Landfall: survey

The journals and papers of gentleman scientists – Alexander von Humboldt, Alfred Russel Wallace, and Charles Darwin among them – are not normally included in the canon of science fiction but within the history of science. However, there are important relationships between the two forms of writing. While the gentleman scientists purported to be rational, their diaries express inner drives that are more psychological than physical. Undoubtedly, the curiosity driving an intellectual urge for scientific discovery is in turn driven by a more primal one for adventure. Any voyage under sail to the other side of the world faced peril, from piracy, from mutiny, from sickness or high seas, even simply from becoming lost. Concurrent with these voyages, the novel was emerging as a popular form that cast a romantic glow in culture at large around such ordeals. Gentleman scientists were a centre of attention as much for their travels to strange lands and their radical denouncing of the order of things in institutions on their return, and inspired the ‘science romance’ genre that is epitomised by Jules Verne’s oeuvre.

The genre-space of Chapter one is based on such scientific adventures and proto-science fiction, as much an adventure yarn as an analysis. As a genre-space it is not wholly limited to this period, but also to later examples of popular science informed by these early explorations in the world and on the page. In particular, David Quammen’s Song of the Dodo (1996) is intimated here and in later chapters as a form of ‘fiction-based research’.[1] In his examination of ‘island biogeography’, Quammen bridges the evolutionary studies that allowed Darwin to identify speciation on the different Galapagos islands due to their isolation from one another and the dangers of this when produced artificially. It’s a clever volte-face that reverses human domination of nature through technology, the natural outcome of scientific discovery, to become a warning on technology’s destructive capabilities, a trajectory that itself mirrors the development of science fiction from utopian to dystopian to what Jameson defines as apocalyptic[2] – that is, from confident to despondent.

Back to Introduction – Go to Chapter two

Landfall: landmarks

Yu-Chen Wang’s exhibition officially opened on 9 April 2016 at the Taipei Fine Art Museum. Nevertheless, it had been installed a week in advance and the display had been open to the general public simply because it was there, creating an early view of the exhibition for local people before critics and art audiences arrived. This foresight was exploited to allow the works to be described and displayed in advance and enabled the first chapter to be in hand and on display at the opening.

The passageway to the gallery itself was through a rarely used space with an extensive marble floor that was felt to be suitably oceanic, ripples of grey on grey visually reminiscent of the sea, while its large expanse lent a sense of loss one might feel on a voyage to a distant destination. Yu-Chen Wang had installed a large wall that bisected the gallery diagonally. One side was painted blue. At the front it stood tall, but sloped down towards the rear to only just around waist height. The effect was twofold. Its division of the gallery created a socially active space for events on one side, with the other reserved for the exhibition. At the same time, it created a false perspective that seemed to extend the gallery into a vast space when viewed from certain angles. Nevertheless, it was a clear intrusion and for his own purposes it stood as an island around which the various phases of the exhibition revolved.

Saudade is a Portuguese form of nostalgia. He took it as the name for the ship that carried a botanist to the island in part as reference to the exhibition’s title, as well as an allusion to Taiwan as a former Portuguese trading post in its earliest encounters with global trade in the sixteenth century. It becomes the vessel in which the protagonist travels to the island; his trappings in the cabin represent conceptual and physical tools that he carries with him linking the discoveries on the island to existing discourses that precede the experience of the exhibition.

Among them is a fragment of a carpet that appears as a recurrent motif in the text. It is a metaphorical object taken from David Quammen’s The Song of the Dodo: An Island Biogeography in an Age of Extinction (p. 11). As a means to illustrate how sectioning off land into enclosed regions, or islands, irreparably reduces the complexity of an ecology, Quammen introduces his essay with the example of a patterned fabric divided into pieces. But what happens when a carpet is sliced up? ‘Have we got thirty-six nice Persian throw rugs? No. All we’re left with is three dozen ragged fragments, each one worthless and commencing to come apart.’

Island biogeography is a development of evolutionary science and has a direct lineage back to Darwin’s Origin of the Species. While Darwin’s foundational study of evolution in response to the environment in a ‘survival of the fittest’ needs little introduction, it is itself founded in a study in island biogeography, through the comparison of species on the Galapagos Island chain, where isolation bred unique responses to the various eco-spheres on each. More recent evolutionary theory has charted that these genetic mutations have a particular effect within islands that has the effect of converging scales of fauna and flora – that is, large species tend towards miniaturisation, while small species tend to become larger, the Galapagos giant tortoises studied by Darwin being one example.

