Who's migratory now?

"Migration"
Doug Aitken

Last year, on a brisk, cool day much like today, I was jogging near the National Zoo when I noticed a good-sized young deer ambling out of the Zoo, toward a busy road only a few carlengths away. Two passersby were frozen on the path; they could clearly foresee the pending disaster, but had no idea what to do about it.

I jogged right up to the buck, yelled at him, and made as if to slap him on the rump. He looked at me dumbfounded, as did the walkers. Then he ambled back into the bushes. Easy enough. But I think the concerned walkers expected the buck to gore me, or trample me, or something! I mean, it's a wild animal, right?

In a recent post over at Hungry Hyaena, Christopher notes the alienation that we relocated ruralites feel when we realize that knowledge we consider normal, useful, even indispensible, has become mere novelty in our new urban context:

In my case, that sense of alienation is felt most acutely when I am reminded of how ignorant most urbanites are of natural history. Even with their relatively impressive academic pedigree, artists and art enthusiasts are no exception. What's more, most city dwellers consider those individuals who do possess a knowledge of or curiosity about other species and ecosystems quaint; natural history is considered an esoteric and incidental subject. Among my friends, I'm the go-to-guy for questions about animal behavior or physiology, but these questions are cast as if the answers are more trivial than celebrity gossip.

I'm no ecologist; my academic understanding of biology spans a smaller scale than Christopher's. Compared with my stepdad's youth on a ranch, my intermittent camping experience barely rates mention. But in my new urban environment, the scale is totally recalibrated: now, I'm considered pretty savvy when it comes to wild critters! (And by "savvy," I mean "weird." Most people don't appreciate my eagerness to handle reptiles and insects).

I've found my fellow urban scientists to be surprisingly uncomfortable with animals, especially the cold-blooded kind. And among artists inspired by animals, knowledge of their natural context is not necessarily considered relevant. Christopher observes in his post that the press materials for "Migration," the new show by artist Doug Aitken, inaccurately describe several species as "migratory." These include such obviously non-migratory species as the beaver (!). In ecology class, this would be a big mistake. But did the error undermine the audience's reception of the artist's work in any significant way? Did the audience even notice? Probably not: as Christopher admits, "when I mentioned my fault with the 303 gallery press release, one artist friend chuckled and said, 'Only you would even notice that.'"

The truth is, it's people like Christopher and I who are migratory. We may not be as out of place as a bison in a Motel 6 (at least not yet). But I sense that increasingly, the cultural reservoir of nature knowledge - the kind once coveted by Boy Scouts - is dwindling into nothingness beside that associated with NASCAR, or video games based on Star Wars, or the love life of Lindsay Lohan. I may have to live in it, but I doubt I'll ever adapt to this reality.