How do you make a palm tree grow on the page? How do you capture the feeling of April? These are the kinds of questions that William Stanley Merwin’s poetry may be able to answer.
Feral. The viscerality of this single word was enough to capture my attention. I had no idea that this book would introduce me to something so frighteningly obvious that I was almost angry that this concept was so new to me.
I had written almost exclusively about men. That’s something I realized after finishing my book manuscript.
Through the course of my PhD research, I found myself escaping with increasing frequency to parks of different kinds in the cities I made home.
With little attention given to the links that interconnect the pieces we have created, problems arise when trying to reconnect that puzzle. At these moments, we venture into the murky realm of interdisciplinary research.
After sharing that I came to Yichun for my dissertation research on forestry history of the People’s Republic of China, I was told that I came to the wrong place.
It was with a certain amount of trepidation that I signed up for a taxidermy class. I am researching nineteenth-century British taxidermy production and wanted some hands-on experience.
It just did not sit right anymore to go on all these research trips. That’s when I calculated the Carbon Footprint of my project until thus far.
Looking back, my fascination with museums has clearly played out in my doctoral research on emerging relationships between humans and nonhumans under ecological emergency. Unsurprisingly, the natural history museum is one of the most fraught sites in which these relationships have historically been constructed.
When I worked for a rock climbing gym in Denver, Colorado between college and graduate school, I never asked my van-dwelling coworkers what they thought about living out of their vehicles across a fence from people experiencing homelessness.