Darwin’s inclusion in the text is not merely to stake out this ground but also to set a timeframe for the story. The purpose is to contribute to the construction of a genre-space by rooting the first chapter in a period where scientific discovery and romantic literature were bound together in popular culture. It also suggests the questioning of the biological and therefore cultural superiority of the West, which was one of the most radical and much criticised implications of evolution at the time.

Written as taking place at the height of European colonialism (for instance Hong Kong was ceded to the British in the interceding twenty-year period between Darwin’s time on the Galapagos and the publication of Origin of the Species), the story hints at the relationship between economics and colonialism, discovery and exploitation, as motivations. This includes the biological through sexual exploitation of ‘primitive’ cultures and the introduction of invasive species to islands that continue to upset ecological balances.

Although the questions the narrator asks himself are anachronistic, the idea of ecology being affected by human activity has become commonplace in the twenty-first century through the development of the notion of an anthropocene. The confusion, or rather complexity, of how cultural exchange is bound up with biological imperatives runs throughout Yu-Chen Wang’s work. Her drawings and own fictional narratives throw these thoughts into futuristic and frequently dystopian scenarios. The intention of this narrative is to ground that in a historic context that is the common purpose of a critical text supporting an artist’s work, although normally this would be grounded in art history rather than the history and theory of biological sciences.

The characterisation of a biologist, in this case, provides a further link between art and science that is of particular relevance to the exhibition. On the one hand, cataloguing is a point of connection between the curatorial and the natural sciences. All cataloguing includes detailed observation and putting into order. Rather than creating work for this exhibition, Yu-Chen Wang catalogues her own work, seeking to map out her practice through a diversity of works in different media.

Furthermore, the early naturalists required scientific knowledge but also artistic skills, as they were required to make detailed drawings as well as to take samples of the flora and fauna they encountered. As men of science there was no distinction in their task between the charting of species and of the land. Even today, botanical and entomological illustrators are required as selective drawings frequently illustrate biology more clearly than photography. The creative value of curiosity is most clearly demonstrated in this way. Yu-Chen Wang’s drawings have the character of botanical illustrations, albeit focused on mechanical objects rather than biological ones.

A half hour later the amorphous shape had resolved into a sharp geometric triangle. Still blue from the aerial perspective, it was almost as if a tear had been made through the nimbus to the sky beyond. The land rose to an off-centre peak creating an unusual, almost impossible overhang that brought further mystery to what we might find there. The journey had been hard for more than a week. With little wind to propel us, and no real aim, we could only continue eastwards hoping to reach land before falling off the end of the world. But the listlessness that had set in among all the crew during those long days evaporated at the promise of fresh water, adventure, and discovery. And for some of the less savoury members slopping around the bilges, the hope of native women to sate their desires loomed large. On more than one occasion I had found them pouring over a few indiscreet items I had brought with me as keepsakes and maintained locked in a casket in my cabin. How they had engineered a way into both room and safe-box, I had never enquired – both out of personal safety and an element of shame should word of them spread. Instead we struck a tacit pact that they would be returned in exchange for me sparing them a smarting reprimand from the captain. I was myself relieved at this unspoken agreement as to make this public would have brought me considerable blushes, at the very least. From then on I moved to keeping the most precious items tucked inside my undershirt for security.

made their way in its direction. Interested as I was to join them and explore further, I tried to discipline myself to remain on the shoreline, and address the act of cataloguing the island as methodically as I could.

Facing almost due East I looked out towards where the moored Saudade lay, my back to that geometric rise of land at the island’s heart, now clearly lush with dense vegetation. To the south, my right, the beach opened out into a flat plain where a tent was being erected. And so I moved northwards to find some solace in my work. I searched among the knots of weed and flora scattered on the tideline, strange hybrids of natural forms with what seemed to be flotsam and jetsam tangled up within them. An immediate sense of disappointment set in, this virginal island was already tainted by the outside world. But such is our world today, I mused; no place is untouched by man’s reach, even this island. What would it mean to think of this as a single ecology with us as a part? What impact does the history of our culture have on such an island with its unique biogeography? No longer simply a survival of the fittest in the raw, but a cooked melange flavoured with migration of peoples passing in flight lines along with the birds. Instead of an enclosure, then, a node, just as unique but no longer isolated – a composite of its own trajectories between here and there, between the local and global. And moreover, how will what we leave behind in this place change it,

crow’s nest. Mostrando, he declared, which I misheard as ‘monster’, causing much hilarity among all around the fire.

