Aussie Green

(Note: I actually wrote this while in Sydney, right after I went through this art piece)

So one thing that we got to doing in Sydney was see an art installation in the Opera House. I'll try and relive the experience best as I can for you, but it was quite unique.

You walk in to the main concert hall and it's pitch black. There's a soft mist and some warm moving glows. I switched on the little miner's light I was given and I walked in to the jungle of Sydney. The entire lower levels and stage area were taken over by trees and plants and fog machines. I just sort of walked around through the paths, up and down the stairs and through the aisles. All around you is plant life ranging from shrubs to ferns and trees. You can't really see anyone around you because everyone has a little light around their face and it's too dark to focus on anyone's particular face. So you're basically just walking around with faceless people all around you through paths of overwhelming trees. The initial reaction I had was, wow this is a lot of shrubbery to put into a theater. Then I let it sort of take over me and let the senses kick in. Touching the trees and plants, becoming a part of the installation as opposed to just viewing it. Taking in a soft music from a guitarist somewhere around. It was sort of humbling, almost like walking through a faux-jungle. But the mystique and serenity sort of morphed.

Then I started thinking about it on a different level. What was the point? Maybe the point, at least what I initially got out of it, was to show off the base, animalistic center we are all akin to. In the middle of everything commercial, everything huge and loud, is a soft forest. In the middle of the every day hustle and bustle, there is a calming tree and fog. I let that feeling sink in for a bit. Then I realized that I hated the term "hustle and bustle" and that this seemed like a pretty on the nose way of going about it. I have no idea what the intention of this experimental artist was, but I started looking at something new. I noticed a few things.

First there was a moment where I saw a guy emerge from what looked like a cool hidden passageway. I looked down, ready to embark and he caught me and said, "that's not a normal path. Sorry." Then there were the few camera men around I presume taking in people's expressions and what not for a DVD of some sort. These weren't really reminders to me that I wasn't actually in a jungle, I'm not really that shallow to say that I got so entrapped that I was pulled out by a guy with a camera. But it made me realize that we can't recreate everything. We can't recreate what a jungle is actually like, all we can do is make artist's interpretations.

Earlier on my trip I swam in the Great Barrier Reef and touched a turtle. You can't recreate that. There are always going to be some things in nature that man can't remake. We can describe them and explain them and tell stories about them and document them and take pictures of them, but we'll never actually be able to create what nature can. And that, to me, proves that there is some sort of greater power out there making things that we just can't. Man can create amazing architecture and amazing advances in medicine, but we can't accurately create a jungle. We can't create experiences of nature, as much as we try. And that's what I left the Forest with. A sense of humility that I felt when I got out of the water after being feet away from sharks. A sense that there are things in this world that man will never be able to comprehend or make or control. I kind of like that feeling.