Research Statement

Research Questions

In black and white images, foxes slide through the long grass, coming and going, pausing, marking, squealing. A new arrival to Belfast, I hung a wildlife camera in my back yard, hoping to film my cohabitants, seeking to create belonging. 

In The Red God, a short essay film, I explore if I can express to the foxes in my backyard the care and guardianship that my Māori tūpuna (ancestors) showed their nonhuman cohabitants. In this research statement I outline how my creative practice research is grounded in adoption theory, focused on belonging and informed by a decolonizing ethos. I describe the filming, the edit, who the research has been disseminated and future research possibilities.

I ask; how does adopting a Māori viewpoint of the entangled nature of place, human and the nonhuman affect the way I film my fox cohabitants, and the film that I make from this footage?

Context

Belonging is at the heart of my creative practice research as I am adopted.  The need to belong is “powerful, fundamental, and extremely pervasive” (Baumeister & Leary, 1995, p. 497). Belonging is not static or stable (Probyn, 1996) but for adoptees, belonging is doubly fraught as we clutch at narratives to try to fill the absence at the heart of our world. We are “narrative whores” (Harris & Gandolfo, 2014, p. 573), equally consumed by facts and fictions.  Origin searches, where adoptees seek our birth families, are often unsuccessful but even actual connection reveals that belonging with our new/old family is complicated, difficult, often impossible. The genie cannot be put back in the bottle. Through my prior creative practice research I established that belongings are not found but made (Rogers, 2019) through building new narratives for the self (Brookfield et al., 2008) which can and do replace fantasised stories of mythical origins.

I moved, with my husband, to Belfast in Northern Ireland from the antipodes in mid 2021 and here we experienced a powerful sense of not belonging. At our new house in Belfast, we found a track worn in the steep grass-covered bank behind the house. Something, or someone, was travelling down from the tree-tangled land at the top of the bank. Missing our cats, and continuing my practice of building belonging through practice, I put a wild-life camera up. 

In Australia, where I had lived for many years, foxes were introduced and unfortunately flourish, but thankfully, the fox was not successfully introduced in Aotearoa New Zealand, my homeland. My only contact with these gorgeous creatures were in favourite books.  The fox in the UK is not “charismatic megafauna” (Heise, 2016, p. 24); they are common and widespread, the “mortal mundane” (Harraway 2008, p. 256). My film is not the usual wildlife film, seeking to raise public awareness for conservation (Somerville et al, 2021). It is a film about entanglements and belonging.

Methods

My creative practice research takes place with and through “the illuminating presence of wounds” (Anderson, 2004, p. 307). Thinking through making, I inch towards an outcome, honoring intuition and haptic knowledge over formal processes, seeking the small internal leap of joy that signals a new connection, a new knowing. This instinctive approach, where I work with an unstable blend of emotion, knowledge and skills, feeling my way forwards, fits with my decolonizing methodology and methods.  

Finding my birthfather as an adult revealed I am Ngāi Tahu (a Māori iwi, or tribe) and to honour this, I seek to decolonise myself and my work. Linda Tuhiwai Smith writes that we must keep in mind the underlying beliefs, expectations, and principles of the academy (2012). Brought up Pākehā (European New Zealander) in the Western education system, these expectations appear natural to me. In response, I emphasise process over outcome and uncertain, instinctive and bodily ways of knowing (Toyosaki, 2018). Through this I try and re-set my thinking, because as Donna Harraway exhorts, “it matters which stories tell stories, which concepts think concepts” (2016, p. 101). 

European ideas of the human nonhuman divide are marked by hierarchy and stamped by the judgements of science. The nonhuman are there to be research, eaten, saved, and we act upon them.  In comparison, many indigenous people emphasis mutual relationships and guardianship. For Māori, flora and fauna are tied to us through whakapapa (genealogy) and descended from the same atua (gods); “the central tenant of indigenous knowledge is connectivity” (Tidemann, et al, 2010, p. 3). Ngāi Tahu scholar Kyla Russell writes, “we are the landscape since we are descendants of the tūpuna who are both the landscape and are us, just as we are them” (2005, p. 162). History, tribal knowledge and place are woven tightly together, with no hierarchy of ontological categories such as physical, cultural, biological (Roberts & Wills, 1998). We share mauri (life force) equally; “whales have a mauri, people have a mauri, eels have a mauri, birds have a mauri, fish have a mauri” (Moorfield, 2004, p. 227). 

