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Entangling with the Landscape: A Methodological Walking Art Experiment

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Title: Entangling with the Landscape: A Methodological Walking Art Experiment
Language: English
Authors: Henrika Ylirisku (ORCID 0000-0002-5257-9179), Riikka Hohti (ORCID 0000-0001-6731-589X), Varpu Mehto (ORCID 0000-0001-8466-1727), Rachel Sinquefield-Kangas (ORCID 0000-0002-9456-9585)
Source: Environmental Education Research. 2025 31(3):481-497.
Availability: Routledge. Available from: Taylor & Francis, Ltd. 530 Walnut Street Suite 850, Philadelphia, PA 19106. Tel: 800-354-1420; Tel: 215-625-8900; Fax: 215-207-0050; Web site: http://www.tandf.co.uk/journals
Peer Reviewed: Y
Page Count: 17
Publication Date: 2025
Document Type: Journal Articles
Reports - Research
Education Level: Higher Education
Postsecondary Education
Descriptors: Foreign Countries, Environmental Education, Environmental Research, Urban Areas, Urban Culture, Urban Environment, Physical Activities, College Faculty, Researchers, Outdoor Education, Naturalistic Observation, Futures (of Society), Art Activities, Ecology, Historical Interpretation, Research Methodology
Geographic Terms: Finland (Helsinki)
DOI: 10.1080/13504622.2024.2370993
ISSN: 1350-4622
1469-5871
Abstract: This paper presents a walking art experiment called 'Line Walk' aimed at attuning to more-than-human landscapes. The researchers wanted to expand the methodological repertoires for engaging with contemporary semi-urban and urban living environments. A second goal was to increase attentiveness to multispecies relationality and thus challenge uncritically normative notions of nature in environmental educational research. The experiment demonstrates how a walking art protocol has the potential to work as a catalyst to expose walking human bodies to the material, affective, and sensory relationalities of the landscapes. Additionally, it can generate encounters with ghostly, atmospheric presences of past histories and hints of more-than-human world-making projects and their temporal scales. We suggest that the value of such an experiment lies in its capacity to take researchers from comfort zones to multispecies and multitemporal contact zones and to help them trace back and out the material entanglements of humans with the planet.
Abstractor: As Provided
Entry Date: 2025
Accession Number: EJ1465332
Database: ERIC
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  Value: <anid>AN0183196932;eed01mar.25;2025Feb25.02:11;v2.2.500</anid> <title id="AN0183196932-1">Entangling with the landscape: a methodological walking art experiment </title> <p>This paper presents a walking art experiment called 'Line Walk' aimed at attuning to more-than-human landscapes. The researchers wanted to expand the methodological repertoires for engaging with contemporary semi-urban and urban living environments. A second goal was to increase attentiveness to multispecies relationality and thus challenge uncritically normative notions of nature in environmental educational research. The experiment demonstrates how a walking art protocol has the potential to work as a catalyst to expose walking human bodies to the material, affective, and sensory relationalities of the landscapes. Additionally, it can generate encounters with ghostly, atmospheric presences of past histories and hints of more-than-human world-making projects and their temporal scales. We suggest that the value of such an experiment lies in its capacity to take researchers from comfort zones to multispecies and multitemporal contact zones and to help them trace back and out the material entanglements of humans with the planet.</p> <p>Keywords: Methodology; walking art; more-than-human; Anthropocene; SDG 4: Quality education</p> <hd id="AN0183196932-2">Introduction</hd> <p>A group of (environmental) educational researchers are standing on top of a hill, ready to start a methodological walking art experiment. It is a rainy November day in East Helsinki, South Finland, and the wind is gusting fine rain to our bodies from the southeast. We have a plastic-covered paper map that has a straight line drawn on it with a liner, and the plan is to try to walk the same line in the real terrain, as straight as possible, with the help of a compass.</p> <p>There are two motivations why we are standing here with our feet slowly getting wet. First, we are experimenting with ways of mobilizing thinking-with the landscape. In our earlier research, we have been drawing from critical and feminist posthumanist, new materialist and multispecies theories (Barad [<reflink idref="bib3" id="ref1">3</reflink>]; Braidotti [<reflink idref="bib4" id="ref2">4</reflink>]; Haraway [<reflink idref="bib12" id="ref3">12</reflink>]; Kirksey and Helmreich [<reflink idref="bib18" id="ref4">18</reflink>]; van Dooren, Kirksey, and Münster [<reflink idref="bib51" id="ref5">51</reflink>]) and sought ways of keeping methodologies in line with these relational, ontologically nuanced theories (St. Pierre [<reflink idref="bib44" id="ref6">44</reflink>]). Our scholarly work has been influenced by more-than-human methodologies (Springgay and Truman [<reflink idref="bib42" id="ref7">42</reflink>]) among others, and we have used multispecies and sensory ethnographies (Ogden, Hall, and Tanita [<reflink idref="bib34" id="ref8">34</reflink>]; Pink [<reflink idref="bib38" id="ref9">38</reflink>]), as well as movement-based artistic methods (Ylirisku [<reflink idref="bib57" id="ref10">57</reflink>], [<reflink idref="bib58" id="ref11">58</reflink>]). In other words, we take methodologically seriously the human entanglement with the more-than-human world and seek to decentre the human in research by unpacking human exceptionalism and assumptions of separate, individual subjectivity. Additionally, we acknowledge the limitations of conventional qualitative knowledge practices based on assumptions of data being static and containable (Koro-Ljungberg, MacLure, and Ulmer [<reflink idref="bib19" id="ref12">19</reflink>]), and seek to develop research methods that are not procedural and pre-determined (Springgay and Truman [<reflink idref="bib42" id="ref13">42</reflink>], chapter 5). This time we are experimenting with a walking art protocol to take away from the logics of representation (Knight [<reflink idref="bib20" id="ref14">20</reflink>]; Springgay and Truman [<reflink idref="bib41" id="ref15">41</reflink>]; Vannini [<reflink idref="bib53" id="ref16">53</reflink>]). Through the protocol we seek to catalyst thinking-in-movement (Springgay and Truman [<reflink idref="bib41" id="ref17">41</reflink>], [<reflink idref="bib42" id="ref18">42</reflink>]), as we will explain further in more detail.</p> <p>Second motivation relates to the question <emph>how</emph> to acknowledge human entanglement with the more-than-human world in research. How to better notice and become attentive to more-than-human relations and encounters – with all their rhizomatic layers and affective dimensions? We are inspired by anthropologist Anna Tsing's ([<reflink idref="bib49" id="ref19">49</reflink>]) way of highlighting <emph>arts of noticing</emph> in her research practice. According to Tsing ([<reflink idref="bib49" id="ref20">49</reflink>]) arts of noticing is a way of sensitizing oneself to the interconnectedness of human and nonhuman world-making projects. Noticing more-than-human assemblages – heterogeneous and multi-vocal arrangements of things, times and bodies (Tsing [<reflink idref="bib49" id="ref21">49</reflink>]) – may often take place through other than verbal ways of knowing, using senses such as smell (Tsing [<reflink idref="bib49" id="ref22">49</reflink>]), touch (Tammi and Hohti [<reflink idref="bib45" id="ref23">45</reflink>]; Ylirisku [<reflink idref="bib57" id="ref24">57</reflink>]) or listening (Weaver and Snaza [<reflink idref="bib56" id="ref25">56</reflink>]). Nonetheless, as Tsing ([<reflink idref="bib49" id="ref26">49</reflink>]) reminds us, more-than-human worlds are multilayered and polyphonic and there is always more going on than we are able to perceive.