In Ernest Callenbach’s cult utopian novel Ecotopia (originally self-published in the mid-1970s), the Pacific Northwest successfully seceded from the United States and implemented a more ecologically sustainable and genuinely interconnected form of society. Set largely in an alternate dimension San Francisco, shortly before the dawn of the 21st century, the novel is basically a scenario-building exercise for applying an intentional community model to a large swath of mainstream America. Surprisingly, the book’s ideas have become increasingly relevant over the decades—an article in The New York Times half-jokingly dubbed it “The Novel that Predicted Portland.” And the International Center of Photography borrowed its title for its second triennial in 2006.
Callenbach’s title was employed somewhat ironically for the triennial: photogoraphs focused on pressing social and environmental issues such as the clear cutting of old growth forests, post-Katrina New Orleans, species endangerment and extinction, natural resource shortages. The exhibit highlighted much of what is missing from an ideal state of co-existence with the natural world. Possible futures (both positive and negative) were considered as well. Ecotopia may be a fantasy, but if the ICP triennial is any indication, there is a growing recognition of the concept’s significance.
Over the past several years, American photographer Rachel Barrett has been creating a body of work set in the veritable heart of Callenbach’s ecotopia: the town of Bolinas, located just north of San Francisco in Marin County. Imagine an entire town embracing the principles and values of Callenbach’s ecotopia, even doing its best to obscure its location, in effect slightly seceding from the rest of the world. That’s Bolinas. It also boasts, as one might expect, a bustling literary and artistic scene.
In an interview on CDS Porch, the Center for Documentary Studies at Duke University’s blog, Barrett says, “Bolinas is a place where people go in search of a serious connection, with each other, with the land, and it is unquestionably what I am looking for myself.” During our recent email exchange, she drew a sharp contrast to the disconnectedness and isolation so often experienced in New York City, where she lives. “I felt eager to explore what for me was foreign and otherworldly and for my friends out west was just the everyday norm,” she told me. “Once I started to pay attention to this idea and investigate further, I recognized the social and political significance of the back-to-the-land movement resurging across the country and wanted to take part in it. For me the camera is the means to do so.”
Yet, what’s front and center in Bolinas—as well as a similar project that she photographed concurrently, Josiah’s Farm—often unfolds on a more personal, emotional, and spiritual level. Portraits of individuals are simply titled with the first names of those individuals, driving home the level of intimacy that exists in these places. The medium format color photos have social and political facets to them (the personal and the political are necessarily intertwined, after all). But they’re subtle, nestled cozily in the background, slightly obscured by the foliage.
Throughout Bolinas, photographs of wild, unspoiled natural landscapes are juxtaposed with glimpses of orderly, inhabited spaces. Immediately, these two worlds are shown intersecting. The opening image (Kale Road, 2010) depicts a tin roof shed adjacent to a tree whose dramatic growth has been shaped over time by strong winds. The tree’s missing branches create a visual link to a woodpile next to the shed (those branches clearly were put to good use at some point). Peering deeper, one can see further connections between the natural and the man-made in the margins.
Wilderness and domesticity intersect elsewhere as well—in a table setting, a wall decoration, a backyard garden, a compost pile. The community’s emphasis on local sustainability and the harmonious integration of the human and natural worlds dates back in part to the bioregional movement that emerged in the early 1970s (and is front and center in Callenbach’s writing). Some images, particularly the enigmatic, fantastical Roger’s Labyrinth, hint at mystical beliefs involving connection to the Earth as well.
That said, it should come as no surprise that contemporary Bolinas has its origins in the 1960s counterculture. And according to Barrett, the younger generations are committed to upholding this legacy. “There is a deep and profound connection to the land [in Bolinas] and I think everyone who lives there and visits for a day, night, week, for however long, is there to have and maintain that connection,” she says.
She describes Bolinas in her project statement as “a small unincorporated community resting precariously on the edge of the Pacific along the coast of Northern California. Dirt roads with hand painted signs mark the paths between the homes of a notoriously reclusive population. A collective effort to clean up after an oil spill brought them together, the desire to live an intrinsically shared existence with one another and closely to the land on their own terms is how they decided to stay.” She goes on to state, “There is no longer a true commune in town as there once was, but the same mentality persists and is shared by many among my generation.”
