Wonderland Intersection:
Quangang Field Notes
The artwork Wonderland Intersection was created against the backdrop of a marine oil pollution incident that took place in Quanzhou, China, in 2018, and is based on the biological technology of the mycoremediation of oil pollution. The oyster mushroom (Pleurotus ostreatus), which has the ability to absorb and decompose oil, and is resistant to sea salt, was used to make a small raft, which local fishermen rowed across the waters where the incident took place, letting the mushrooms quietly absorb and purify. The powerful contrast between the small raft on the water and the sprawling petrochemical facilities makes the mycelium raft appear meek and powerless, but this action, despite its clear futility, gives tenacity to the work, as human and non-human join together in responding to the incursions of a massive system.
The incident is a source of friction between the oil terminal and the fishing port. As the two ports are only a few hundred meters apart, the leaking oil from an oil terminal pipe spread quickly into the fishing port. The fish farming facilities in front of the fishing port were also affected, as the slightly corrosive oil eats away at the styrofoam used to float both fishing rafts and fish farms. Many of the fish farm facilities began to sink, and fishermen even resorted to jumping into the water to try to clean the oil from the foam. The fishermen suffered heavy losses, and the stench of oil fouled the air of their village, making it hard for them to breathe or open their eyes. In the days that followed, cleanup teams used physical suction to remove the oil floating on the water's surface around the port, leaving the rest to drift off with the currents.
Though the artwork has a very specific event as its backdrop, the artwork itself does not recount said event. That is because it was just a very “ordinary leak” in the industrial system, one which frequently occurs in seaside cities everywhere. It has happened before, and will happen quite often in the future. Thus, the true focus of the artwork is on how to catch a glimpse of the human predicament beneath the haze of the system, and on pondering the relationship between them. The mushroom turns out to be a very nimble medium for delving into such a complex topic. It may seem a bit offbeat, but this allows for a light approach to a weighty topic.
For most people, beyond the common emoji, the mushroom mostly exists as food. But American mycologist Paul Stamets is researching the mushroom as a potential means for saving the world. The mushroom’s mycelium can penetrate gaps and link things together, and its enzymes can digest wood, decompose crude oil, and dissolve rock. More importantly, he has found a mushroom species that can break down petroleum and withstand sea salt. “What oyster mushrooms do really well is break down hydrocarbons and dismantle them and restructure them into fungal carbohydrates, into sugars,” says Paul Stamets. He also used “oyster mushroom tubes” to help the American Coast Guard clear oil pollution from the Gulf of Mexico. The spores inside the tubes absorb and decompose the compounds, while also growing mushrooms.
I learned about Stamets’ research just as the petrochemical leak was taking place. Those fungi packs bobbing on the water’s surface were like little boats, echoing the fishing boats and barges involved in the incident. These three wildly different vessels are like avatars of industrial machinery, humans, and non-humans. The relationship between them showed me a state that transcends the dichotomy between humans and nature, and showed me a potential path out of the ecological dilemma. With these thoughts in mind, I set out to the site of the incident in hopes of collecting more information, and in hopes that a better understanding of the actual site would dispel preconceived notions and romantic illusions.
2018.12.26
After hesitating for half a month, I decided to go take a look. Based on the information I was able to piece together, I bought a ticket and set out. This is a seaside county town a two hour bus ride from the city. The bus driver gave it a hearty recommendation: “That is a good place. The skies are blue and the water is clear. The old folks are all very long-lived.”
After getting off the bus at the county bus depot, I discovered that I was still over ten kilometers from the fishing port. Unable to find transport, I decided to walk toward the coast. This wasn't the smartest approach, but it did give me a chance to take in the scene along the road in a more profound way.
