additional thoughts on (signal extraction)



in an era increasingly defined by extraction—of data, minerals, attention, and meaning—exploring the hidden frequencies that permeate the landscape helps us understand the entangled relationships between humans, technologies, and ecosystems. in this context, listening becomes an act of relation: a way of situating oneself within a vibrating web of affective, biological, and infrastructural flows.

as sound moves through space, it crosses human-constructed boundaries and confronts both ancient and contemporary narratives. it questions the very meaning of borders. within the porous frame of an acoustic field, distinctions between what is protected or polluted, public or private, here or there, us and them—become increasingly ambiguous.

perhaps we need to open a portal toward rethinking the ethics of presence. If trees can function as antennas, and forests resonate with signals we barely understand, the task is not to speak for nature, but to listen with it. long-term survival depends not on dominance, but on symbiosis. the challenge we face is not only ecological but ontological: to reimagine what it means to be human in a more-than-human world.

this is becoming increasingly difficult, as joseph kosuth observes, because we now live in a fully enculturated world—one in which we are largely detached from it. our categories of value are no longer rooted in ecosystems but in economic abstractions. this estrangement explains, for instance, why dead trees are often viewed as disorderly rather than as vibrant sites of ecological richness—something I encountered firsthand in sipoonkorpi national park. It also sheds light on why plant perception is still tainted by pseudoscientific stigma, despite growing evidence of vegetal intelligence. we have reduced nature to spectacle or resource, severing the symbolic and emotional contracts that once bound us to it.

attempting to return to a pre-industrial silence is naïve. instead, we must acknowledge that the so-called natural and artificial are no longer opposites, but interwoven layers of the same palimpsest. as leo marx's metaphor of “the machine in the garden” reminds us, the mechanical and the organic now coexist uneasily in our landscapes. the machine is not simply intruding into nature—it is embedded within it. the tension lies not in their opposition, but in their interdependence.

the electromagnetic residue of human activity serves as a haunting reminder that no place is truly “pure.” it calls into question the persistent illusion that nature exists “outside,” in pristine fragments untouched by human interference. even within national parks, we are embedded in networks—of surveillance, energy infrastructures, noise pollution, and colonial economies—that collapse the illusion of dichotomy. the forest no longer offers refuge from the systems that produced it; rather, it exposes their extent. finland, despite its vast forest cover, exemplifies this paradox: approximately 90% of its woodlands are managed for industrial purposes. the idea of unaltered nature is, in itself, a cultural construction—a carefully curated illusion.

but the issue at stake here involves more than physical movement through landscapes. It concerns perceptual responsibility. We must recognize that sound—like knowledge—is partial, situated, and often ephemeral. the tree, as metaphor, and the open-ended nature of this project both reflect that principle, in a world where monoculture forestry mirrors monocultural thought.

listening is not a passive act. it is a commitment—a relational praxis. what matters is not simply what we hear, but how we choose to listen. it is a way of inhabiting the planet with more humility—and perhaps, with more care.