GMU:Re-enchanting the field/Öykü Türkan: Difference between revisions

Latest revision as of 13:08, 17 July 2025

Post-Human Pastoralism

(Afterland fragments from Ida-Viru)

Here is Ida-Viru,

a place not made to be seen,

but to hold what’s left.

A lake that shouldn’t be a lake,

an engineered stillness.

A basin designed to settle,

but nothing truly settles.

I walked here once.

Mud pulled at my shoes.

Footprints filled with water.

This water carries what oil shale leaves behind:

calcium oxide, sulphates, silica dust, aluminium, iron oxides.

Can I swim in this water?

What does alum do to my skin?

A brief evidence of a body passing through.

Even still water remembers movement.

Even waste listens, holds a rhythm.

Time moves differently here.

Slower, maybe.

As if the land itself asked for silence.

I stood still long enough to listen.

To wonder –

Who once labored here,

and is no longer?

The lake holds more than minerals.

It holds life, and death, and memory.

Bodies that bent.

Dreams built on wages,

then broken by exposure.

Those who worked here

spoke a language now made foreign,

carried histories of distant lands,

and vanished borders.

The shadow of a fallen empire.

This isn’t a place where nature returns

because it never fully left.

It only adapted,

took on new shapes,

learned to grow sideways.

This land is not ruined.

Not restored.

It is something else,

an afterland?

A man-made mountain,

a man-made lake,

a beach of accidental origin.

This is what a post-human pastoral might feel like:

Not untouched,

but touched too many times.

Can we build a landscape

without meaning to?

Can we scar the earth

into the illusion of beauty?

And if we do,

will we remember

what was sacrificed here?

The hands that labored,

lungs burned by dust,

the days folded into silence.

Not everything left behind is waste.

Some things remain

to hold the memory.

Are we willing to hear it?

@@ Line 1: / Line 1: @@
-'''How Long to Fill It Up? How Long to Empty?'''
+'''Post-Human Pastoralism'''
-''(An exploration on borders, time, and queer ecologies)''
+''(Afterland fragments from Ida-Viru)''
-The Narva River draws a line. People are stopped, while birds keep flying, the wind moves, and seeds scatter across.
-I begin walking, not with the flow, but against it. Moving upstream becomes a way of thinking about time. Scoop water into a vessel, carry it, and pour it back in - a small loop. Not to change the river, but to listen to it. To sense how it holds, but also leaks.
+Here is Ida-Viru,
-This land has been filled before - with machines, noise, and smoke. And then emptied - of labour, people, and meaning.
+a place not made to be seen,
-This is not just about a place. It is about the systems we build to separate, control, and claim. And what happens when those systems collapse - when rivers keep flowing, and orchids bloom where no one is looking.
+but to hold what’s left.
-+
-'''Background Idea'''
+A lake that shouldn’t be a lake,
-I want to spend time by the Narva River, which marks the border between Estonia and Russia. I’m not here to define or explain the river, but rather to be with it to walk alongside, observe, and stay open to whatever arises. The land around the river has been shaped by history, politics, and extraction. The nearby ash mountains, remnants of oil shale mining, are a visible mark of ecological damage and industrial presence. Rather than focusing on these systems, I want to pay attention to the smaller signs of the place - the textures and traces that hold both weight and uncertainty. I’m particularly interested in how time is experienced in this space, and how a queer ecological approach might open up new ways of relating to it in non-linear and open-ended ways.
+an engineered stillness.
-'''Work Description'''
+A basin designed to settle,
-I will document my experience during my time there and aim to create a video work that reflects what I encounter. The process won’t follow a strict script or performative plan. Instead, I’ll gather visual and sonic impressions, which could include images of water, industrial ruins, plant life, or simple actions like carrying water. The structure will be non-linear, weaving together fragments into a poetic visual rhythm that reflects the uncertainty and openness of the place itself.
+but nothing truly settles.
+I walked here once.
+Mud pulled at my shoes.
+Footprints filled with water.
+This water carries what oil shale leaves behind:
+calcium oxide, sulphates, silica dust, aluminium, iron oxides.
+Can I swim in this water?
+What does alum do to my skin?
+A brief evidence of a body passing through.
+Even still water remembers movement.
+Even waste listens, holds a rhythm.
+'''Time moves differently here.'''
+'''Slower, maybe.'''
+As if the land itself asked for silence.
+I stood still long enough to listen.
+To wonder –
+Who once labored here,
+and is no longer?
+The lake holds more than minerals.
+It holds life, and death, and memory.
+Bodies that bent.
+Dreams built on wages,
+then broken by exposure.
+Those who worked here
+spoke a language now made foreign,
+carried histories of distant lands,
+and vanished borders.
+The shadow of a fallen empire.
+'''This isn’t a place where nature returns'''
+'''because it never fully left.'''
+It only adapted,
+took on new shapes,
+learned to grow sideways.
+This land is not ruined.
+Not restored.
+It is something else,
+'''''an afterland?'''''
+A man-made mountain,
+a man-made lake,
+a beach of accidental origin.
+This is what a post-human pastoral might feel like:
+'''Not untouched,'''
+'''but touched too many times.'''
+Can we build a landscape
+without meaning to?
+'''Can we scar the earth'''
+'''into the illusion of beauty?'''
+And if we do,
+will we remember
+what was sacrificed here?
+The hands that labored,
+lungs burned by dust,
+the days folded into silence.
+Not everything left behind is waste.
+Some things remain
+to hold the memory.
+'''Are we willing to hear it?'''