</p> <p>The methodological experimentation is a part of a larger research project focusing on the shifting nature-culture relations of young people growing up in the so-called Anthropocene. The Antropocene (Crutzen and Stormer [<reflink idref="bib8" id="ref27">8</reflink>]), a proposal of naming a new geological era based on human entanglement with planetary forces, has been taken up across many fields beyond its origin in geology and the Earth sciences as a conceptual push to redefine some of our basic assumptions concerning nature, culture, human and animal, and the relations between these (Hohti et al. [<reflink idref="bib15" id="ref28">15</reflink>]) In the fields of education and environmental education, a conceptual renewal with influences drawn from ecofeminist, Indigenous, critical animal, and multispecies scholarship have been pursued against the backdrop of education's Western anthropocentric and human exceptionalist legacy (Taylor and Pacini-Ketchabaw [<reflink idref="bib47" id="ref29">47</reflink>]).</p> <p>Our motivations relate to a broader effort in environmental education to resist generalized and romanticized understandings of child/youth/human nature relations. For example, authors such as Tammi and Hohti ([<reflink idref="bib45" id="ref30">45</reflink>]), Mcphie and Clarke ([<reflink idref="bib26" id="ref31">26</reflink>]) and Malone ([<reflink idref="bib27" id="ref32">27</reflink>]) have examined the uncritically normative, idealizing, and romanticizing ways in which the relations of children and young people with nature are being discussed. The problem is that embracing only the benefits of nature-connection and highlighting the restoring and beautiful encounters with nature problematically reasserts human exceptionalism and separates the human from the rest of nature. Furthermore, to connect 'natural' with nostalgia is highly problematic in a world in which biodiversity loss and climate change are rapidly changing our environments and in which the majority of childhoods are lived within poor urban or semi-urban conditions, far from the romanticised 'natural' environments (Taylor [<reflink idref="bib46" id="ref33">46</reflink>]).</p> <p>In (environmental) educational research, critical work for rethinking human nature relations is emerging around place-responsive pedagogies (Lynch and Mannion [<reflink idref="bib24" id="ref34">24</reflink>]). In their approach, Lynch and Mannion explain that our responsivity toward places is a dynamic relationship, where being present in and with a place, place-based stories and narratives, and place experiences matter (see also Vladimirova [<reflink idref="bib55" id="ref35">55</reflink>]). However, according to Lynch and Mannion ([<reflink idref="bib24" id="ref36">24</reflink>]), there is still a need for more research-based guidance for educators as to how to plan and enact curricula in place-responsive ways. There is particular need for this critical work in our own Nordic context where adding complexity to the environmental engagement beyond the pleasant, harmonious 'outdoors' in educational practices and research has remained marginal (for exception, see Ylirisku [<reflink idref="bib57" id="ref37">57</reflink>]).</p> <p>How to pay attention to relations with the nonhuman nature that are not only lovable, but evoke mixtures of affects including disgust, irritation, fear, conflict, or indifference? We will develop these directions through the more-than-human concept of landscape, paying attention to 'overlaid arrangements of human and nonhuman living spaces' (Gan et al. [<reflink idref="bib11" id="ref38">11</reflink>], G1). Drawing from the critical Anthropocene discussion above, and on recent research on relations with 'unloved' nonhuman creatures (Rose and van Dooren [<reflink idref="bib39" id="ref39">39</reflink>]) and awkward and frictional human nonhuman entanglements (Pacini-Ketchabaw and Nxumalo [<reflink idref="bib36" id="ref40">36</reflink>]) we will present a methodological experiment drawing from walking art.</p> <p>In concrete terms, the experiment started by a preparatory phase of engaging with some of the core literature related to the Anthropocene, and the notion of multi-layered landscapes. The empirical materials we produced include photographs, video clips, stories written shortly after the walk, as well as media sources of all kinds. The analytical process continued by combining theoretical ideas with this eclectic selection of texts and images and a collective process of nonlinear storytelling (Tsing [<reflink idref="bib49" id="ref41">49</reflink>]). In what follows, our aim is to revisit the rhythm of the walking experiment, invite the reader to join it, and present the ways in which thinking unfolds within the assemblages involving landscapes, theories, concepts and moving bodies. Introducing the theoretical and conceptual premises of the experiment are intertwined with the text following the walk.</p> <hd id="AN0183196932-3">Tuning in to the starting point of the walk</hd> <p>Tsing ([<reflink idref="bib50" id="ref42">50</reflink>]) highlights landscapes as gatherings in the making, where 'many living beings - and non-vital things as well, such as rock and water - take part' (<reflink idref="bib7" id="ref43">7</reflink>). Similarly, Vladimirova ([<reflink idref="bib55" id="ref44">55</reflink>]) talks about place-making, by which she highlights the mutual dynamism of place and human and other-than-human beings, instead of perceiving places separate from living entities or as constituting just background for human agency. Rose and van Dooren ([<reflink idref="bib39" id="ref45">39</reflink>]) say that places become into existence not just as physical, but also as 'storied places', where the storytellers are not limited to the humans only (see also Hohti and MacLure [<reflink idref="bib14" id="ref46">14</reflink>]).</p> <p>Even if 'landscape' connects with the 1800s outdoor and environmental conservationist movements as well as the related nostalgic and aesthetic values, we pick the concept to be able to work with the temporal and spatial layers of places in the present (Tsing [<reflink idref="bib49" id="ref47">49</reflink>]). Landscapes are not to be considered static views for humans to appreciate from a distance or backgrounds for human activities, as the traditional, human exceptionalist connotation of the word might suggest (Jukes, Stewart, and Morse [<reflink idref="bib17" id="ref48">17</reflink>]; Macpherson [<reflink idref="bib25" id="ref49">25</reflink>]; Tsing [<reflink idref="bib50" id="ref50">50</reflink>]). Applied this way, 'landscape' can gather multiple notions related to human nature relations and environmental thought, such as environment, place, space, and nature, without sidelining the tensions that these historically constructed notions build in the present.</p> <p>Our immediate sensory perception foregrounds how our bodies are becoming-with the weather. The icy rain and wind have made us cover our bodies as much as possible from getting cold and wet. We are 'weather bodies' (Neimanis and Walker [<reflink idref="bib32" id="ref51">32</reflink>]), intimately immersed in the more-than-human weather, unfolding as bodies that can only see by peeking under the hoods and who seek shelter from the wind behind stone boulders.</p> <p> <emph>With a quick glance everything looks 'normal': a low stone wall, a gravel road towards the peak of the hill, hay leas, stumps of trees here and there.</emph> </p> <p> <emph>But still a feeling of something being fake, a set up.