Guardianship requires protocols and respect. In the far south of Te Wai Pounamu (the South Island of Aotearoa) my tūpuna muttonbirded, gathering tītī, (Sooty Shearwaters) for food, and present-day birders maintain the mana (prestige) and mauri of the species and keep tikanga (correct procedure). Failing to do so is seen as having serious consequences such as falling bird numbers, bad weather or unsuccessful harvests. The birders designed the birding regulations, “enshrining lore into law” (Lyver & Moller, 2010, p. 259), protecting adult birds at the expense of chicks. The birds are seen as independent agents with power and autonomy, however as Smith notes, this is not some “mystical, misty-eyed discourse” (2012, p. 13). Deep environmental knowledge was necessary for hunter-gatherers to survive. 

The camera has also been a powerful imperial tool, one of the ways by which the “subject—the knower—colonizes the object—the known” (Toyosaki, 2018, p. 33) via the ‘objective’ lens. My creative practice has been primarily autoethnographic, where I turn the camera on myself, a willing subject. In turning the camera onto the nonhuman, I am on new territory. I am also on new territory with the wildlife camera. 

The wildlife camera, or camera trap, is a popular tool of conservation and environmental studies. It is often used to survey remote populations, and research it seeks to answer include distribution, habit preferences, assessments of the impact of events and predators and to judge the success or otherwise of conservation efforts (Gillespie et al, 2015). I hoped to capture our co-inhabitants and knew it would be physically impossible to film them myself; whatever it was leaving pathways up and down the long grass was nocturnal and probably shy. Previously, I have explored how having the camera to my face sometimes created belonging and other times provided relief from emotional intensity (Rogers, 2022). By using the wildlife camera to film the foxes I ceded control of some of the tools—framing, exposure, and white balance—that shape my practice. By setting and leaving the camera trap for long periods of time (it is triggered by motion) I could minimise my disturbance of the foxes’ habitat and improve my chances of capturing who lived there. However, there is no way past it; I was surveilling my nonhuman neighbours.  

Which brings up the question; is it my place to film these animals? Brett Mills argues that it is speciesism that grants humans a right to privacy but not animals. He wants us to ask “not how animals should be filmed, but whether animals should be filmed?” (2010, p. 196) (italics in original). Human privacy rests on the ideas of public and private space, and I was in the private space of the fox. Is it enough to argue that I did no harm? This question continues to trouble the work and me.  

Māori relationships with the nonhuman are entangled and physical. My relationship with the foxes is only through the images of the foxes and these were often frustrating and incomplete. The foxes were reluctant to star. I would set and leave the camera for days on end then climb the bank and take it down with a growing sense of excitement. Often there would be just the weather; 20 second images of plants dancing in the wind, nodding under rain, obscured by mist or still under falling snow. Or there would be a mere glimpse of a creature. A hedgehog clambering over a tree root. The tip of a tail, an out-of-focus flank, reflected eyes like two shining coins in the middle distance. Good images took a long time to gather. I like to think my neighbours were treating my intrusion with the disrespect it deserved. 

When I did sit down to edit my decolonizing ethos shaped my choices. Firstly, I resisted zooming into shots in the edit to present close-ups that did not occur at the time, the “impossible intimacy” (Bouse ́ 2003, p. 123) (italics in original) of closeups which set up unrealistic expectations for wildlife encounters. I let the foxes dictate the framing.   Secondly, I decolonized through the narrative, not only in my voice-over but in the flow of images. I found the fox images elusive, alive with mystery and magic but also frustrating. They resisted my longing to see them up close, posed in their red glory. Instead, they move on, uninterested in my desires.  I worked to hold onto this mystery, rather than impose a fictional story as is common in wildlife documentaries (Somerville et al, 2021) through the (manufactured) introduction of a predator, or love interest or rival (Bouse ́, 2003).  I ordered the shots into a loose narrative shape creating patterns, a loose beginning, middle and end. Then I recorded the voice-over, where I speak to my active struggle with my desires to control, to own, to take care of. 

Outcomes

In The Red God I describe encounters, through the lens of a camera, with the fox co-habitants of my Belfast garden. Through the practice of placing the camera, gathering the images, and cutting a film, I continued my practice of making belonging. As described in the voice-over, I maintained my distance from the foxes, despite my desires to interfere. For example, I could have lured them down from the bank by feeding them, which is not uncommon in the UK, and in this way been able to briefly inhabit the same time and place as them. This distance is quite different from the way my tūpuna related to the tītī. Theirs is a relationship of proximity, of being in the world together. Although, of course, this proximity is mostly lethal for the birds.

