What are your lessons from nature?

Shuzuo Chen

I was born a city dweller. Squishing my way throughout the metallic jungle makes me feel nostalgic of venturing into the woods, where beauty and nostalgia all come at once.

One of my favorite pastimes in Smith is standing at the front of the window frame and paint. I could feel my eagerness to crudely draw, or, cautiously document, what I see. I prefer using color pens other than cameras to capture these moments, to eternalize this scene with my own hands instead of the cold and smart cameras; or I might use charcoals.Without depicting the colors, I could focus more on the shapes and weight of mass of nature. My heart and mind are circles of pond echoing simultaneously with the flowing wind; so easily stirred. The drive to capture and then fixate nature comes so naturally that it comes almost irresistibly — which dwarfs any language and painting I could ever utter or make. I don’t want to let any of beauty sneak away from my eyes. Nature narrates her dearness and fragility — especially in face of her delicate ecosystem and unparalleled beauty. As I am very sensitive to colors, for many times I would just stare and be mesmerized by the pure color. It is not as the way-too red paint or way-too much gluey yellow paint on walls — way too gaudy and smell of artificiality. Back in my hometown in Beijing, I have rare chances to see what is happening beyond the concrete jungles, beyond the complex upon which me and my neighbors nestle — much like polar bears huddling together on a thin slice of melted ice.

The city, which I get so much used to, is where serenity submits to hustle-bustle, greenness yields to glassy grayness. I do not condemn being detached from nature. in fact, I somehow have a phobia toward insects, especially caterpillars and spiders. I am a person of ambivalence, and I believe this is true for many others, beginning from when Heidegger talks about the being of architecture in relation to nature. On the one hand, I immensely love the palette, the beauty, of nature, but on the other hand, I am intimidated by its precarious and menacing traits. And after weighing pros and cons, I decide to secure myself in an eclectic stance: observe it ardently, but observe it with some distance. Even when I was portraying the nature, the beauty of every creature is formidable and unapproachable. Tangled twigs and leafs, bushy furs on rabbits, gloss of brooks... their beauties are accurate and complex. Only observing in detail could superficially know the principle.

There is always a moment when nature strikes me with its rigor, which often reminds me of the vitality and splendor of being alive. I have learnt about Aware embedded in Japanese culture: the pathetic sentiment invoked by the transience of beauty in nature and the irretrievable loss of time. In the eyes of many, spring comes and goes, time elapses and inextricably gets lost amid the bigger cycling of time. Learned from hundreds of poems, this is always melancholic. But I instead think that this is not utterly true about nature. Nature is always alive and ceaseless — it has metabolism, which, like an invisible hand, balances the loss and gain of the whole ecosystem. The sentiments of love and loss and Aware pale in comparison with the astronomical numbers of creatures nature reigns and rears. In fact, perhaps in nature there is never ‘loss’. Flowers shed their petals and leaves fall into soil, but all these so-called losses instead exist in another way. In other words, they are still there, but just in a different way. Petals and leaves, after pollination and blossom and feed thousands of bees and butterflies, turn to organic fertilizers that bring about the fertility of the next blooming season. There isn’t really anything that has nature truly lost, as every part of it is sustainable and fits perfectly into the larger cycle of its metabolism, which humans do not fit into. Perhaps it is humans ourselves mourning for our own loss — be it our beloved ones or those youthful faces — using nature as a metonym, as we don’t really actually come along within this metabolism of nature.

February already comes, announcing the advent of spring. At this time back at home the golden jasmine manages to burgeon out of the frozen ground with its round and tiny bud. Standing from afar, I see sporadic yellowness studded on the twigs, like the stars hanging right on the dimmed canopy. It reminds me of the simplest and happiest ever of playing hide and seek in the yard when suddenly I captured this glimpse of yellow. Or, be it grassland in an anonymous countryside where papa brings the whole family (including DorDor, my dog) to have a relaxing picnic. You can never imagine how many crickets would hide the withy meadow weeds, loudly chirping as they are confident enough that you won’t find them. Or, it could be a common afternoon when you are too bored to look out from your window. And suddenly you would find that the anonymous tree suddenly bears rosy flowers. You see? Nature is a system that is so entertaining and self-sufficient, that it functions and prospers without any artificial intervention. Nature can be breathtaking either coexisting with artificial architectures or existing solely by itself. The time spent in replicating the beauty of nature provides me ceaseless inspiration for art and life.