</emph> </p> <p> <emph>There are rocks and boulders, tree stumps of so many types, colours and shapes scattered around that they can't possibly originate from the same place.</emph> </p> <p>This peak is called Vuosaari hill. Signs located around the hill introduce it as a nature attraction and a recreation area for common use. Large boulders have been <emph>saved</emph> from land construction sites and have been placed to the environment <emph>naturally</emph>, they inform. The peak of the hill is covered with low juniper bushes. Another info sign tells us that the inspiration to plant junipers here stems from the beautiful outer archipelago island Jurmo. The sign visualises the archipelago view with rocky shores, juniper, and blooming heather. The only visible mark of human activities in the image of the sign is a nostalgic wooden windmill. It appears that the sign suggests we would be somewhere else – or that we should approach the landscape here with similar expectations of idyllic nature. However, we are not able to take the hill as a nature idyll as proposed by the signs. Even though the whipping rain and low-hanging clouds turn everything into an even grey mass, everywhere we look, we are reminded that nature and culture cannot be considered separate (Merrick [<reflink idref="bib30" id="ref52">30</reflink>]). Beside the hill, we detect that the shoreline takes a sudden shape due to a big busy port with container piles, and there are commercial forests of different ages in all directions, as well as sapling stands, fields, suburban housing areas, and roads.</p> <p>A further sign also tells that we are standing on a reconditioned and landscaped old dumping ground. We look for more information about the birth history of the hill from internet resources. We learn that the birth story of the hill tells of urban development and growth that always generates material surplus. The area where the hill nowadays stands used to be until mid 1900s pastureland, owned by local manors (Vihreät sylit – Helsingin kaupungin puistosivusto [<reflink idref="bib54" id="ref53">54</reflink>]). In the 1960s, Helsinki city set up a dumping ground to the site for municipal solid waste of Eastern Helsinki. While the dumping ground was closed in 1988, after 22 years of use, a spot for placing surplus soil from construction sites was established next to the dumping ground. Besides non-degradable construction waste, the site also ended up hosting industrial ashes from a nearby power plant and contaminated soil dredged from the old local harbour. Finally, the building of the biggest port of Finland, the one we just observe from the hilltop, during the first decade of the twenty first century, and gathering of the surplus topsoil away from the building area to the same site, lifted the height of the hill as the highest point of the whole Helsinki city area. (Heikkonen [<reflink idref="bib13" id="ref54">13</reflink>]; Vihreät sylit – Helsingin kaupungin puistosivusto [<reflink idref="bib54" id="ref55">54</reflink>]).</p> <p> <emph>Even though the waste and surplus materials are covered and hidden out of sight they have not disappeared.</emph> </p> <p> <emph>3,4 million tons of unsorted waste continue their material decay, dissolution and putrefaction processes under the ground, accompanied by 5 million tons of surplus soil and construction waste.</emph> </p> <p> <emph>It is easy to miss the slow temporal scale of the waste.</emph> </p> <p> <emph>The garbage materials are still breathing slowly, slowly - toxic gases to the air.</emph> </p> <p> <emph>There is a humming sound coming from an inconspicuous station, surrounded by fences, with a big metallic chimney, next to the hill.</emph> </p> <p> <emph>The sound comes from the chimney where a flame flickers.</emph> </p> <p> <emph>An eternal flame is burning methane collected from the covered dumping ground.</emph> </p> <p>Staring at the port reminds us of how van Dooren ([<reflink idref="bib52" id="ref56">52</reflink>]) calls the port of Rotterdam as an 'engine of the Anthropocene' (<reflink idref="bib115" id="ref57">115</reflink>): one node of global shipping networks, that all day and all night keeps moving goods for trade and consumption. This particular node is a vital vein of Finnish freight traffic. Consumer durables, food products, raw materials for the industry and semi-finished products are imported and forestry, metal, food, textile, and glass industry products are exported through this port (Logistiikan maailma 2023). Compared to the hill as a monument of material accumulation, the port appears as a hub of various material flows.</p> <p>We wonder if the surface layer of the hill is developing a disturbance-based ecology 'in which many species can live together without either harmony or conquest' (Tsing [<reflink idref="bib49" id="ref58">49</reflink>], 5). It is not possible to infer much from the non-human inhabitants of the hill, since in late autumn all the plants appear dead and withered. Yet another sign we encounter in the hill tells of persevering management and care work for establishing meadows and to keeping them as open habitats for butterflies and other species in the need of open living environments. For example, endangered bird species such as corncrake, wheatear, and barred warbler have found their way to nest on the grounds of Vuosaari hill (Heikkonen [<reflink idref="bib13" id="ref59">13</reflink>]; Lambe, Pimenoff, and Ylikotila [<reflink idref="bib21" id="ref60">21</reflink>]). The landscaping process of the hill is introduced as a successful stewardship project establishing endangered habitats and protecting species at risk.</p> <p>Even before the start of walking, we have been reminded that noticing the more-than-human world-making projects is related with time. Gan et al. ([<reflink idref="bib11" id="ref61">11</reflink>]) remind us:</p> <p>As humans reshape the landscape, we forget what was there before. Ecologists call this forgetting the 'shifting baseline syndrome.' Our newly shaped and ruined landscapes become the new reality. Admiring one landscape and its biological entanglements often entails forgetting many others (G6).</p> <p>Furthermore, according to Tsing ([<reflink idref="bib49" id="ref62">49</reflink>]), human exceptionalism and progress stories blind us from noticing other than human temporalities, voices, rhythms, and stories. Without the signs or other background information we could wander around without realising the hill is less than two decades old. It seems that visiting the hill once only allows us to catch a glimpse of the more-than-human processes going on – and in the processes the signs introduce, the exceptional human agency is at the centre.</p> <p>It is getting too cold to stand still. We grab the map, take direction to the northwest, and start our 'Line walk', descending diagonally down the hill side. The ground is rough, and the dried grass high. It would be tempting to step back to the levelled walking road. Walking there would be much <emph>easier</emph>, much <emph>faster</emph>. While walking the slope, one must focus on the following steps, balance, and the posture of the body to avoid unexpected slips and trips on the uneven surfaces. The eyeglasses are steaming up and the raincoat sleeves are flapping in the wind. Walking becomes slow and groggy.</p> <hd id="AN0183196932-4">Line walk as a protocol</hd> <p>The methodological walking art protocol we were experimenting with is called the Line Walk. The idea of the experimentation was building on Henrika's earlier artistic research experiment (Ylirisku 2021, 2022) in which orienteering in forest terrains served as a propositional catalyst (Springgay and Truman [<reflink idref="bib42" id="ref63">42</reflink>]) for thinking-with the forest. Furthermore, we were inspired by the ways performance and environmental artists put to work mobile methods (e.g. Billinghurst, Hind, and Smith [<reflink idref="bib6" id="ref64">6</reflink>]; Casey and Davies 2015; Edensor 2010; O'Rourke [<reflink idref="bib35" id="ref65">35</reflink>]) and how walking is being used as a critical art of inquiry in arts education (Lasczik, Rousell, and Cutter-Mackenzie-Knowles 2021; Pérez Miles and Libersat 2016).