All of my research up to this point has put me in a better position to conceptualise my prototype portfolio project. Vinciane Despret’s concept ‘Poetics of Attention‘, that emphasises attentiveness, receptivity, and relationality in the way we perceive our environment, is one that gives form to a lot of my recent thought processes. On the other hand, the word ‘imaginal’, coined by American ecologist and philosopher David Abram, appeared to me first during my research for my dissertation in the book Gaia, Psyche and Deep Ecology by Andrew Fellows. In the book, Fellows’ uses Hillman’s statement that “Sensing the world and imagining the world are not divided in aesthetic responses of the heart” ( ) to propose that “sensing is the direct perception of Gaia by psyche, i.e., from one epistemic domain to the other, whereas imagination is a product of psyche informed by Gaia via the ontic realm, i.e., involving the soul and the world soul. If we can view a soundscape itself as a non-static process, then could we situate any perceived interconnectivity within this idea of ‘sensing Gaia’. Still, I want to maintain that the connections I draw between these varying fields of study are only propositions, designed to spark alternative ways of thinking that I myself have arrived at.
Seeking further clarification I sought out the book In The Spell of the Sensuous by Abram to understand better the concept of the imaginal. Referring to a mode of perception and experience that bridges the sensory and the symbolic, Abram draws on phenomenology and ecological thought to explore how the imaginal realm allows humans to engage with the world in a way that is deeply participatory, connecting us to the more-than-human environment. He claims that the imaginal is not merely fantasy or daydreaming but a vivid, embodied way of interacting with the world, shaped by stories, metaphors, and sensory encounters. Abram suggests that in oral and indigenous traditions, the imaginal plays a vital role in understanding and navigating one’s place within the web of life. It’s through this imaginative and sensuous engagement that humans perceive the animate nature of the world and establish reciprocal relationships with it, challenging modern, overly rational ways of knowing, advocating instead for a return to an animistic awareness that recognises the world as alive and richly communicative.
Returning to Fellows’ book, we find a quote by the physicists David Bohm and F. David Peat: “Metaphoric perception is, indeed fundamental to all science and involves bringing together previously incompatible ideas in radically new ways” (1987/2000)
“What is essential to this form is that in equating two very different kinds of things, the mind enters a very perceptive state of great energy and passion, in which some of the excessively rigid aspects of the tacit infrastructure are bypassed or dissolved. In science, as in many other fields, such a perception of the basic similarity of two very different things must further unfold in detail and lead to a kind of analogy which becomes ever more literal.”
Bohm & Peat, 1987/2000
When on a walk to the nearby Hogsmill nature reserve I came to a fallen tree. Its a landmark that I am very familiar with as it asks to be noticed; It is upturned, uprooted, covered in lichen and of a fairly big size giving it an almost arcane aura. Even though I have paused to stare at it for a few moments on several visits, it was out of nothing more than a sense of wonder. On this last visit however, most likely due to all the research I’ve been engaged with recently, I couldn’t help but feel the tree itself was ripe with metaphor. It is not only a ‘fallen tree’, but a habitat, a bridge, even perhaps an echo of a forgotten storm. The lichen in particular however, I feel is what has always drawn me to this tree. There is something quite beautiful about the way it occupies its trunk and branches – remnants of natures paintbrush. Perhaps I’m getting a little too carried away with poetic sentiment. Nevertheless, it has largely remained to me something I know nothing about, and using the cautionary tales of misappropriation found in Despret’s writings, I must remind myself to proceed carefully. A quick google search of lichenology tells me that a lichen is a composite organism consisting of a symbiotic partnership primarily between a fungus and an alga or cyanobacterium. They are slow growing and can colonise extreme environments like bare rocks, deserts, or the Arctic tundra. Themes of resilience and symbiosis immediately come to mind. Depending on one’s frame of mind, reckless attributions of mutualism or parasitism might be made to their inherent nature. I don’t know anywhere near enough to make any sort of bold statement in regards to the metaphors that might be inferred from these hybrid colonies of algae, but I am intrigued to know whether (much like in Living as a Bird) studying them, their similarities, differences and associations might increase my intimacy with them as a life-form. A subjectivity that exists out of the realm of my own understanding. Lichen, after all, do not sense in the same way we do, responding to light, humidity and temperature in their own specific ways.
Below are some black and white photos I took of the tree almost a year ago now. Its funny how an isolated photoshoot of a dead tree so long ago has somehow made its way back into my life, and in an entirely new context.
