Introduction
One of the consequences of the professionalization of disciplines
over the past century has been the almost complete isolation
of the arts from the sciences. By contrast, the research
currently in progress at Nine Mile Run seeks to build bridges
between these now remote islands of inquiry. A basic
premise of the Nine Mile Run Greenway Project is that the
study of both natural and social systems requires a more integrated
approach than the logic of specialization and sub-specialization
allows. We are therefore interested in what can be learned
by returning to earlier methods of inquiry that flourished
before the hardening of disciplinary boundaries.
This paper will
turn its attention to one historical case of cross-fertilization
between the visual arts and the natural sciences: American
landscape painting of the mid-nineteenth century.
This case is especially important to us because it coincides
with the beginnings of ecological consciousness in the U.S.
and because it is implicated in the struggle between the
competing demands of "nature" and development.
Landscape painting
was practiced in this country from its founding, but it
did not become widely popular until the 1820s and 1830s
when artists such as Thomas ColeÑoriginator of the
so-called "Hudson River School"Ñpioneered a "national"
style of landscape painting that depicted distinctively
American scenery allied with almost microscopically close
observation of nature. Cole and his kindred spirits
treated natural scenery reverentially, as God's own creation,
and accordingly they placed great stress on sketching from
and in nature. By the 1850s, the painter Asher B.
Durand, Cole's successor as leader of the Hudson River group,
rejected the whole idea of conventional art instruction
and recommended instead "the STUDIO of Nature."1
This attitude toward the natural landscape was part of a
larger phenomenon that recent scholars have dubbed "landscape
tourism."2 Landscape tourism became more popular
as the virgin [i.e., pre-European contact] landscape3
increasingly disappeared: the subjugation of Native American
populations, the development of the railroad, and the ever-expanding
frontier of new settlement and development made "nature"
less remote, safer and easier to reach and enjoy for both
artists and tourists. The reverence for nature, therefore,
cannot be disentangled from the very forces that were encroaching
upon nature and destroying it.
We will examine
the work of mid-century American landscape painters in three
different ways, each of these relevant to our inquiry.
The
artist as scientific observer
Through much of the nineteenth century, artists were included
in scientific expeditions exploring the North American continent.
They were considered critical to the task of scientific
documentation; they drew and painted little-known landscapes
and the flora and fauna (and sometimes native inhabitants)
within them. As Barbara Novak has written, "the artist
[on such expeditions] was explorer, scientist, educator,
frontiersman, and minister."4 Perhaps the most
astonishing example is the work of the Swiss artist Karl
Bodmer, part of the scientific expedition through the Northwest
in the 1830s led by the German Prince Maximilian, who was
himself a student of the great scientist Alexander von Humboldt.
Bodmer's watercolor drawings record with exceptional clarity
and freshness the particular beauty of people, plants, animals,
and geological formations along the upper Missouri River.5
Artists played
an important role in such enterprises because they were
in effect the instruments of empirical observation.
Careful visual observation underlay the natural classification
systems developed and refined since the eighteenth century;
since visual artists were trained to observe and record
their observations, their work merged with scientific inquiry.
The same could
be said of landscape painting with no explicit scientific
purpose. Cole and other artists walked the landscape
extensively and studied it minutely on site. They
were interested in both macro and micro processesÑthe
geological forces that shaped the landscape and the botanical
diversity that flourished within it. Landscape painters
kept books on geology and botany in their libraries and
sometimes even corresponded with leading scientists of the
day. (Cole, for example, helped procure a collection of
fossils for the eminent scientist Benjamin Silliman;6 while
Cole's most celebrated pupil, Frederick Church, was an avid
enthusiast of Humboldt.7 ) Typically, Hudson River
School artists painted a detailed foreground to showcase
local flora and often represented views with striking geological
features to suggest the processes of change. Their
work amounted to a kind of scientific expedition of the
landscapes they visited. One critic in 1859 went so
far as to declare that the landscape painter "is a geologist.
Continually meeting with different strata, the query naturally
arises, why this diversity? He meets with immense
fissures and volcanoes, and he asks himself whence did they
originate and by what convulsions were they produced?