</p> <p>The concept of the Line Walk was inspired by the international artist group Fluxus, which used performance scores as open instructions for events in ways that leave space for ambiguity and indeterminacy (O'Rourke [<reflink idref="bib35" id="ref66">35</reflink>]; Springgay and Truman [<reflink idref="bib42" id="ref67">42</reflink>]). We were especially intrigued by Fluxus score <emph>Composition 1960 #10</emph> by La Monte Young (1960) 'Draw a straight line and follow it'.</p> <p>The protocol we prepared is as follows:</p> <p>Draw a straight line on the map.</p> <p>Start walking. Use the compass and follow the line as accurately as possible.</p> <p>Only if too hard obstacles occur, modify your walking route, but as little as possible. Then return to the line.</p> <p>We had taken a map of Helsinki and chosen a spot in Eastern Helsinki as the starting point for the Line Walk. This particular spot was selected since Henrika wanted to introduce the hill with an interesting history to the rest of the research group. The line towards northeast was drawn on the map with a liner with the intention that it would quite randomly cross both urban and less constructed areas (see Image 1). The length of the line on the map was about 6 km, and it was thought to offer a reasonable distance for one day's walk. It was not our intention to do any extreme performance[<reflink idref="bib1" id="ref68">1</reflink>].</p> <p>PHOTO (COLOR): Image 1: The line in the map.</p> <p>Navigating a pre-decided line with the help of a map and a compass can be considered a conceptual artwork that materialises when someone uses the map and follows the line by walking. The protocol offers a guideline that specifies how the walk should be performed, but also leaves space for interpretation and explorative problem-solving (O'Rourke [<reflink idref="bib35" id="ref69">35</reflink>]; Knight [<reflink idref="bib20" id="ref70">20</reflink>]). It is not so much a limiting rule but an enabling constraint (Manning and Massumi [<reflink idref="bib28" id="ref71">28</reflink>]): a technique of relation, catalysing new, emergent modes of being in the world.</p> <p>Our intention was not in producing an artistic gesture, but to put the protocol to work as a catalyst for engagements that expose the walking human bodies to the material, affective, historical, cultural, multispecies, messy relationalities of the landscape (Knight [<reflink idref="bib20" id="ref72">20</reflink>]; Springgay and Truman [<reflink idref="bib42" id="ref73">42</reflink>]). Methodologically, the walking art protocol enables us to inhabit a 'speculative middle' (Springgay and Truman [<reflink idref="bib42" id="ref74">42</reflink>], 87). With the speculative middle, Springgay and Truman refer to research as an activity that unfolds from the process itself and cannot be known in advance. The research that is responsive to the entangled, relational understanding of the world, is not aiming to report on 'what you find or what you seek, but to activate thought' (Springgay and Truman [<reflink idref="bib42" id="ref75">42</reflink>], 87). For us, enacting a walking art protocol emerges as thinking-in-movement and speculative eventing that give way for experimentation (Springgay and Truman [<reflink idref="bib42" id="ref76">42</reflink>], 83–84). Instead of trying to discover some 'findings' per se, we hope the Line walk pushes us to ask questions differently and to problematize problems (Springgay and Truman [<reflink idref="bib42" id="ref77">42</reflink>], 91).</p> <p>The idea of navigating a line, the straightest route between points A and B, marked on a map, can be considered a manifestation of the logic of efficiency and human mastery, reflecting the colonial legacy of mapping in Western modern cultures (Knight [<reflink idref="bib20" id="ref78">20</reflink>]; O'Rourke [<reflink idref="bib35" id="ref79">35</reflink>]). This kind of logic positions the superior human at the centre of the activity and the land(scape) as a passive background for the human actions (Knight [<reflink idref="bib20" id="ref80">20</reflink>]). For example, driving a car on a straight motorway or flying a plane allows creating such (relatively) straight lines across the landscape. Line Walk, however, unfolds as political since it disrupts the habit of positioning the exceptional human as capable of navigating straight across the land and to consider landscape as a mere backdrop (Knight [<reflink idref="bib20" id="ref81">20</reflink>]). Instead, the Line Walk immerses the researcher bodies (without technological metal-covered, motorised aid) to the thick of things (Bennett [<reflink idref="bib5" id="ref82">5</reflink>]) – to become immersed in the materialities of the more-than-human landscape – where it is not possible to walk straight. There is an odd conflict at work here: the line, an ideal in modern way of life, is 'impossible to carry out literally' (Young in O'Rourke [<reflink idref="bib35" id="ref83">35</reflink>], 49).</p> <hd id="AN0183196932-5">Walking with nonhuman others</hd> <p>Our walking bodies habitually engage with everyday environments in ways that are as comfortable for us as possible. The walking art protocol carves this comfort-ridden orientation visible by functioning as an intervention. If one would stroll as usual, one would probably gravitate to enjoyable, passable routes with nice views and little obstacles and in comfortable weather. The comfort zone also often means, at least for our adult bodies, keeping a distance to many of the materialities of the landscape that would potentially get the moving human body dirty or hurt.</p> <p>The attempt to navigate a straight compass line in the terrain produces friction and disturbances – in a very concrete manner. It pushes the more-than-human materialities and agencies to our skin, bends our bodies, and intervenes (if not stops at times) our thinking. Walking becomes material negotiation where the human is only one actor among the (nonhuman) others. Entanglements and interdependencies of human and other bodies become tangibly sensed. These kinds of negotiations resonate with the call to unpack the cultural assumption to consider human bodies as autonomous and discrete (Neimanis [<reflink idref="bib33" id="ref84">33</reflink>], 33).</p> <p>The walking human bodies try to thread their way through dense willow thickets and walls of prickly spruce branches. They take turns in leading the group and reading the map. The sense of time seems to go out of joint. They probably proceed slower than they would do on even, man-made surfaces and routes. They navigate through forest terrain and come across a water meadow with a reed field. The wet meadow forces them to halt and think twice. In fact, they cannot just read the map symbols, but have to think and imagine beyond them. Is it too wet to walk through? The generalised map does not provide reliable advice.</p> <p> <emph>Hesitation, negotiation.</emph> </p> <p> <emph>A decision to try crossing the field of reeds.</emph> </p> <p> <emph>Squelchy, squishy steps</emph> </p> <p> <emph>–-smush–-smush–-squooooosh–-smush–-fluusssh–-smush–-squaaatchhh–-smuuush–-</emph> </p> <p> <emph>Very, very high reed stems, very, very intense and dense reed-human dance.</emph> </p> <p> <emph>The navigator, at the front, tries to bend the reeds away from the way.</emph> </p> <p> <emph>The others try to follow the opening.