geology

Wasting Time

Reservoir

In my Geology 101 classes we’ve been learning about ice age floods. There’s still another lesson to do so I don’t have the full details on it yet, but the story of these huge floods from glacial lakes over the Pacific Northwest of the US is incredible.

During the ice age, in Montana, a lake was created by the large continental glacier which had creeped down from Canada. This was called Glacial Lake Missoula. The ice sheet acted like a dam, so any rivers that passed through that area were interrupted and as a result, tonnes of water built up. This happened over the course of around a century, perhaps.

So we have a huge thing of water, and one day, the dam breaks. Something happens with the glacial dam, and the water all comes rushing out. Like crazy. It takes maybe about 48 hours for this lake, which has been filling up for tens of years, to drain.

The water is rushing rushing rushing over the states of Montana and Idaho, sweeping up loads of debris and violently carving out landscapes. Then it hit a part of the land that it couldn’t pass through as quickly — the Wallula Gap. From there, the water came to a sort-of rest again and created Lake Lewis. The water was still moving slowly through the Wallula Gap, but it created this kind of reservoir because it couldn’t all just rush through in one go.

Moving, but not moving. Compared to how fast the water moved before, this new movement through Wallula Gap must have been deathly slow. When I think about this, I think “oh, the water must have been so bored!” Do you think natural phenomena get bored?

In my Googling, I came across “Lake Retention Time” on Wikipedia. The average amount of time a bit of water spends in a lake, before it leaves. Some lakes have a short retention time, like a few months. Other lakes have a retention time of years, some of them a thousand years. Imagine being in one place for a thousand years, if you lived long enough to notice it. Imagine being a part of Glacial Lake Missoula, and then running running running across hundreds of miles in the space of two days, and then just staying put again, while you slowly wait your turn to leave.

It’s kind of like the pandemic, isn’t it? We’re all in this reservoir and we have to wait our turn to be vaccinated, to pass through that Wallula Gap. It feels like we’re not moving, compared to the pace of life we’ve had before, but we are moving. We’re just in this waiting space.

What other times in my life have I felt like a reservoir?

School, is kind of a reservoir. But it was a good one for me… it was a place where I was developing and moving, but not unleashed on the world yet. I was in the reservoir yet I was dreaming, dreaming of the life that I wanted.

The more I think about this, the more that I feel like life is a series of reservoirs, rather than a big ol’ Missoula Flood. There’s the school reservoir, the university reservoir, then I was ill, that was a reservoir but a much harder one to be in, then there was the Canada reservoir… I guess the “floods” were the spaces inbetween, when the water was passing from one location to the other in one big BLOOMP. Some reservoirs drain slowly and some just burst when the dam breaks.

It’s a much better way to look at things if you think of life as a series of reservoirs than one big flood that gets interrupted. The “holding spaces” are where we spend most of our time. These containers. The floods are those moments when you’re like “oh my god” getting on a plane to your new home country, or when you break up with someone and move out the next month. The fast-moving moments where you can’t quite believe it’s happening.

I like the idea of being in a reservoir and dreaming. Just floating in a body of water which is slowly moving under me, and I look up at the sky, and I’m dreaming.

Wasting Time

Fanzines for Geology

How do we make people sympathise with the planet they’re living on? How do we get people engaged and excited about the environment? How do we make Deep Time popular, so the general public thinks about time in a more expansive way? And how can pop music be a tool in all of this?

I make stuff which is easy, breezy, happy and silly. Sometimes I make stuff which is brooding. But I always try to include a sensation of wonder and magic about what I do. Magic is real. And science is a form of magic. Geology is a form of magic! It’s time travel at our fingertips, it’s totemic, it’s storytelling without words. It’s time in physical form.

What if we took fan culture which we normally see around music and apply it to geologic time periods or events? What if we knew the name of the rock succession we lived on? What if we had t-shirts or made fanzines which were about our favourite things which happened in history before humans were even born? What if we wrote songs about that stuff?

All I can think of is these amazing screen-printed Steely Dan pants which went viral the other week. They’re unofficial merch, and they’re kind of garish, but they’re amazing. Imagine a pair of sweatpants with “PRE-CAMBRIAN EXPLOSION” printed on them, or a deep time event even more obscure. Fans love to know the most obscure thing. It’s that whole, “I was listening to them before they were famous!”. I’m thinking about the connection to underground music and the literal Under Ground.

