Commentary on The Plant Room, by Donna Davis
Nigel Fechner, Senior Botanist, Queensland Herbarium
10 November 2015
I am struck, initially, by the sense of complexity, artificiality, sterility, coldness and loneliness that the imagery evokes. Stepping outside of oneself and imagining, albeit counterintuitively, that the day could eventuate when the human race has replaced life with machinery, several considerations immediately become apparent.
Firstly, there is confrontation at both an individual and a social level. ‘Do I want a future such as this for my children?’; ‘Will there even be a future for my children?’; ‘How will society continue to function in the absence of the organisms that facilitated our existence in the first place?’; ‘How do we continue to supply enough natural resources to fulfil the requirements of an ever-burgeoning world population?’.
Substantively, I feel that the observer is inexorably drawn toward one undeniable, unpalatable conundrum - ‘Why?’. Why would we choose this future over the extant paradigm? Why would we go to such extraordinary lengths to replace what we have already been given? Why would anyone consider that this is an acceptable, viable alternate reality? Why would anyone want to manufacture it at all? Utility of the word ‘manufacture’ in substitution of the alternative ‘create’ here is quite deliberate. Paradoxically, the former state implies artificiality whilst the latter, at least subconsciously, invokes an essence of spirituality, and thus, in absence of such, the ‘Plant Room’ observer is almost impelled towards a sense of isolation, emptiness, hopelessness and even failure.
Secondly, therefore, we are challenged to acknowledge truths we routinely deny on a daily basis. Consumerism, capitalism, profit. Call it what you will, but the inevitable end point is still the same. Deliberating on that question of ‘Why?’ leads each of us to our own personal discomfort zone, and to the insufferable realisation that the question is the answer. We manufacture to destroy and in turn we destroy to manufacture.
The Water Pump, Nutrient Cycler and Air Filter viewing boxes serve to accentuate the complexity, artificiality and sterility of man-made technologies. The application of the mirrored effect further emphasises both the enormity of the task and the infinite space which would be required to house such constructs. Furthermore, it articulates the endless bleakness of an infinite, lifeless future. It’s also notable that three different artificial systems are required to perform what a single natural medium has been effectuating for millennia.
Conversely, these three viewing boxes highlight the intricate interrelated network of processes which commence with the germination of a tiny seed. What we take for granted, what we ignore as we live out the agendas of our daily lives, is suddenly presented to us as an analogy which the common man, sadly, finds themselves better equipped to relate to.
Meanwhile, The Generator ingenuously juxtaposes two finite resources – plant life and minerals – both of which the majority of patrons can acquiesce to being familiar with. The frangibility of the dynamic, soul-lifting life force is counterbalanced by the enduring lassitude of static, monochromatic metal. The bare-rootedness of the subject implies a freedom that is in actuality betrayed by futility.
From my perspective, the most compelling viewing box is Life Support. Its comparative simplicity contrasts the multiplicity of sensations that are enlivened within the observer. Instantaneously one is assaulted by the solitude. Unlike other viewing boxes, this one does not contain mirrors, almost as if there is no scope for reflection. The subject hangs suspended in an enshrouding void, abandoned. It could be said that the circular apertures adorning the sides of the structure purvey the concept of a pair of artificial eyes – robotic, if you will – looking inward, with an expression almost of astonishment, as if satisfying a curiosity engendered by unfamiliarity.
The perceivable prospect that artificial intelligence would venture to appreciate life when humans treat it with such injudicious contempt, manoeuvres the viewer’s emotions to an implacable self-consciousness borne from guilt. Ironically, the manner in which the floristic subject is highlighted also conveys an element of eminence and value; a cynosure of hope –‘ herein resides the embodiment of human survival’.
That this display provides a glimpse of the extreme measures that profit-driven mega-companies would be prepared to implement in order to facilitate their monopolistic credence, and their apparent desire to hold the world ‘hostage’ to their products, is frighteningly evident. One only has to draw comparisons with recent cinematography/literature – The Hunger Games, The Maze Runner, Divergent – to be made cognizant that a dystopian future is not beyond our achievement. Well may we be forced to enquire as to what the value of a plant’s life is. We are also unapologetically thrust into contemplating how much a human’s life is worth, individually and as a community. Do we ultimately share the same fate as the plants in the boxes if we prescribe to and condone their destruction?
Native American spiritual beliefs probably best embody the ideals which the observer is challenged to invoke. To them, everything is sacred (spiritual) and everything has a purpose. It is about being in touch with one’s inner being and with the surrounding environment. It is an awareness and comprehension that they are part of everything, and everything is a part of them. So much so, that they had no concept of private ownership of land, and the idea that it could be bought and sold was repugnant to them.