Heading out from the small town, the shops and houses grew increasingly sparse, the oil pipes multiplied in the hills, and increasing numbers of people zipped by on e-bikes, probably workers heading to their shifts at the petrochemical plant. A straight asphalt road led out toward the sea, with the petrochemical facility towering along both sides, stretching out in a dense array as far as the eye could see. As the sky grew darker, I came across a fishing village along the coast, finally catching signs of habitation amidst the countless pipes. I don't remember how long I walked, but the sky was already dark by the time I reached the coast. A light house on an island was the only light moving on the pitch black water, leaving only the salty smell of the sea in the air, along with the heavy odor of oil. Between the small fishing boats were piles of styrofoam, all of it corroded into bizarre shapes. As I approached these blocks of foam, a powerful stench struck my nose and halted my breathing.
On the way back to my lodgings, the petrochemical plant took on a different appearance in the darkness, the tall smokestacks spitting out flames, one after the other. On some streets in the distance, the street lights were broken, and the endless array of torches lit up the sky, shocking this longtime city dweller. On top of that, after more than twenty kilometers of walking, my joints were constantly aching. The combination of physical discomfort and visual shock became deeply ingrained in my memory.
2018.12.29
I've been wandering the village at random over the past few days, and have collected many samples. As they are too heavy to carry, I went to the delivery shop at the village entrance to ask about shipping. This is where I met Big Brother Xiao, who would become a major figure in helping me to complete this artwork. Big Brother Xiao is a wiry, enthusiastic village youth. After helping me to pack the specimens, he drove me in a three-wheel electric scooter along the coast back into town. Giant oil pipes lined the coastal road the whole way. I took the opportunity to chat with him about the leak incident, about which he was indignant, but also resigned. He said there were few young people like him still living and working in the village. After the leak, they wanted to use various Internet platforms to speak up for their village, but it was too hard. They then discussed moving the fishing village as a way to resolve the conflict between the plant and the village. He told me the village had been there for centuries, while construction only began on the petrochemical plant when he was a child. Throughout Big Brother Xiao’s life, conflict between the village and the plant had been a constant presence, as had environmental issues. He would often think about whether to leave the village, as many of his older relatives died of cancer—a marked contrast from the bus driver’s claims about this being a “longevity village.” But, he said, “Home is here. If I move away, I have nothing to depend on. Where can I go?”
At that fishing port, I saw two forms of time locked in contention. The centuries-old fishing village was being crushed by a factory not thirty years old, and an ancient way of life was being squeezed down into the cracks by industrial machinery. After learning that the village's relocation was accelerated after the leak incident, I had an even more profound sense of the exile of both humans and non-humans. The villagers’ simple affection for this fishing port and the sea was built on generations experiencing the tides and living with the fish. As for the factory dropped down from the sky by some master plan, what was the sea to the people working there? Was it just another mark on the blueprints?
Max Weber (1864–1920) believed that modernity manifested to a certain extent as people’s power to control nature. But who are the people here? And what is nature in this case? How is control defined? Within the abstract general definition of humanity, does the specific individual still exist? Does it exist as the tiny individual, or as the one who controls the mechanisms of power? At this point, I think it is not about contention between humans and nature, but the industrial system sweeping up everything human and non-human, and swallowing it whole. Though the structure appears to be under absolute control, leaks and chain reactions in the system bring it to a state of extreme indeterminacy. How, then, do people save themselves, and connect with other people or non-humans within this massive man-made system?
Latour states that not only must we establish a world of real coexistence between humans and non-humans, we must establish a world of collaboration between them. Specifically, in his “actor-network theory” (ANT), actors can be non-human—such as technological components, machines, animals, and microbes—or human. Non-human organisms, such as microbes or shellfish, possess agency and interests, just like humans. The relationship between actors is one of mutual recognition, acceptance, dependence, and influence. When mycelium becomes an actor, therefore, its unique adaptive abilities and interspecies relationships will provide vision that transcends the human perspective.
2019.3.28
Using the polluted soil samples I brought back with me, I created mixtures with various fungi substrates to test the mycelium's adaptability. After a long period of waiting and testing, the mycelium began to grow in the experimental substrate after a return to warmer weather. Different specimens grew in different ways. In some, the mycelium thrived, while in others, it was weak, but as time progressed, most of them managed to survive in good health. I watched as the mushrooms sprouted in their containers, then died and rotted, and then were chewed away by insects.
