Colleen Plumb

C O L L E E N P L U M B	W A R P O F T H E L O N G I T U D E S sample videos > > I am curious about the root of the human desire to witness (and thereby consume) nature. Each year millions of people visit zoos, aquariums, animal races, events, and shows where animals are observed. John Szarkowski perfectly describes the plight of viewing animals in Garry Winogrand’s The Animals: “Winogrand’s zoo, even if true, is a grotesquery. It is a surreal Disneyland where unlikely human beings and jaded careerist animals stare at each other through bars, exhibiting bad manners and a mutual failure to recognize their own ludicrous predicaments.” I wonder if looking at animals is part of a larger search for connection with something beyond ourselves, beyond our humanness—an attempt to connect with the mystery that nature inspires, even if this experience must be heavily mediated. Why do so many of us want to look? Why do we defend or implicitly support the practice of looking at any cost? And above all: What does it mean to look at animals in confinement? To date, I have traveled to 29 of the 77 zoos in the United States that keep elephants, making digital color video of elephants exhibiting a stereotypical (neurotic) behavior called “weaving.” Only captive elephants exhibit weaving; it is an abnormal behavior defined as a stereotypy (movement disorder), which includes rhythmic rocking, swaying, swinging the trunk, head bobbing, stepping back and forth, or pacing. These compulsive, repetitive movements cause debilitating damage to the animals’ feet and joints. I am interested in the accumulation of durational images of elephants’ rhythmic, repetitive weaving in captive environments. The videos are projected simultaneously—in a horizontal band adjacent to one another, encircling a space—revealing unified rhythms and subtle visual variances when viewed en masse. Through their multiplicity, the series mirrors the obsessive behavior of the animals. Although stereotypic movements are neurotic in nature, I am reminded of similar rhythmic movements found in positive, grace-filled situations meant for soothing, connection or respectful, sacred ritual. This alignment of behaviors pushes me to ask a larger question: In what ways do humans, along with all living beings, seek soothing and connectivity? Can ritualistic behaviors be viewed as means of escape? And further, do forms of escape potentially or inevitably become distortions?

I am curious about the root of the human desire to witness (and thereby consume) nature. Each year millions of people visit zoos, aquariums, animal races, events, and shows where animals are observed. John Szarkowski perfectly describes the plight of viewing animals in Garry Winogrand’s The Animals: “Winogrand’s zoo, even if true, is a grotesquery. It is a surreal Disneyland where unlikely human beings and jaded careerist animals stare at each other through bars, exhibiting bad manners and a mutual failure to recognize their own ludicrous predicaments.”

I wonder if looking at animals is part of a larger search for connection with something beyond ourselves, beyond our humanness—an attempt to connect with the mystery that nature inspires, even if this experience must be heavily mediated. Why do so many of us want to look? Why do we defend or implicitly support the practice of looking at any cost? And above all: What does it mean to look at animals in confinement?

To date, I have traveled to 29 of the 77 zoos in the United States that keep elephants, making digital color video of elephants exhibiting a stereotypical (neurotic) behavior called “weaving.” Only captive elephants exhibit weaving; it is an abnormal behavior defined as a stereotypy (movement disorder), which includes rhythmic rocking, swaying, swinging the trunk, head bobbing, stepping back and forth, or pacing. These compulsive, repetitive movements cause debilitating damage to the animals’ feet and joints.

I am interested in the accumulation of durational images of elephants’ rhythmic, repetitive weaving in captive environments. The videos are projected simultaneously—in a horizontal band adjacent to one another, encircling a space—revealing unified rhythms and subtle visual variances when viewed en masse.

Through their multiplicity, the series mirrors the obsessive behavior of the animals. Although stereotypic movements are neurotic in nature, I am reminded of similar rhythmic movements found in positive, grace-filled situations meant for soothing, connection or respectful, sacred ritual. This alignment of behaviors pushes me to ask a larger question: In what ways do humans, along with all living beings, seek soothing and connectivity? Can ritualistic behaviors be viewed as means of escape? And further, do forms of escape potentially or inevitably become distortions?