Tree Hugging Revisited:
A Review of David Bynre's Arboretum
David Byrne: Arboretum (2006)
Now I know, it’s true: it wouldn’t be possible to write a review about something called Arboretum without first seeing the redwoods (for the lost children out there, arbor is Latin for tree). And although the Arboretum here isn’t a collection of trees one can smell or touch or see growing, the notion of a tree standing still and growing older (possibly more opinionated, too!!) than the last seven generations of your respective ancestors is the idea that’s embarked upon in this odd little collection.
I remember a couple of years ago when Mr. David Byrne was touring Europe with his photographs of broken shoes. The exhibition took place in Zagreb (capital of Croatia) of all places, during the mid-nineties. This was a good thing, if only because we heard people exclaim, “Hey, isn’t that the singer of that band…?” Indeed, born Scottish and bred American, Byrne is most famous for his rock’n’roll persona, running around the stage in disturbingly oversized suits. His predominant public role for many years was as the lead singer of Talking Heads. But this tall American spacer (I guess Bowie holds the position in Europe) has always held as much passion for the visual as he does for music.
So, Byrne came to the Balkans carrying his photographs of broken shoes underneath his arm. Even in the mid-nineties, the area around Zagreb was swollen with broken pipes and rusty governments. And war. He ignored the kind warnings to keep away from the war situation. I mean, seriously--he’s an artist, did they think he’d ever listen?
Not much had changed a decade later, when Arboretum was published in 2006. The world still considered the Balkans a war zone, and David Byrne returned with a book of sketches meant to explain the world’s secret workings.
“How does he know all that?”
The question above is a paraphrase of my dear (scientifically-minded) friend’s reaction when flipping through the book’s pages (and it set me off laughing immediately). The question itself is perfectly valid, of course. Can the musician David Byrne be an authority on anything else but the art of music? The scientists have, obviously, come armed to the teeth with test tubes and microscopes, while we poor artists have difficulties remembering to feed ourselves regularly. But what does that say about either group’s ability to perceive the world as it truly is, or to establish causal relations within it, what with the world being such a grand and confusing place?
Through numerous sketches of trees and tree-like shapes, Byrne categorizes worldly phenomena that science still refuses to consider, and he sets up the most (un)likely links between them. Our wicked artist is happy to go places few established scientists would venture into. For instance, in one of his tree sketches, Nostalgic Roots of Animal Behaviour (78), Byrne claims that scratching, biting, sucking and licking are now substituted by classic rock, candy bars, comfort food and sitcoms. In another sketch, he contemplates Blake’s famous correlation between leading an extravagantly disastrous life and reaching divinity: “ 'The road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom,' Blake states. Does he mean that to become enlightened you have to be drunk? Obsessed with riches? A sex addict? There is indeed a high level of bullshit among saints, poets and lovers, which suggests that the skills of conmen might be occasionally useful and applicable for loftier pursuits. A con is defined as an artistic work from the imagination made in the service of cash. But untethered from monetary rewards, the same skills allow one to float up into the clouds . . . "
On a historic note, Byrne’s sketch entitled “Backwards History” informs us that the colonization of Mars happened long ago, while we’re yet to discover DNA, the Eiffel Tower and Marilyn Monroe. What’s amazing about these smudged sketches is their lucidity in clarifying the topics that the artist-analyst touches upon. From logical postulations to anthropology and aphorisms in Time Managing (44) to Nocturnal Organizing Systems (38), the concepts in David Byrne’s Arboretum are all equally marvelled upon. And for any imaginative human being, they’re all equally important aspects of human life.
Byrne combines the eclectic, sarcastic brilliance of shows like Futurama with the enchantment and inner coherence of his material. If you can imagine Martians sitting down with you for a cup of tea and explaining how the planet Earth really works, then you can begin to crack David Byrne’s design here. But if he wasn’t a Martian with tremendous insights, he could’ve easily been a sublime puppeteer from one of Charlie Kaufman’s parallel universes. And perhaps he is.
I recommend this wonderful collection of drawn puzzles to a big variety of creatures: little children, archaeologists and misunderstood Vikings. Even the hardcore biological scientists can connect, due to the fact it’s vaguely about the taxonomy of trees. And, of course, I recommend it to artists, mainly because of the sketch called In Vino Veritas. Observe the trees. You can learn from them.
5 out of 5Reviewed by Brina
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Byrne, David. Arboretum. San Francisco: McSweeney's Books, 2006.
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