It’s the younger generation’s commitment that originally led her to the place. “I first learned of Bolinas through my best friend, who in 2008 started sharing a home there with seven other friends,” she told me. “It was an experiment of sorts, where a few were living in the house full-time and others would come and go back and forth to their apartments in San Francisco and Berkeley.” She began photographing there shortly after her first visit. Barrett said that she didn’t have any preconceived notions when she began, likening her approach to that of a street photographer’s. “All I knew was that my images would tell the story of what it felt like to experience that place,” she said.
Although Bolinas is not an ecovillage per se, it is probably the closest example you are likely to find in a town or city. There’s no precise definition for the term “ecovillage,” but generally speaking, ecovillages tend to be small-scale rural or urban cooperative intentional communities that prioritize ecologically sustainable growth and development and strive to be low- or zero-impact communities.
Ecovillages share similarities with homesteading. However, whereas homesteading emphasizes individual self-reliance, ecovillages emphasize communal self-reliance, putting into practice the theory that such interconnectedness provides a more secure and enjoyable way of life for all involved.
British photographer David Spero has photographed three rural ecovillages in the United Kingdom, all founded relatively recently. They are Steward Community Woodland, Brithdir Mawr, based in Wales, and the whimsically-named Tinkers Bubble. These communities are all very small—maybe around 20 adults and a handful of children at their peak periods of membership. Yet, they are part of a growing network of ecovillages in the U.K.
The resulting body of work, called “Settlements,” focuses exclusively on the low-impact living structures found in these places. Spero, who studied photography at the Royal College of Art, London, has a painter’s eye. His color photographs of eco-conscious dwellings are akin to landscape photography—and landscape painting—rather than, say, architectural photography. His approach underscores the theme of a harmonious relationship between humans and the natural world. Like Barrett’s photos, they are more poetic than political—meditative idylls showing an inherent sense of tranquility in their pastoral settings.
The homes complement and blend in with their natural surroundings to the point where they practically merge with them. Spero terms this “integrated living with nature” in his project statement. The buildings include log cabins, yurts, outdoor kitchens, and more. They are constructed at least partly from locally sourced wood and salvaged materials, and many boast features such as living green roofs. It’s rustic living with a 21st century sensibility.
The titles tease us with the owners’ names: Shamus’, Emma and John’s, Tony and Jane’s, et cetera (like Barrett, Spero only uses first names). But the photographs barely provide a glimpse of the people who reside in these extremely low-impact habitats. Questions go unanswered: Who are the faces behind the names? What do they look like? Is this information important to the viewer, and if so, why?
This may at least partly explain the absence of people in “Settlements”: it’s a way of enabling the viewer to develop a deeper personal connection to the place. It’s likely the same reason that Spero avoids focusing on the quirkiness and idiosyncracies of the structures (a temptation most photographers would find difficult to resist). He has effectively replaced the onlooker’s initial question, “who lives that way?” with a more imaginative and reflective thought: “what if I did?”
For what it’s worth, there’s a group photo of the Brithdir Mawr folks on the home page of their website. It resembles a snapshot of an extended family get-together or a study group at a liberal arts college. It’s likely the photo was originally taken for the community’s own records. Regardless, it provides a sense of how intentional communities choose to document themselves (a topic that I’ll be returning to later in the series).
The main character and narrator in Callenbach’s Ecotopia, an investigative reporter for the fictional Times-Post (a mash-up of The New York Times and The Washington Post), is initially skeptical and prone to looking down on the strange denizens of that strange land. (Predictably, his mainstream sensibility changes over the course of the novel.) It’s through this character’s perceptions that readers are given a sense of this brave new fictional world.
With that in mind, I can’t help but feel grateful that Barrett, Spero, and others are acting as our guides in this reality, and that through their eyes we’re seeing these communities. They are truly fascinated by alternative living experiments and understand intuitively the reasons why people to seek them out.
2012.01.27