The question of reciprocity asked in the film remains unanswered and is perhaps unanswerable. Surely Haraway would write that this is how it should be; questions of how to be with the nonhuman, our kin, are meant to be difficult (2016). To think about the foxes as co-existing with myself, both of us in the whakapapa of Belfast, does extend ideas of belonging and calls to mind the entanglements of us all. The struggle with how to film wildlife while respecting their mauri is an area other scholars and filmmakers can extend. Does Mills’ call for privacy find its natural conclusion in the turning off of all cameras pointed at the nonhuman?

Impact

This short film and research were presented at the Animals and Landscape symposium in Liverpool, 2022, part of a larger research project by Edge Hill University and funded by an AHRC grant. It was well received; the foxes were described as beautiful, exotic. The audience seemed to see them anew. Several researchers stated that they had a wildlife camera but had not considered turning it on the domestic. The Red God sits alongside a small bird and then another small bird (Rogers, 2022), a short essay film also using my wildlife camera which screened in Paris in 2023. I am currently working with the additional material I gathered in my Belfast garden including images of a badger and the foxes interacting. Having now left Belfast, these images speak of a former belonging and evoke nostalgia, which suggests another turn in my creative practice research investigations.

References

Anderson, R. (2004) Intuitive Inquiry: An Epistemology of the Heart for Scientific Inquiry. The Humanistic Psychologist, 32(4), pp. 307-341. https://doi.org/10.1080/08873267.2004.9961758 

Baumeister, R. F., & Leary, M. R. (1995) The Need to Belong: Desire for Interpersonal Attachments as a Fundamental Human Motivation. Psychological Bulletin, 117 (3), pp. 497-529.

Bousé, D. (2003) False intimacy: close-ups and viewer involvement in wildlife films. Visual Studies, 18:2, pp. 123-132. https://doi.org/10.1080/14725860310001631994 

Brookfield, H., Brown, S. D., & Reavey, P. (2008) Vicarious and Post‐memory Practices in Adopting Families: The Re‐production of the Past Through Photography and Narrative. Journal of Community & Applied Social Psychology, 18(5), pp. 474-491. https://doi.org/10.1002/casp.960 

Gillespie, G. R., Brennan, K., Gentles, T., Hill, B., Low Choy, J., Mahney, T., Stevens, A., and Stokeld, D. (2015) A guide for the use of remote cameras for wildlife survey in northern Australia. Darwin: Charles Darwin University. 

Harraway, D. (2008) When Species Meet. Minnesota: University of Minnesota Press. 

Harraway, D. (2016) Staying with the Trouble. Duke: Duke University Press. 

Harris, A., & Gandolfo, E. (2014) Looked at and Looked over or: I wish I Was Adopted. Gender, Place & Culture, 21(5), 567-581.

Heise, U. (2016) Imagining Extinction: The Cultural Meaning of Endangered Species. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. 

Lifton, B. J. (1994) Journey of the Adopted Self: A Quest for Wholeness. New York: Basic Books.

Lyver, P. O’B., Moller, H. (2010) An Alternative Reality: Māori Spiritual Guardianship of New Zealand’s Native Birds. In S. Tideman and A. Gosler (Eds.), Ethno-ornithology. Devon: Earthscan. 

Mills, B. (2010) Television wildlife documentaries and animals’ right to privacy. Continuum, 24:2, pp. 193-202. https://doi.org/10.1080/10304310903362726  

Moorfield, J. C. (2004) Te Kōhure. Wellington: Pearson Education New Zealand. 

Ormond, M. (2018) Adoption, Genealogical Bewilderment and Heritage Bricolage. In H. Muzaini and C. Minca (Eds.), After Heritage: Critical Geographies of Heritage from Below. Cheltenham: Edward Elgar.

Probyn, E. (1996) Outside Belongings. Oxfordshire: Routledge.

Roberts, R. M., and Wills, P. R. (1998) Understanding Maori Epistemology: A Scientific Perspective. In H. Wautischer (Ed.), Tribal Epistemologies: Essays in the Philosophy of Anthropology. Oxfordshire: Routledge.