</emph> </p> <p> <emph>smush–-squaaatchhh–-smuuush—squuuuoosh–-smush–-fluusssh–-smush–-</emph> </p> <p> <emph>The water level begins to rise, half-way to the ankles, to the ankles.</emph> </p> <p>The cold water starts to penetrate some shoes. The group discusses whether to turn back to go around the material obstacle, the reeds (Image 2). It <emph>would</emph> be possible to push the bodies through. What if it would be war, here and now? Would they then hesitate?</p> <p>PHOTO (COLOR): Image 2: In the midst of the reeds.</p> <p>The figure of a flaneur would not be here, in the midst of sky-high reeds. He would be sitting comfortably on the peak of the hill, in nice weather, and would already have written down many notes. The researchers here are not able to write down the stories that watery feet and speculations of war activate. 'My Vietnam veteran dad always reminded us that we need to have dry socks', Rachel, one researcher in the group tells.</p> <hd id="AN0183196932-6">Industrial ruins and ghostly presences</hd> <p>A detour past the reeds opens some new layers of past landscapes. An old field, next to the water meadow, is now a growing habitat for young birches and willow. Jumping over ditches that break through the old field at regular intervals rhythmizes the walking. The land is dryer and taking the steps more effortless.</p> <p> <emph>Squash, squesh, squesh, squesh, squesh, squesh, swoooooiingk, squesh, squesh, squesh, shleaaaap...</emph> </p> <p>Then, behind a spruce rampart, the atmosphere rapidly changes. A strange realm opens up where rectangular boulders and white stone pieces lie all over the ground, next to an unidentifiable concrete structure covered with iron bars. What is this place with strange ruins? Just a moment ago, walkers who were steadily proceeding in line, now scatter to different directions. 'Hey, come over here and see!', 'Wow, look at these!', 'There is a pond over here!', 'See, huge stone cylinders!' A sense of sudden enthusiasm is bubbling. There is something feral in the air - something totally different from the managed and designed landscape of Vuosaari hill. Some ghostly presences – 'the vestiges and signs of past ways of life still charged in the present' (Gan et al. [<reflink idref="bib11" id="ref85">11</reflink>], G1) are felt. Maybe there has been an old mine here, abandoned decades ago.</p> <p>The temporally layered arrangement of landscapes (Tsing [<reflink idref="bib49" id="ref86">49</reflink>]) in mind, we strongly feel our own fleeting and momentary presence in a place that is made from timescales and processes that are different from ours and mostly unknown to us. The movements of briefly visiting individual human bodies appear as fleeting ripples compared to the time of leaves decomposing on the ground and rust persistently eating the metal pieces lying here and there. Even if we do not know all the participants of these human and more-than-human processes, we can notice their presence and the ghostly pasts that accompany them (Mathews [<reflink idref="bib29" id="ref87">29</reflink>]). This arrangement highlights the ambivalence of the human's position in the Anthropocene: he is simultaneously just a minor player <emph>and</emph> a ubiquitous force that does not leave a single place on the planet untouched. Or maybe we should discuss the current situation as the Capitalocene instead of Anthropocene. Thanks to his machinery and technologies, the human species is not only entangled with the planet, but he dominates by shaping it and effectively extracting value for his colonial and capitalist projects (Moore [<reflink idref="bib31" id="ref88">31</reflink>]).</p> <p>After a moment of exploration, a walking road and a sign telling of the East Helsinki mining history and the Nordsjö quarry pond are found from the opposite end of the area. The sign tells that beautiful pink marble and limestone to be burned to lime have been quarried here in the end of eighteenth century and again in the mid 1900s. We learn that the concrete structure is a 60 metres deep old mine shaft and the pond an opencast quarry, now filled with water (see also Saltikoff et al. [<reflink idref="bib40" id="ref89">40</reflink>]). The information verifies some of the speculations described above and activates new ones. Someone, in this very place, two or three hundred years ago, worked hard to heat the oven until its temperature reached 1000 Celsius degrees. The amount of wood that required... probably they cut it here, nearby. In the high temperature, the stone omitted carbon dioxide until only calcium oxide remained. This was then smashed and mixed with water and sand. There was much demand for the result of this process, building mortar, in the 1700s and the beginning of 1800s when the fortress of Suomenlinna as well as the new capital city Helsinki were built. Is it thanks to these Capitalocenic, extractive human-material entanglements that our home city exists as it does today?</p> <p> <emph>The water of the old quarry pond has a strange green colour.</emph> </p> <p> <emph>What if it is still toxic due to the mining activities?</emph> </p> <p> <emph>Would we dare to go swimming in the pond...</emph> </p> <p> <emph>No, we wouldn't!</emph> </p> <p> <emph>No, unless it would be a war situation.</emph> </p> <p> <emph>Then we would swim – if we would have to cross the pond to escape</emph>.</p> <p>Later we recall that limestone mining is not causing leakages of heavy metals or other toxins to the environment like refining ores might potentially do. Some old limestone mines are actually used as scuba diving sites due to their clear waters. The green, murky water activates our loose assumptions. We realise our own 'doom and gloom' stereotypes concerning environmental destruction. In this vein, we have strong notions of 'natural' colours for water, and in the case of Nordsjö mine, we make quick assumptions concerning toxicity based on this. We also realise how intensively the present moment and current societal atmospheres influence the stories our engagement with the landscape activates. The everyday news of the offensive war of Russia in Ukraine impacts our imaginings of what could take place here and now.</p> <hd id="AN0183196932-7">Thinking-with the landscape</hd> <p>The walkers return to the line. The landscape changes and the bodies change accordingly: as soon as there are hills and rocks, there are bodies engaging in movements such as climbing, crawling, jumping, and descending. The rain continues and the land shapes that the researcher bodies come across demand all the attention. There is no way to think about other things, such as specific concepts they agreed in advance to focus on, as here, all the thinking must be thinking-with, namely thought with the landscape. They have print-outs of pre-selected multispecies literature resources in their backpacks that they aimed to discuss during the walk. After a few short discussions they forget them.</p> <p>As the researcher bodies cross the forest patches, they notice that some of the trees have fallen gorgeously, and their roots, pointed towards the sky, are like polished sculptures. The direction of the storm wind can be seen in the trunks of trees lying in the same direction on the ground. The Line walk pushes them to measure the land formations and other obstacles with their bodies. Will they be able to pass the wall constructed of tree trunks (Image 3)? The branches bend, ready to pierce their eyeballs if they are not careful, or to whip on the faces of those coming next. Henrika says: 'Well now you know why I use eyeglasses during my orienteering practice!' Riikka thinks of her age, as she is the oldest in the group. She is quite happy with how her feet function, and how Gore-Tex shoes isolate humidity, but first and foremost, she is proud of her ability to kneel and go on all fours over the slippery boulders. She is no more a human walking straight, but she moves close to the earth, ready to leap, to climb, to crawl using all her limbs.