This tableau reminded me of something very moving that Stamets said when sharing his research on fungal decomposition: “The other three piles [using physical, chemical, and bacterial intervention] were dead, dark, and stinky, while the fungal pile was a green berm of life. The fungi sporulated, the spores attracted insects, the insects laid eggs, eggs became larvae. Birds then came, bringing in seeds, and our pile became an oasis of life. These are vanguard species that open the door for other biological communities.”
Fungal decomposition opens up the chain of interspecies cooperation. It breaks down pollutants into smaller chemicals, transform into little meaty fruits, and bring on a procession of insects, birds, seeds, and animals. This may be a chain of interconnection in the ecosystem, and this connectedness may be manifest in human life in the strange flavor of clams bought at the market in a city 70 kilometers away from the oil port leak.
2019.4.17
After completing my experiment in fungal decomposition, I returned once again to Quangang. I had a strong impression that I would not be able to complete the task alone, so my first thought was to seek out Big Brother Xiao, tell him my intentions and explain the decomposition abilities of mushrooms, in hopes of enlisting his help. I prepared myself for rejection or even resistance, because other local friends had tried to dissuade me before. To my surprise, Big Brother Xiao said, “I don't really understand what you're trying to do, but don't worry, I’ll do everything I can to help you. This mushroom decomposition thing sounds like it might be a solution. Perhaps you can tell more people, and we could do something for my hometown.” I was surprised and touched by his eager response. I was just an uninvited outsider with little knowledge of their predicament, but he saw me as a potential outlet for his hometown to find expression, and he was willing to trust me and help me.
2019.4.20
The past few days, he has been constantly taking me around to meet friends who may be able to help, including a young film crew, and a friend with a spare room I can use to raise the mushrooms. We're together almost every day, looking for a place to access the harbor, observing the behavior of the tides, deciding on when to set sail, and finding a fisherman to row the mushroom boat. These are all things I know little about, especially as an inlander. My picture of a boat is the long, thin, wooden kind. The old fishermen tell me that those river boats are useless in the sea. Their boats are all quite large, and anchored in deep water, while they use smaller boats to ferry back and forth between the coast and the deep water. Those smaller boats are basically square foam pads, made of that white styrofoam I saw along the shore before. Though the white styrofoam looks a lot like the mycelial mats after fungal growth, these common-sense revisions have helped me to constantly subvert my original assumptions.
2019.4.27
Filming is completed, and thinking back on all of this from the little hotel, it all seems like a dream. From my original hesitation when I first arrived in Quangang, it is as if everything happened in an instant. As I was leaving in the morning, I was waiting a long time for the local bus to the long-distance bus station, so I began to read the names of the bus stops on the sign to pass the time. I had taken the bus here every day during my research, but I had never actually read the bus stop sign. As I read through the names, I suddenly saw the words “Wonderland Intersection.” It hit me like an electric shock. The intersection that leads to Wonderland has been blocked by a petrochemical plant. It's like a microcosm of the dramatic contradictions playing out in reality.
While Wonderland Intersection is the name of a bus stop, it is also a question directed at us. Can our fantasies of Utopia be made real? With reality under siege, where can we go? As Latour wrote in Or Where to Land—How to Orient in Politics (Où atterrir — comment s'orienter en politique), the world we modern people inhabit is in a state of suspension. The future development of the planet depends on how humans, as actors within the network, connect with everything else, and what specific decisions this network makes. What kind of future, then, will we face: where will we land?
- Paul Stamets. “6 Ways Mushrooms Can Save the World.” TED Talk, March 2008.
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Stamets, Paul. Mycelium Running. Berkeley: Ten Speed Press, 2005.
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David Inglis & Christopher Thorpe. Invitation to Social Theory. Trans. He Rong & Liu Yang. Commercial Press, 2022.
- Bruno Latour. Où atterrir — comment s’orienter en politique. Trans. Chen Rongtai & Wu Qihong. Qunxue Press, 2020.
Written by Long Pan
Translate by Jeff Crosby