To him, therefore, belongs the study of geology, as he more
thoroughly than any other can imitate what nature has produced."8
This notion that
artists had a special closeness to nature, by virtue of
their ability to recreate nature's own creations, was commonplace
in the mid-19th century. Landscape painters were trained
not only to observe the landscape but to convey its feel,
to suggest the experience of being in it. Scientific
observation in the modern sense suggests detachment, an
emotional distance from the object under investigation;
landscape painters following Cole were interested instead
in collapsing distinctions between observation and emotion.
Thus the changing moods of the landscape, in different atmospheric
conditions and times of the year, were equally if not more
important than its topographical facts.
The
artist as ecologist
These reflections prompt us to wonder whether the work of
landscape painters led them (or their audience) to an ecological
understanding of the landscapes they studied. Amy
Myers has argued that much of nineteenth-century scientific
illustration was essentially anti-ecological, focused instead
on the classification of "specimens" isolated from context
or habitat. Yet she identifies an important "subcurrent"
running from the work of William Bartram in the 1810s to
the illustrations of Audubon in the 1840s, which employed
landscape to suggest the organic unity of living things.9
Recently ecologist William Graf has argued more strongly
that landscape painters created an ecological view of nature.
Painters such as Bodmer and George Catlin, Graf writes,
tacitly brought a "systems" perspective to the study of
nature, especially of rivers. Instead of breaking
down riparian environments into isolated components, these
painters "depicted western rivers as complex, interactive
mosaics of physical landscapes and biological communities
with human significance."10
Water was indeed
a crucial element in most landscape painting of the period
(Cole in a famous essay declared water to be that element
"without which every landscape is defective"11 ).
Flowing water introduced narrative complexity (movement,
time, change) but also suggested the natural interaction
of geology, biology, and meteorology. This was commonplace
not only in America but in perhaps the most venerable of
landscape painting traditions, that of China, in which for
centuries artists have been depicting water draining from
mist-wrapped mountains into lakes or river basins that sustain
variegated riparian ecologies. The impulse to show
complex natural processes as an organic unity seems so deeply
ingrained in the notion of landscape painting that it is
hard to see how painters could avoid depicting rivers as
"complex, interactive" systems. Certainly rivers were
of endless fascination to nineteenth-century Americans,
and some artists even published portfolios of views exploring
certain rivers from their source to their mouth.12
Perhaps the most
ambitious attempt by any American artist to represent
a Òcomplex, interactive" ecological system was the
work of Frederick Church, particularly his celebrated painting
Heart of the Andes (1859). Church was specifically
inspired by Humboldt's book Cosmos (1849) and by his belief
in nature as "a unity in diversity of phenomena; a harmony,
blending together all created things, however dissimilar
in form and attributes."13 That belief led Humboldt
to explore the equator in South America, where the global
range of biodiversityÑfrom polar ice cap to tropical
rainforestÑcould be surveyed in one single region.
Following in Humboldt's footsteps, Church made his own expedition
through South America in the 1850s and from hundreds of
painstaking studies created a composite panoramic image
of the equatorial regionÑleading the viewer from
a highly detailed tropical foreground through a temperate
grassland to the snow-capped, cloud-swept Chimborazo peak
(20,000 feet) in the distance. Not surprisingly, a
spectacular river occupies the center of the picture, linking
the distant snow to the tropical dampness and suggesting
one great meteorological cycle of evaporation and precipitation
that holds the diverse climates and their ecologies in delicate
balance.
Humboldt himself
was very interested in landscape painting, and his eloquent
meditation on the subject in Cosmos was certainly an inspiration
to Church. Humboldt actually called for landscape
painters to move beyond the familiar scenery of Europe and
explore the tropical world, because there, he declared,
was "the true image of the varied forms of nature."14
He recognized that the art of landscape was not simply one
of observation but of deep thought as well: "the combined
result of a profound appreciation of nature and of [an]
inward process of the mind."15 This description
of the painter's process could apply equally well to his
own process of ecological exploration.
The
artist as developer
The preceding discussion seems to fly in the face of much
of the recent scholarship on American landscape painting.