</p> <p>PHOTO (COLOR): Image 3: Negotiation with the windfalls.</p> <p>They go around a wet field and clay sticks to their shoes, and they carry parts of the spruce branches and lichen in their clothes, too. The mittens become wet, the rain trousers are dirty, and so is the backpack. There is much earth-contact involved, and so it happens, getting dirty is to get matter in the wrong place – this time, the hair, and the clothes.</p> <p>Surprising shapes in the landscape stop the researchers and yet again challenge their tired bodies. There are excavations in the rocks, and they realise they are old trenches and remnants of strongholds. War is here, again, even if later they learn from Wikipedia that the trenches were never used during WW1. They go on, and on, and the rhythm of the walking sinks them, and they become part of the landscape.</p> <p>The dimming afternoon light makes clear boundaries dissolve. Wetness, brownness, greenness, greyness – the sensations of colour and sense of different materials start to resemble each other. There is a constant negotiation going on between the human bodies, the protecting cloth layers, and the weather. When they move, they stay warm, but when they stop, the freezing coldness creeps. Then suddenly, the forest ends, and they find themselves in the back yards of a 1970s suburb. The metro line back to the city centre is nearby. The fluorescent light exposes their red cheek and the marks left on their clothes and their bodies by organic dirt and mess. The walkers did not reach the end of the line since they were slower than darkness of November, that creeps in early in the afternoon.</p> <hd id="AN0183196932-8">Thinking-in-movement as a method</hd> <p>If the Anthropocene refers to the material entanglement of humans with the rest of the planet, the Line Walk we have presented in this article worked as an exercise of tracing back these entanglements. Walking an (illusory) straight line is a protocol that helps us resist the tendency to look for comfort, enjoyment, and aesthetic pleasure in nature and to delve instead in 'the literal contact zone between human corporeality and more-than-human nature' (Alaimo [<reflink idref="bib1" id="ref90">1</reflink>], 2). The line we produced in the landscape by walking became visible in the map of a sports tracker application as a wobbling GPS-line (see Image 4). Even though the protocol encouraged us to walk straight, we were meandering, without knowing our exact location, without knowing if we were going straight. Even the attempt to walk straight unfolded as absurd. The task was seemingly simple, because lines drawn on maps are such a mundane, albeit technical and anthropocentric way of marking human endeavours. But when stepping aside from the ready-made trails our human bodies quickly turned from effortlessly advancing walkers to hesitant and vulnerable beings who had to pause, bend, and negotiate, as took place in the event portrayed in Image 2. The experiment highlighted how pervasively the urban and semiurban landscapes already are striped with (human) built lines – roads, paths, power lines, field edges – and if one doesn't move according to these already built lines, the assumption of effortless and comfortable human privileged movement through the landscape is disturbed.</p> <p>MAP: Image 4: A caption of the map of the sports tracker app.</p> <p>Taking our researcher bodies across landscapes such as the Vuosaari hill, the forests and wetlands and rocks, and the abandoned Nordsjö mine, meant getting messy with intimate material processes and far-reaching effects of partly ghostly pasts. Through these intimate encounters, the walking art protocol highlights the human body as earthbound and always in a state of responding to the materiality of the planet. Many of the responses were walking-related movements such as balancing, dodging, and looking for possible steps forward, but also clearing mud and leaves from our face or clothing, and wiping waterdrops from our eyeglasses. We were touching our own bodies and sensing them differently <emph>with</emph> the landscape. We were also touching the non-human life forms and the land when negotiating our way forward. We tried to be careful of not harming the plant life and disturb the creatures living in the terrains we passed by, but we do not know the impacts of the traces we left behind – even if these traces were undetectable to human senses. Because it was late fall, there were not much green plant life that could have suffered from being trampled and we knew we did not disturb the sensitive reproductive season of most forest creatures.</p> <p>Just as we were also listening and smelling (with) the landscape, our eyes were darting here and there, tracing details – strange mushrooms, surfaces, marks on the rocks, abandoned man-made objects. These unpredicted encounters were rich with speculations of past events layered in the landscape and they activated further associations and memories shared during the walk. Furthermore, since the walk took a whole day, we became increasingly aware of how we were becoming with the weather-world (Neimanis and Walker [<reflink idref="bib32" id="ref91">32</reflink>]). The further the day went, the more we struggled to keep our mammal bodies warm and dry enough in the cold November weather. We were trying to keep our 'personal climates' (Neimanis and Walker [<reflink idref="bib32" id="ref92">32</reflink>], 563) constant by reducing or adding layers of clothing or adjusting the walking tempo, breathing deep, or jumping, to get warm again. During the walk, sensations, affects, associations, memories, thought, and conversations fed each other and affected each other. The thinking-feeling-doing emerged in ways that could not be known in advance (Springgay and Truman [<reflink idref="bib42" id="ref93">42</reflink>], 87).</p> <p>Even if the Anthropocene is ubiquitous and inescapable, an artistic experiment like the Line walk can help <emph>situate</emph> its particular entanglements, thus bringing specificity and complexity to the idealized and generalized notions of nature, while resisting fixture in time and place. The 'Line' took us to places, stories, and histories that we couldn't have predicted. It generated encounters with ghostly, atmospheric presences of past histories and hints of more-than-human world-making projects and the variety of their temporal scales. For example, when we saw a snowberry bush that grew on a sunny hill, we were taken to think about the house and the garden that probably once existed here. Some of the entanglements we traced remained more obscure, such as the trenches carved in the rocks and the white limestone cylinders lying near a green pond. Without extending the inquiry across disciplinary boundaries and looking for knowledge from political, industrial, and geographical histories, reading these traces of more-than-human histories would be impossible. Also, relying solely on sensory perception may mislead the reading of the landscape as we learned by the quarry pond.</p> <p>The above illustrates how what was visible here and now along our walk connected us to pasts of gardening and cultivation of land. However, following the traces left by forestry, industrialization, urbanization and fortification work left us to think about a capitalist world-ecology, in which the double internality of capitalism-in-nature and nature-in-capitalism challenges the nature-culture divide, rooted in the Western modern cultures (Moore [<reflink idref="bib31" id="ref94">31</reflink>]). The abandoned mine, the trenches in the forest, the waste dumped inside the Vuosaari hill, as well as the occasional baby pram lying in the forest – all these illustrate human activity that has centered momentary use value in other-than-human animate or inanimate beings, turning these beings into potential waste. In the Capitalocene (Moore [<reflink idref="bib31" id="ref95">31</reflink>]) as an alternative to Anthropocene, 'every landscape is a trashscape' (Thill [<reflink idref="bib48" id="ref96">48</reflink>], 80). In waste capitalism, it is again visible how humans are both inherently entangled deep in the sediments of the planet and short-time visitors on its surface.