Wasting Time

DYCP Application Thoughts

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I’m planning on applying for Arts Council England’s Developing Your Creative Practice fund. Recommended to me by my mentor, this funding would act as a support for this “Wasted Time” research I’m doing as well as help accelerate it. And it would accelerate me as an artist, as well.

I have struggled to see where I fit in in the world of art. I make pop music. I write poetry. I want to make audio programmes. I love academia and researching. I want to help educate. I want to tackle big ideas. I want to make something rich and mysterious and layered. But I also want to make things which are catchy, easy, joyful. How can I do all of that?

The Tiny Songs Project has helped me re-brand myself as an artist almost. I went from gloomy, self-centred songwriter to happy, weird, music-maker and image creator. It’s also changed the way I dress myself, too. I wear a lot more colour now, or am drawn to it at least (don’t really have the budget for a wardrobe overhaul at the moment). See the above photos for the difference.

The DYCP application requires me to plan out what I would do with the fund, who I would get in touch with, what milestones I would aim to reach and how I would measure my progress. I’m not sure at the moment what any of that would exactly entail, but I have some ideas. Here they are in note form:

MY MAIN QUESTIONS

  • How can we make the idea of "lost time" less negative?

  • How can our planet help our perspective of time?

  • Can pop music & the culture surrounding it be a vehicle for solutions to these questions?

AREAS OF INTEREST

I would like to network with people, organisations and places in these areas

  • the arctic

  • the ocean

  • geology

  • astrophysics

  • indie pop and punk music

  • audio-making (like Transom for example)

  • Norse/Celtic myth and folklore

MEDIUMS TO WORK WITH

  • music — writing an album or an EP

  • podcasting/audio

  • written blog

  • visual diary/sketchbook

  • diagrams or maps

  • performance

  • workshops/teaching

  • animation

ACTIVITIES TO DO

  • geological exploration of a place

  • stay somewhere remote up North

  • collect oral histories around nature and myth of a place

  • create a series of deep time event reconstructions

  • create a podcast from the information I research or an enriched audio piece by including the songs I write

  • pop album pop concert zine for geological events, merch for geological events or areas so we can care about them like we care about our favourite band

The Boring Billion

I’ve just finished reading Marcia Bjornerud’s Timefulness as part of my research, recommended to me by a friend. This has set me off on a geology trajectory which I’m finding hard to get off. I don’t want to get off!

Timefulness was an attempt, in my eyes, to show non-geologists the real depth of time in our planet’s history. There is so much more than dinosaurs. For example, there were about a billion years where unicellular organisms just floated about in the sea, pre-Cambrian Explosion. Some geologists call that time the “Boring Billion” which I think is pretty funny, because if it lasted a billion years, then it must have been VERY BORING. But boring for who?

I like to imagine just walking along the seashore somewhere on whatever the continent du jour might be, listening to what I imagine would be complete and utter silence. The waves of the ocean might be bigger since the moon is closer. The ocean might also stink because of a possible hydrogen sulphide or iron content (not enough oxygen!), I could tolerate that for a glimpse at what the world would have been like back then. Just… nothing going on.

Of course there are still many many gaps to fill in our deep timeline, and geologists are working hard to put together the pieces of that eon to see if the Boring Billion was a little less boring than it seemed.

As I’m doing some extra reading, I saw this quote from an article by Simon Poulton:

I would now argue that the “boring billion” is every bit as exciting and important to understand as anything that happened in the past 500m years of Earth history. If we do not understand periods of relative stasis, then what hope do we have for understanding times of monumental change?

Here we are, most of us at least, living out a few pandemic-induced months of inconvenience. But part of me is looking at the Boring Billion thinking, “ah yeah, they know what it’s like.” How do they know what it’s like!? Was anything even sentient at that point!? (…does anything need to be sentient for me to relate to it?)

But that’s a digresson. My main point is:

A billion years is a long time. The year 2020 was much, much shorter. A billion times shorter! I think our fear of wasting time partly stems from our inability to think long-term. Not like “next year” long term, but maybe even longer than that. If you spend a year of your life not moving from your bedroom — will that matter in 7 years’ time? There might be some lingering regrets or effects, but for the most part, it’s not going to be a huge gap in the geology of your life.

It’s not going to be a billion years of unicellular organisms floating in the ocean.