If there’s one thing that is destroying our world more than anything, it is numbness.
—Elif Shafak, novelist [1]

Ed and I have had the great fortune to grow up in Australia where the wildlife looks so alien it could have evolved on a different planet or even another universe.

Ed has been taking trips to the heart of the Grampians National Park in Victoria with his parents since he was a child. The Grampians (Gariwerd to the local Jardwadjali indigenous community) is a dense forest interrupted by dramatic sandstone mountain ranges and crisscrossed by hiking trails. From their cabin in Wartook Valley Ed and his family took bush walks for six hours a day, only to return to their cabin to sleep at night. He recalls the joy of encountering the forest’s strange creatures: the blue-tongue lizard, red-tailed black cockatoo, eastern grey kangaroo, emu, and his favorite, the wombat. Glimpsing these animals, or even just their traces, inspired wonder about their lives and how they survived the harsh environment.

As a child on the other side of Victoria in a region called Gippsland, I, Tin, spent my time underground, immersed in the damp, cool air of the Buchan Cave Systems. The sound of dripping water mixed with the loud, playful shrills of my siblings and cousins. Our family immigrated to Australia from Vietnam when I was a baby, and we would take trips with our cousins to explore this ancient landscape we now called home. 

I remember the spiraling limestone stalactites hanging all around us and the pale blue calcite-rimmed pools. Our tour guide told us that the limestone formed 400 million years ago during the Devonian Period when the area was on the ocean floor. Even now, I sometimes close my eyes and imagine myself underwater, surrounded by giant cuttlefish, sea snails, and coral. The accretion of their bodies over millions of years became the limestone from which these caves were hewn.

These shared experiences of being in the wilderness with our families have imprinted so strongly on us, that we feel compelled to recreate the feelings of awe and connectedness and share them with others.

For example, our latest project, Life Forces, commissioned by The Rockefeller Center in New York City, opens a portal into a series of ever-changing, interactive landscapes. The immersive dioramas on three giant LED screens are filled with digital lifeforms. They make up an infinitely scrolling realm of hybrid worlds. Real-time body tracking allows viewers to roleplay in the form of pollen and spores, slime mold and mushrooms, and even rock formations. 

Another work, a large inflatable playscape titled Distant Planet (2017) was inspired by the discovery of seven Earth-like planets by NASA scientists. The piece resembles the otherworldly forms of fungi found here on Earth, such as yellow staghorn (Calocera viscosa), myrtle orange (Cyttaria gunnii) and scarlet elf cups (Sarcoscypha austriaca).

Over the holidays, I took my family to see it. On approaching this bulbous technicolor world, my five-year-old nephew Kinsey fell silent. He stared at it with fear and excitement, stepped timidly towards the sculpture, and then clambered up the soft steps. He slowly found his balance, breathed in, and took a giant leap into this strange new world.

[1] Shafak, Elif. “If Trees Could Speak.” Ted, Oct. 2020.

Cite This Essay
Cutting, Edward and Tin Nguyen. “Alien Artscapes: A Natural History.” Biodesigned: Issue 8, 22 July, 2021. Accessed [month, day, year].