</p> <p>A methodological experiment like Line Walk is likely to produce rich data – albeit, once again, data of kinds that could not easily be planned before. It activates an expanding research field generative of 'transgressive data' (Koro-Ljungberg, MacLure, and Ulmer [<reflink idref="bib19" id="ref97">19</reflink>]; St. Pierre 1997), and inspires nonlinear analysis that does not follow a pre-decided order from 'raw' field work to conclusions. Just as landscapes are layered, so has the thinking-in-movement activated by the walking experiment the potential to create yet new, vivid memory data layers and aftereffects that enhance attention to the historical relations between 'plants, animals, soils, and politics' (Mathews [<reflink idref="bib29" id="ref98">29</reflink>], G146). In our case, the analytical process was evoked by speculations of ghostly presences and traces, which made us look for more information about the mining history of Eastern Helsinki, of the old fortresses of Mustavuori, and for example of the urban planning related to Vuosaari hill. We left the sectors of our own expertise and moved towards the knowledge practices of the amateur as new articles, media sources, and new encounters and discussions were assembled around the experiment. This kind of an analysis comes close to what Horton and Kraftl (2018) call extra-sectional analysis: it zooms outwards from the assemblages to create new connections or moves back and forth in an earth-worm-like movement (Hohti and MacLure 2023), between the stories from the field, personal memories, and histories and local stories available in a range of sources. These analytical movements helped us to become attuned to time and space of different scales albeit not in an abstract manner. They activated threads from the immediate, embodied, muddy, wet, cold becoming-with the landscape just to connect us next to the larger and more distant processes of human land-use and capitalist production systems – and back.</p> <p>Furthermore, it turned out to be important that we were equipped in advance to discuss multispecies theory during the Line Walk – although it was not fully actualized. As mentioned in the Thinking-with the landscape subchapter, walking with the landscape according to the protocol took most of the attention. However, the theory served as a kind of generative background that affected what we noticed and how we responded to the more-than-human encounters. Without this generative background, we might have ended up emphasizing how our human bodies were only in relation to their immediate environments, not relations within larger more-than-human networks and events (Springgay and Truman 2017, 35). Likewise, without this background, we might have payed attention to individual objects, formations, and materials as human impact in the landscape instead of reading them as traces of more-than-human entanglements.</p> <p>In the encounters of the Line Walk, we could immerse in landscapes and study their entanglement through sensory and affective relations. However, we also were just modest witnesses of larger landscapes (Knight [<reflink idref="bib20" id="ref99">20</reflink>], 75) since the observations made during the walk were only partial, and many of the landscape layers remained unnoticed and unseen. Some of them we could speculate and try to find more information on – some of them we could only sense as fleeting atmospheres (Anderson and Ash [<reflink idref="bib2" id="ref100">2</reflink>]). Furthermore, the experiment made us realize how little in our everyday lives we tend to notice the more-than-human life flourishing in 'non-places', in-between spaces, thickets and other similar fringes of the built environment. When we stepped into these terrains – instead of casually passing by – we very concretely encountered and became better aware this life.</p> <p>This methodological experiment paved the way for us to pay more careful attention to temporal and spatial layers of the more-than-human landscapes when continuing our research on human nature relations of children and young people. In the future, we might invite young people taking part to the research to walk with us in their local living environments by using walking art protocols.</p> <p>Our intention was not in creating a method that would be applicable to educational use, for example in the school context. However, at the end of the article, we want to briefly consider the pedagogical potentials of using walking art methods. Lynch and Mannion (2021) talk about attunement in place-responsive pedagogy as material, practice-based reciprocal process with the more-than-human features of place. Walking art experiments that build on the materials of the world and the ontological situation that is available to us in our varied circumstances and becomings could serve as such methods. Pedagogically, this would require educators to work less with predefined learning outcomes and more on hunches, ideas, suggestions, or hints (Lynch and Mannion 2021), and to take their pedagogical practice from comfort zones to multispecies and multitemporal contact zones.</p> <p>Furthermore, there is a risk of recentring the human privilege and reproducing a colonizing Anthropocene if such pedagogical methods are not coupled with careful multispecies ethical considerations. Whose living environments might the walking disturb, both human and nonhuman? Are there sensitive times of the year, when walking in landscapes mostly populated by nonhumans should be avoided in general – at least with larger groups? How should the participants orient themselves in order to be able to visit more-than-human landscapes as polite visitors (Despret [<reflink idref="bib9" id="ref101">9</reflink>]), curiously and attuned to sense and respond with respect even in surprising and potentially frightening encounters? What would it activate, if the walking art experiment such as the Line walk would be repeated several times, during different weathers and seasons?</p> <p>Already when planning such experiments, the starting point should be the different ways in which participants move in space and sense the world. In many cases walking art experiments, specifically in rough terrains, require certain abilities from the human body, such as walking endurance, climbing and physical strength. Therefore, the attention should not be focused in moving <emph>across</emph> the landscape, but rather to moving <emph>with</emph> the landscape. We acknowledge that walking art experiments run the risk of being taken as exercises where the landscape appears as a hindrance set for the human body to conquer. Without critical attention, such orientation carries the risk of reproducing ableist logic. Walking art protocols are likely to produce movement that is unexpected and situated, emerging from particular assemblages that involve variously abled human bodies as well as the more-than-human. For us, the walking art experiment allowed tracing back and out the layered material entanglements of humans and other-than-humans, and attending to variations and changes both in their devastating and more hopeful world-making projects.</p> <p>Images 1–4: Henrika Ylirisku.