That scholarship emphasizes the complicity of landscape
painting in the dominant nineteenth-century ideology of
national "progress" which justified not only the subjugation
of native inhabitants but also the wholesale destruction
of virgin forests, wetlands, and other longstanding ecologies
of the continent. Cole was perhaps the only artist
of the period who did not accept the gospel of progress
and who openly lamented the onrush of development.16
Cole's successor Asher B. Durand, while extolling nature
as the artist's true studio, painted a panoramic vision
entitled Progress (1850), which optimistically charts the
taming of the landscape by industry and transportation and
relegates the foreground wilderness to the "primitive" (and
therefore defunct) era of the Native American. The
creation of a "national" landscape was part of the larger
drive to claim the continent for the forces of "civilization";
in this view, landscape painting was an act of possession
and domination, hardly an ecologically friendly embrace
of the environment.17
Probably the
most famous landscape image of technological progress in
the nineteenth century is George Inness's Lackawanna Valley
(c. 1855), a fresh green pastoral view of the river valley
in Scranton, Pennsylvania dominated by the railroad roundhouse
in the middleground (the railroad of course commissioned
the painting). Rows of tree stumps in the foreground
attest to the recent clearing of land, but the removal of
the trees at the same time creates the pastoral view and
allows the figure reclining in the foreground meadow to
enjoy the sweep of the landscape. This is a vision
in which nature, properly tamed and removed of inconvenient
obstructions, can coexist with industrial development.
Photographs taken from roughly the same spot during this
period are not nearly so pastoral; they show several buildings
in the foreground space that mar the meadow and block the
fictional view Inness created.18
Within a few
years, the rapid industrialization along the Lackawanna
River in Scranton made Inness's view seem decidedly old-fashioned,
as the river became an industrial sewer and the surrounding
landscape fed the needs of development. Interestingly,
in the early 1990s, Inness's picture came back into ecological
consciousness when it was used by a citizen's group, the
Lackawanna River Corridor Association, organized to bring
the river back to life. The group used the image to
help argue for an industrial heritage site in the river
corridor; for them the painting made the landscape of Scranton
emblematic of a larger national history of transition from
rural countryside to urban industry, and it inspired their
efforts to make a new transition to a post-industrial landscape.19
The efforts of
this citizen's group pose the question: what are we to make
of such images as Progress and Lackawanna Valley?
Do they negate the evidence of ecological insight that seems
to permeate much landscape painting of the period?
This is not a question that has been posed in recent literature,
so my own answer must be somewhat provisional. I would
suggest that the nationalist ideology of conquest, although
inescapable, does not cancel the ecological perspective
on nature offered in the pictures themselves. There
is, I think, a profound duality in the nineteenth-century
enterprise of landscape paintingÑan art form that
generally accommodated itself to the prevailing norms of
"progress" but at the same time offered viewers a kind of
experiential merger with the organic unity of nature.
The impulse to dominate nature, to impose the human will
on nature, coexisted with the competing impulse to merge
with nature, to become part of its interactive system.
Ecological consciousness arises from the conjunction of
these two impulses; the love of wilderness is fueled by
the forces that are destroying wilderness and "civilizing"
it. It was commonplace in the mid-nineteenth century
to remark that the people who actually worked and struggled
to survive in nature were heedless of its charms; the romantic
impulse to merge with nature was therefore an urbane impulse,
coming from within the very "civilization" that was clearing
nature for profit.20 Both impulses can
be seen at work in the paintings; yet what we might call
the "ecological impulse" offers us today a way of learning
from the paintings, finding ways to understand and perhaps
transform places that have been marred by the hand of civilization.
Conclusion
Despite the role of landscape painting in the possession
and control of nature, we have identified a powerful cross-current
of ecological inquiry built into the very enterprise of
landscape painting. This cross-current of inquiry
interacted in certain ways with scientific research, but
it also broadened the scope of scientific inquiry and humanized
it. The painter's inquiry involved:
- Close, sustained
observation of particular sites, from geology to botany;
- An equal
emphasis on the subjective experience of natural places,
as dynamic, changing environments;
- A faith in
the interrelatedness of living things and natural systems,
in other words, in the modern notion of ecology.
This list points
to ways in which artistic and scientific inquiry can reciprocate
and enrich one another as the two domains of creativity confront
real environments shared by human and natural systems.
Nine Mile Run is certainly such an environment, and the kind
of integrated inquiry we have been discussing will be essential
to cope with its particular challenges. |
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Frederick
E. Church, The Heart of the
Andes, The Metropolitan Museum of
Art, Bequest of Margaret E. Dows,
1909 (09.95). Copyright 1979 by the Metropolitan Museum
of Art
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Asher
B, Durand, Progress, The
Warener Collection of Gulf States
Corp., Tuscaloose, AL.
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