Nigel Fechner, Senior Botanist, Queensland Herbarium
10 November 2015
I am struck, initially, by the sense of complexity, artificiality, sterility, coldness and loneliness that the imagery evokes. Stepping outside of oneself and imagining, albeit counterintuitively, that the day could eventuate when the human race has replaced life with machinery, several considerations immediately become apparent.
Firstly, there is confrontation at both an individual and a social level. ‘Do I want a future such as this for my children?’; ‘Will there even be a future for my children?’; ‘How will society continue to function in the absence of the organisms that facilitated our existence in the first place?’; ‘How do we continue to supply enough natural resources to fulfil the requirements of an ever-burgeoning world population?’.
Substantively, I feel that the observer is inexorably drawn toward one undeniable, unpalatable conundrum - ‘Why?’. Why would we choose this future over the extant paradigm? Why would we go to such extraordinary lengths to replace what we have already been given? Why would anyone consider that this is an acceptable, viable alternate reality? Why would anyone want to manufacture it at all? Utility of the word ‘manufacture’ in substitution of the alternative ‘create’ here is quite deliberate. Paradoxically, the former state implies artificiality whilst the latter, at least subconsciously, invokes an essence of spirituality, and thus, in absence of such, the ‘Plant Room’ observer is almost impelled towards a sense of isolation, emptiness, hopelessness and even failure.
Secondly, therefore, we are challenged to acknowledge truths we routinely deny on a daily basis. Consumerism, capitalism, profit. Call it what you will, but the inevitable end point is still the same. Deliberating on that question of ‘Why?’ leads each of us to our own personal discomfort zone, and to the insufferable realisation that the question is the answer. We manufacture to destroy and in turn we destroy to manufacture.
The Water Pump, Nutrient Cycler and Air Filter viewing boxes serve to accentuate the complexity, artificiality and sterility of man-made technologies. The application of the mirrored effect further emphasises both the enormity of the task and the infinite space which would be required to house such constructs. Furthermore, it articulates the endless bleakness of an infinite, lifeless future. It’s also notable that three different artificial systems are required to perform what a single natural medium has been effectuating for millennia.
Conversely, these three viewing boxes highlight the intricate interrelated network of processes which commence with the germination of a tiny seed. What we take for granted, what we ignore as we live out the agendas of our daily lives, is suddenly presented to us as an analogy which the common man, sadly, finds themselves better equipped to relate to.
Meanwhile, The Generator ingenuously juxtaposes two finite resources – plant life and minerals – both of which the majority of patrons can acquiesce to being familiar with. The frangibility of the dynamic, soul-lifting life force is counterbalanced by the enduring lassitude of static, monochromatic metal. The bare-rootedness of the subject implies a freedom that is in actuality betrayed by futility.
From my perspective, the most compelling viewing box is Life Support. Its comparative simplicity contrasts the multiplicity of sensations that are enlivened within the observer. Instantaneously one is assaulted by the solitude. Unlike other viewing boxes, this one does not contain mirrors, almost as if there is no scope for reflection. The subject hangs suspended in an enshrouding void, abandoned. It could be said that the circular apertures adorning the sides of the structure purvey the concept of a pair of artificial eyes – robotic, if you will – looking inward, with an expression almost of astonishment, as if satisfying a curiosity engendered by unfamiliarity.
The perceivable prospect that artificial intelligence would venture to appreciate life when humans treat it with such injudicious contempt, manoeuvres the viewer’s emotions to an implacable self-consciousness borne from guilt. Ironically, the manner in which the floristic subject is highlighted also conveys an element of eminence and value; a cynosure of hope –‘ herein resides the embodiment of human survival’.
That this display provides a glimpse of the extreme measures that profit-driven mega-companies would be prepared to implement in order to facilitate their monopolistic credence, and their apparent desire to hold the world ‘hostage’ to their products, is frighteningly evident. One only has to draw comparisons with recent cinematography/literature – The Hunger Games, The Maze Runner, Divergent – to be made cognizant that a dystopian future is not beyond our achievement. Well may we be forced to enquire as to what the value of a plant’s life is. We are also unapologetically thrust into contemplating how much a human’s life is worth, individually and as a community. Do we ultimately share the same fate as the plants in the boxes if we prescribe to and condone their destruction?
Native American spiritual beliefs probably best embody the ideals which the observer is challenged to invoke. To them, everything is sacred (spiritual) and everything has a purpose. It is about being in touch with one’s inner being and with the surrounding environment. It is an awareness and comprehension that they are part of everything, and everything is a part of them. So much so, that they had no concept of private ownership of land, and the idea that it could be bought and sold was repugnant to them.