Wilderness Camp

Nature, by virtue of the human languages that construct it, is always anthropomorphic. Real nature is nameless. Life on earth is a seamless texture of protoplasm dancing to a cacophony of sensations and pumped by the pulsating rhythms of stone and sun, water and gravity, carbon and oxygen. Obsessed with measuring its detail, we're virtually blind to the whole. In this infinitely complex cosmos, every description is an error of omission producing instead, a multitude of human natures... a litany of paradises lost and re-imagined. Theological allegory or Hollywood melodrama, nature myths have always mapped our sense of yearning and wonder. But this awe is increasingly interrupted by a sidelong glance taken from our horizon of postmodernity. The highway back to Eden is long overgrown with a tangle of image and artifice.