallasmaa, J. (1995). Animal Architecture. Museum of Finnish Architecture
Untitled #1
76 cm x 56 cm
Natural pigment (Ochre, Indigo) on handmade recycled cotton paper 300 gsm
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Untitled #2
76 cm x 56 cm
Natural pigment (Ochre, Indigo, Ultramarine) on handmade recycled cotton paper 300 gsm
Untitled #3
76 cm x 56 cm
Natural pigment (Ochre, Indigo, Ultramarine) on handmade recycled cotton paper 300 gsm
Sand collars (sea snails eggs structures) and playing with seashell language.
Untitled #4
20 cm x 20 cm
Natural pigment (Ochre, Indigo, Ultramarine) on handmade recycled cotton paper 300 gsm
Untitled #5
20 cm x 20 cm
Natural pigment (Ochre, Indigo, Ultramarine) on handmade recycled cotton paper 300 gsm
Untitled #6
20 cm x 20 cm
Natural pigment (Ochre, Indigo, Ultramarine) on handmade recycled cotton paper 300 gsm
Untitled #7
20 cm x 20 cm
Natural pigment (Ochres) on handmade recycled cotton paper 300 gsm
Untitled #8
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76 cm x 56 cm
Natural pigment (Ochre, Indigo, Ultramarine) on handmade recycled cotton paper 300 gsm
Untitled #9
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76 cm x 56 cm
Natural pigment (Ochre, Indigo, Ultramarine) on handmade recycled cotton paper 300 gsm
Untitled #10
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76 cm x 56 cm
Natural pigment (Ochre, Indigo, Ultramarine) on handmade recycled cotton paper 300 gsm
Untitled #11
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76 cm x 56 cm
Natural pigment (Ochres) on handmade recycled cotton paper 300 gsm
Untitled #12
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76 cm x 56 cm
Natural pigment (Ochres) on handmade recycled cotton paper 300 gsm
Materials
These paintings are made with handmade, natural pigments on handmade, recycled cotton paper 300 gsm. The pigments used are divided in three groups: one group was acquired to an artisan, who handpicked the earth pigments herself, in Italy and Spain, with conscious care regarding the ecosystem; and planted, harvested and made the indigo pigment. One of the ochres was collected from Sahara dust (image below), falling from the clouds during a sand storm in Algarve, in 2023. Once African rocks, it travelled by wind across continents; possibly made of silicates such as quartz, clay (kaolinite and illite), iron oxides, salts, existing for more time than all of us combined, and fertilising on its way the ocean with its nutrient rich phosphorous, iron and organic matter. Rock, cloud, sea: it underlines the logic of this series, of everything being interconnected. Finally, the Ultramarine Blue is a 90% natural, 10% synthetic combination.The handmade, recycled cotton paper is made from cotton t-shirts and water from a bore well and rainwater capture by Khadi Papers, in India. In their website, they state that they don’t use chlorine, bleaches or harmful chemicals and that the final run-off water is pH neutral. This water is then used for irrigation by the Karnataka state authority and for Khadi’s own organic farm.This choice of materials results from my commitment to the environment, in subjects, processes and outcomes. It hope it makes you remember how it feels to connect to Nature’s beauty, to feel the safety, belonging, gratitude and awe that is ingrained in our species existence. And through that, to improve your relationship with her. Thank you for your love.
With gratitude to this land and sea—the ecosystems, elements, species including humans, that here are held and nourished.