Among my equipment I had stashed that small patch of rug from the cabin floor that gave me some false sense of the comforts of home. As the night continued, my own reveries drifted to the odd fate of those fish, yanked from their security by such an alien predators as the crew. We were monsters to them I supposed, although it did not stop me taking pleasure in the charred meat. Finally, the excitement died down and one by one we fell into sleep. As I lay down, my head rested next to the stain on the rug from the inkwell that dropped earlier in the day. The blot had doubled itself from being folded in my pack. The resulting pattern appeared like a death’s head moth, both insect and devilish face in one. As I passed into sleep, it seemed to crawl into my dreams, a grim premonition of things to come.

stand afore the first launch. His team looked especially burly, and while my launch carried tents, canteens, and my modest supply of scientific equipment, theirs was loaded with weapons.

It took twenty minutes of hard rowing against the tide before the beach breaks took over and propelled the skiff towards the shoreline. The water was clear beneath us as I trailed my hand and watched shoals of fish pass underneath as thick clouds. We made good time with the captain’s boat arriving only seconds before our own, my team of oarsman straining to their last.

When sand scraped against the bottom of the boat, the second oarsman excitedly jumped out into the surf only to fall, struck by heavy rocks hurtling around beneath the surface from a strong undertow. A brief bout of laughter broke out in amusement of the youngster’s unbridled enthusiasm, then a squalor of shouts and hurried activity that sent the boat rocking as his crewmates reached down to fish him out of the sea. Diluted by seawater, blood flowed in pale gouts down his legs, making the scene seem brutal even if, in fact, the injuries were minor. A more experienced seaman then sprang nimbly from aft to land beyond the spume. Rope in hand he dragged the craft up the beach far enough that we could safely disembark one at a time.

My own hopes for the island were for a rich tropical flora and fauna untouched by any kind of human affect. Darwin’s own explorations and writings had been the primary inspiration for me to leave civilisation behind and join this crew, as well as to escape my previous misdemeanours. But even my own scientific curiosity sometimes gave way to fantasies as I dreamed of sweet fruits never before seen or tasted, myriad blossoms alive with brightly coloured insects, and in more whimsical moments dragons of myth made flesh. And, within an hour, I could make out forest-clad mountains rising up from the island, and a scar of brightly coloured sand as a beach that seemed to tantalise my fantasies yet further. But moreover, whatever we individually hoped to find there, the whole crew like myself simply itched to set foot on solid land again.

We were more than a mile from shore when the depth sounding indicated shallow reefs rising underneath; the captain ordered the sails to be furled and anchor dropped for fear of grounding. Without charts or clear location the tides could not be predicted, so landing boats were lowered with teams of strong oarsmen who could stay the distance on the row to land. I pleaded to be on the first boat, but was relegated to the third launch having to make do with the privilege of being the first gentleman to land there, not the first man. While no expert, I suspected Maritime Law dictated the first to set foot on land could claim it as their own, and so was unsurprised to see the captain himself

whether we come as conquerors, discoverers, explorers, or tourists?

With these questions in mind, I continued to illustrate what I could in words and pictures, all the time mulling over whether what I saw there might be so special, so unique, how I was caught up in the world like everything else, and that the moment we set foot upon the beach we formed part of each other’s history, culture even. My first sketches were littered with ideas hurriedly noted between the outlines of seaweed, shells, and crabs for later classification. But soon dusk fell, the light faded, and I returned to sit by the campfire where fish of various sizes and a multitude of colours were being roasted. We all sat together, gentlemen and bilge crew alike, passing round sweet spring water and bottles of rum, and all was jovial. Throughout the voyage I had taken dinners with the captain, and we had grown weary of each other’s company, so to sit with the crew for the first time was refreshing for us both. All evening they told tall tales of their previous adventures and shared dreams of the treasures and horrors that may lie inland. As the island was as yet unnamed, we made a round of suggesting what to call it. Many of the shipmen thought to name the island after their mothers or lovers, the captain suggesting more patriotic imagery in naming it after the king. The most peculiar suggestion came from the lookout who had first laid eyes on the island from the 

