Take a minute and just look at the picture above. Don’t let yourself think just yet. Simply look. Let your eyes roam over the lines, the curves, the angles. Begin to start noticing shapes: the triangular roof, the rectangular windows, the square spaces on the left-hand side of the picture. Now, notice the contrast. Notice how the value changes as you drag your eyes from the top left corner to the dark contrast at the bottom.
It took you mere seconds to recognize the shapes, lines, and values in the picture before your mind immediately began to create a holistic image. Close your eyes to clear the image from your mind then look at it again. What do you see?
I want to assume that you now see a house (an old house?) shot from a low angle. Assuming this is a house as we have learned to recognize, we notice that the photograph only presents us with a part of the house leaving us with no indication of where it starts and where it ends. But, what else?
The dark values in the photograph indicate that there is something on the house walls, covering it, enveloping it? Suffocating it. Vines grow on the side of the house and you create a narrative in your mind. It might read like this: It was a bright sunny day as the family gathered at the old estate to eat small cakes and sip English black tea. It had been a while since the five sisters had seen each other, each one dressed in her best, some with a husband and children and others on their own. Despite the long absence the grass had not outgrown the lawn, but time had taken its toll on the manor which was now obscured by green leaves climbing on vines, holding the manor close.
Or it might read like this: It had been years since the abandoned home was home to anyone at all. It stood there, covered in vines, its only source of company, but the vines were insensitive to the pain and decay the house continued to drown in. No one visited. No one ever came. The wind often rustled the leaves, and sometimes it gave a more intense push. But the vines were steadfast and would not budge an inch. And so, with time, the vines continued to grow and grow and grow, and the house inversely shrunk.
In both these narratives, the vines are ever-present on the walls of the house, but their meaning changes. The presence of the vines produces an array of affects: whimsy, nostalgia, and warmth but also loneliness, abandonment, and suffocation. But what does this mean when evaluating the aesthetic nature of the photograph?
When speaking of aesthetics, we are drawn to terms such as the Beautiful, the sublime, and disinterestedness. While Romantic aesthetics emphasizes the separation of interest (simply put, our ethical perception of the object) from the object of interest, environmental aesthetics is concerned with the engagement of the viewer with the object of interest. It rebukes disinterestedness altogether. Positive aesthetics claims that nature, untouched by the human, is beautiful. Environmental philosophers, such as Timothy Morton, claim that we need to reassess what environment means before being even able to discuss what environmental aesthetics entails. In fact, some even claim that there is no nature—at least no nature untouched by the human.
So where do we place this photograph, aesthetically speaking? Can we define it as beautiful? Sublime? Aesthetically pleasing?
Before being able to answer those questions, we must observe the photograph from an environmental point of view. Vines like the ones pictured here are likely extremely invasive species and harmful to the surrounding habitat and biodiversity. Invasive vines, like Kudzu, are not native to the United States and were brought in from abroad as an ornamental plant. Kudzu specifically is native to Japan and southeast China and was introduced to the United States in 1876. Being an invasive species, it quickly grew out of control, out-competing native plants as large as fully grown trees because they would block them from receiving sunlight, essentially killing them. By destroying other plants, Kudzu also destroyed habitats for animals and insects that relied on the plants in the area for both shelter and food. As a result, Kudzu became a main contributor to biodiversity loss.
Positive aesthetics says that all untouched nature is beautiful. Traditional environmental aesthetics says we cannot ignore the destruction Kudzu causes to the environment because we need to retain our interest and engagement with the object. So, where does that leave our perception of beauty? Are those vines on the side of the house in the photograph taken in the United States beautiful? Can I ethically ignore the destruction caused by invasive vines to categorize it as beautiful? What does it mean to call something beautiful?
Those questions run laps in my mind, but I believe it is worth considering the implications of environmental aesthetics. When you are next looking at a photo of Chinese Wisteria, Lily of the Valley, or Norway Maple, remember the vine-covered house.