</p> <hd id="AN0183196932-9">Acknowledgments</hd> <p>We would like to thank Verneri Valasmo, a member of Children of the Anthropocene research group, for his open-mindedness in participating in various methodological experiments.</p> <hd id="AN0183196932-10">Funding</hd> <p>This work was supported by Kone Foundation (Children of the Anthropocene, 2022–2025, grant number 202104460) and Finnish Reseach Council (grant number 355563).</p> <hd id="AN0183196932-11">Disclosure statement</hd> <p>The authors report there are no competing interests to declare.</p> <p>Correction Statement</p> <p>This article has been corrected with minor changes. 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The performance lasted for 16 days (O'Rourke, [35]).</bibtext> </blist> </ref> <aug> <p>By Henrika Ylirisku; Riikka Hohti; Varpu Mehto and Rachel Sinquefield-Kangas</p> <p>Reported by Author; Author; Author; Author</p> </aug> <nolink nlid="nl1" bibid="bib12" firstref="ref3"></nolink> <nolink nlid="nl2" bibid="bib18" firstref="ref4"></nolink> <nolink nlid="nl3" bibid="bib51" firstref="ref5"></nolink> <nolink nlid="nl4" bibid="bib44" firstref="ref6"></nolink> <nolink nlid="nl5" bibid="bib42" firstref="ref7"></nolink> <nolink nlid="nl6" bibid="bib34" firstref="ref8"></nolink> <nolink nlid="nl7" bibid="bib38" firstref="ref9"></nolink> <nolink nlid="nl8" bibid="bib57" firstref="ref10"></nolink> <nolink nlid="nl9" bibid="bib58" firstref="ref11"></nolink> <nolink nlid="nl10" bibid="bib19" firstref="ref12"></nolink> <nolink nlid="nl11" bibid="bib20" firstref="ref14"></nolink> <nolink nlid="nl12" bibid="bib41" firstref="ref15"></nolink> <nolink nlid="nl13" bibid="bib53" firstref="ref16"></nolink> <nolink nlid="nl14" bibid="bib49" firstref="ref19"></nolink> <nolink nlid="nl15" bibid="bib45" firstref="ref23"></nolink> <nolink nlid="nl16" bibid="bib56" firstref="ref25"></nolink> <nolink nlid="nl17" bibid="bib15" firstref="ref28"></nolink> <nolink nlid="nl18" bibid="bib47" firstref="ref29"></nolink> <nolink nlid="nl19" bibid="bib26" firstref="ref31"></nolink> <nolink nlid="nl20" bibid="bib27" firstref="ref32"></nolink> <nolink nlid="nl21" bibid="bib46" firstref="ref33"></nolink> <nolink nlid="nl22" bibid="bib24" firstref="ref34"></nolink> <nolink nlid="nl23" bibid="bib55" firstref="ref35"></nolink> <nolink nlid="nl24" bibid="bib11" firstref="ref38"></nolink> <nolink nlid="nl25" bibid="bib39" firstref="ref39"></nolink> <nolink nlid="nl26" bibid="bib36" firstref="ref40"></nolink> <nolink nlid="nl27" bibid="bib50" firstref="ref42"></nolink> <nolink nlid="nl28" bibid="bib14" firstref="ref46"></nolink> <nolink nlid="nl29" bibid="bib17" firstref="ref48"></nolink> <nolink nlid="nl30" bibid="bib25" firstref="ref49"></nolink> <nolink nlid="nl31" bibid="bib32" firstref="ref51"></nolink> <nolink nlid="nl32" bibid="bib30" firstref="ref52"></nolink> <nolink nlid="nl33" bibid="bib54" firstref="ref53"></nolink> <nolink nlid="nl34" bibid="bib13" firstref="ref54"></nolink> <nolink nlid="nl35" bibid="bib52" firstref="ref56"></nolink> <nolink nlid="nl36" bibid="bib115" firstref="ref57"></nolink> <nolink nlid="nl37" bibid="bib21" firstref="ref60"></nolink> <nolink nlid="nl38" bibid="bib35" firstref="ref65"></nolink> <nolink nlid="nl39" bibid="bib28" firstref="ref71"></nolink> <nolink nlid="nl40" bibid="bib33" firstref="ref84"></nolink> <nolink nlid="nl41" bibid="bib29" firstref="ref87"></nolink> <nolink nlid="nl42" bibid="bib31" firstref="ref88"></nolink> <nolink nlid="nl43" bibid="bib40" firstref="ref89"></nolink> <nolink nlid="nl44" bibid="bib48" firstref="ref96"></nolink>
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  Data: Entangling with the Landscape: A Methodological Walking Art Experiment
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  Data: <searchLink fieldCode="AR" term="%22Henrika+Ylirisku%22">Henrika Ylirisku</searchLink> (ORCID <externalLink term="https://orcid.org/0000-0002-5257-9179">0000-0002-5257-9179</externalLink>)<br /><searchLink fieldCode="AR" term="%22Riikka+Hohti%22">Riikka Hohti</searchLink> (ORCID <externalLink term="https://orcid.org/0000-0001-6731-589X">0000-0001-6731-589X</externalLink>)<br /><searchLink fieldCode="AR" term="%22Varpu+Mehto%22">Varpu Mehto</searchLink> (ORCID <externalLink term="https://orcid.org/0000-0001-8466-1727">0000-0001-8466-1727</externalLink>)<br /><searchLink fieldCode="AR" term="%22Rachel+Sinquefield-Kangas%22">Rachel Sinquefield-Kangas</searchLink> (ORCID <externalLink term="https://orcid.org/0000-0002-9456-9585">0000-0002-9456-9585</externalLink>)
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  Data: <searchLink fieldCode="SO" term="%22Environmental+Education+Research%22"><i>Environmental Education Research</i></searchLink>. 2025 31(3):481-497.
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  Data: Routledge. Available from: Taylor & Francis, Ltd. 530 Walnut Street Suite 850, Philadelphia, PA 19106. Tel: 800-354-1420; Tel: 215-625-8900; Fax: 215-207-0050; Web site: http://www.tandf.co.uk/journals
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  Data: 17
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  Data: <searchLink fieldCode="DE" term="%22Foreign+Countries%22">Foreign Countries</searchLink><br /><searchLink fieldCode="DE" term="%22Environmental+Education%22">Environmental Education</searchLink><br /><searchLink fieldCode="DE" term="%22Environmental+Research%22">Environmental Research</searchLink><br /><searchLink fieldCode="DE" term="%22Urban+Areas%22">Urban Areas</searchLink><br /><searchLink fieldCode="DE" term="%22Urban+Culture%22">Urban Culture</searchLink><br /><searchLink fieldCode="DE" term="%22Urban+Environment%22">Urban Environment</searchLink><br /><searchLink fieldCode="DE" term="%22Physical+Activities%22">Physical Activities</searchLink><br /><searchLink fieldCode="DE" term="%22College+Faculty%22">College Faculty</searchLink><br /><searchLink fieldCode="DE" term="%22Researchers%22">Researchers</searchLink><br /><searchLink fieldCode="DE" term="%22Outdoor+Education%22">Outdoor Education</searchLink><br /><searchLink fieldCode="DE" term="%22Naturalistic+Observation%22">Naturalistic Observation</searchLink><br /><searchLink fieldCode="DE" term="%22Futures+%28of+Society%29%22">Futures (of Society)</searchLink><br /><searchLink fieldCode="DE" term="%22Art+Activities%22">Art Activities</searchLink><br /><searchLink fieldCode="DE" term="%22Ecology%22">Ecology</searchLink><br /><searchLink fieldCode="DE" term="%22Historical+Interpretation%22">Historical Interpretation</searchLink><br /><searchLink fieldCode="DE" term="%22Research+Methodology%22">Research Methodology</searchLink>
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  Data: 10.1080/13504622.2024.2370993
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  Data: 1350-4622<br />1469-5871
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  Data: This paper presents a walking art experiment called 'Line Walk' aimed at attuning to more-than-human landscapes. The researchers wanted to expand the methodological repertoires for engaging with contemporary semi-urban and urban living environments. A second goal was to increase attentiveness to multispecies relationality and thus challenge uncritically normative notions of nature in environmental educational research. The experiment demonstrates how a walking art protocol has the potential to work as a catalyst to expose walking human bodies to the material, affective, and sensory relationalities of the landscapes. Additionally, it can generate encounters with ghostly, atmospheric presences of past histories and hints of more-than-human world-making projects and their temporal scales. We suggest that the value of such an experiment lies in its capacity to take researchers from comfort zones to multispecies and multitemporal contact zones and to help them trace back and out the material entanglements of humans with the planet.
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