My senses had become accustomed to the ocean’s swell so as my feet fell on the beach the entire landmass seemed to roll as if we were still on the high sea. It lent a dream-like quality to the moment combined with the almost unbelievable relief that we had, at last, found this place. Despite all our excitement, a strange hush fell over the party as every muscle of the crew sagged from the exhaustion of the row. Grog was passed round to refresh us and following a brief respite the captain ordered some to build a fire, others to set up camp where the sands disappeared into thick brush. Others set to the tasks of replenishing water supplies or casting nets into the water for fish. Deserted as the island seemed, no one stood guard.

I set about my own work slowly, first taking bearings with a compass; with pad and pencil I drew out a rough map of the beach, pacing distances from tideline to grass, and noting approximate elevations. The beach slopped quite sharply, and piles of those rocks lay in patches where the sea had gathered them up in eddies then dumped them as the tide subsided. Other sections were unblemished fine sand, and still others were claggy like wet cement where barely visible streams leached down the beach. It was clear that a more substantial stream or river lay less than half a mile to the south, and the party sent to refill our canteens

Chapter one: landfall

On the ninth day of April an island was sighted on the horizon. At the call from the crow’s nest, the captain ordered a sharp change of course and the Saudade listed to port, sending lamp, inkwell, and the mementos of home sliding across the chipped walnut of my bureau as I sat at work. All but the lamp fell from the edge and clattered to the floor, the inkwell discharging some of its contents on the way down. Although overcast outside, a hazy sun still projected a soft spotlight through the porthole that tracked around the cabin, eventually coming to rest on a small section of oriental carpet I had found in a bazaar on the day we embarked. Its intricate, incomplete pattern had fascinated me for some reason. More practically, though, it brought the illusion of comfort to the close confines of my quarters. For an instant I was reminded of how far I was from home, but excitement at landfall quickly overwhelmed my nostalgic reveries, and I rushed to join the rest of the crew on deck.

There was an excited bustle as rigging was changed and landing skiffs made ready. At a squint I could just make out a blue bubble on the horizon sandwiched between the flat granite of grey sea and an even ceiling of clouds.

Landfall: field notes

A portrait of Yu-Chen Wang formed part of the installation. Although depicting her more as an industrialist, its generic character is asynchronous with the period of this narrative. A second version of this portrait was included in the re-presentation of the exhibition in Manchester but showing the machines in ruin and the artist in a depressed state. This transformation is mirrored in the narrative.

The personal keepsake suggests something that remains undisclosed. It stands as a metaphor of sorts for the art object, which cannot be fully disclosed in all its personal relationships even if poured over by a public. 

Premonition or foresight is a dramatisation of the idea of ‘nostalgia for the future’, the exhibition’s title. The threat of a reef harks back to the Rover Incident, the wrecking of an American ship on a reef off the southern coast of Taiwan in 1867, approximately when this narrative would be placed. The surviving seamen were killed by Taiwanese aborigines resulting in the American government deploying a military ship that arrived and killed the tribe in retaliation. At the time, Taiwan was notionally under Chinese dynastic rule; however, it was largely ungoverned, particularly in the south. The Rover Incident led to further territorial disputes (marked by the Mudan Incident) that laid the groundwork for Japanese Imperial forces taking control of Taiwan, which resulted in the exploitation of Taiwanese people as enforced labourers. The colonial Japanese forces modernised Taiwan, exploiting its natural and mineral resources; somewhat ironically, this led to the conditions of the Taiwan economic miracle under Chiang Kai-shek’s dictatorship after the Second World War and the Chinese Civil War.

The sense of disorientation from  ‘sea legs’ is used as a metaphor for being out of place. Wang’s work frequently engages with ‘out of placeness’ – caught between being Taiwanese and becoming European (now British).

Despite being in a museum, the volunteer guard was frequently more caught up with fetching the catering for the opening event. Wang hosted a series of events in the exhibition in which food was a significant social element with cultural connotations.

‘King’ is the translation of the Chinese Wang – the family name of the artist – and is one of a number of intimations towards her family that appear. It is certainly her island. Monstrado, on the other hand, is a corruption of the Portuguese for ‘exhibition’.