Rogers, C. (2019) New Histories: Creating Video Work to Fill Adoption Absences. The Journal of New Zealand Studies, (NS29). Np.  https://doi.org/10.26686/jnzs.v0iNS29.6263 

Rogers, C., and Gough-Brady, C. (2022) Electronic Knowings. Screenworks, Vol 13. https://doi.org/10.37186/swrks/13.1/1

Rogers, C. (2022) a small bird and then another small bird. Video. https://vimeo.com/873208460?ts=0&share=copy (password Cr413zx)

Russell, K. (2005) Landscape: Perceptions of Kāi Tahu i mua, āianei, ā muri ake. Indigenous Knowledges Conference, University of Auckland. http://www.maramatanga.ac.nz/sites/default/files/TKC%202005.pdf#page=161 

Smith, L. T. (2012) Decolonizing Methodologies: Research and Indigenous Peoples (2nd ed.). London: Zed Books Ltd.

Somerville, K., Dickman, A., Johnson, P., and Hart, A. (2021) Soap operas will not wash for wildlife. People and Nature, 3, pp. 1160-1165. 

Tidemann, S., Chirgwin, S. and Sinclair, R. J. (2010) Indigenous Knowledges, Birds that Have ‘Spoken’ and Science. In S. Tideman and A. Gosler (Eds.), Ethno-ornithology. Devon: Earthscan. 

Toyosaki, S. (2018) Toward De/Postcolonial Autoethnography: Critical Relationality with the Academic Second Persona. Cultural Studies↔ Critical Methodologies, 18(1), pp. 32-42. https://doi.org/10.1177/1532708617735133 

Peer Reviews

All reviews refer to original research statements which have been edited in response to what follows:

Review 1: Accept submission subject to minor revisions of written statement.

The Red God is a visually striking study of the native red foxes in suburban Belfast, as captured through a wildlife camera in the filmmakers’ backyard. Composed of a series of predominantly high contrast black and white images, and a few colour ones at the end, the filmmaker’s essayistic voice-over does much of the work in providing the context, theoretical framing, and reflection. The narration is well-written and delivered. At just on four minutes, this short reflective piece addresses questions of belonging, connection, and interspecies entanglements. 

It’s something of a paradox that the human voice plays such a significant role in the film and is one of the tensions of the essay film with its inherent vococentrism. I think giving more space to the images and the foxes through a longer edit and perhaps attention to the diegetic sounds could have amplified the more-than-human elements. I also wished to stay with the otherworldly images that are rarely captured for longer. 

Rogers raises questions about what impact turning the camera on animals might have in terms of objectivity and subjectivity. I am keen to hear more on the use of the camera, not only as a static object that collects these images of foxes undisturbed by humans, but also on ideas of surveillance – another association drawn from the fixed camera. Thoughts come to mind about CCTV cameras set up in wildlife habitats where for much of the time, there is absolutely nothing happening. And at other times, they provide high drama for avid viewers. I am curious to hear more of the filmmaker’s desire to “interfere” and what this would involve for the filmmaking process. 

The written statement expands on Rogers’ theoretical influences which include adoption studies, a Māori viewpoint, and a decolonising approach to research and filmmaking. There are many rich ideas here which raises the question of what relationship the written piece should have with the film. Many of the ideas background the filmmakers’ ongoing research and interests, and with this comes many citations. The research statement could be strengthened by unpacking some of these and narrowing the focus a bit. 

Overall, an engaging piece that would benefit from sharpening the research statement and digging into some of the questions raided through the filmmaking process. 

Review 2: Accept submission subject to minor revisions of written statement.

Christine Rogers presents a thought-provoking exploration of belonging, identity, and the entangled relationships between humans and the nonhuman world. Through the lens of her personal experience as a new resident in Belfast, Rogers raises important questions about the colonial urges to interfere with the natural environment and the possibilities of honouring and respecting the nonhuman inhabitants of a place.

The article is framed within the author's creative practice research and is informed by a decolonising ethos. Rogers draws upon adoption theory and her own experiences as an adoptee, emphasising the pain of abandonment and the construction of belonging through building new narratives for the self. By reflecting on her Māori heritage, she explores the indigenous perspective that connects humans, flora, fauna, and place as equals through “whakapapa (genealogy)” and mutual relationships.

In the essay film, The Red God, Rogers' engagement with Belfast's garden is facilitated through a wildlife camera, allowing her to observe and film the red foxes that inhabit the area. By ceding control to the camera and minimising disturbance to the foxes' habitat, she navigates the ethical implications of human intervention. Drawing on discussions of subjectivity and objectivity in wildlife filmmaking, she refrains from imposing fictional narratives and emphasises the foxes' autonomy, privileging the unfixed and unknowable. Rogers' personal voice-over complements the image, providing the necessary context while juxtaposing the objectivity of the wildlife camera lens. This tension between objectivity/subjectivity is highly appropriate, resonating with the article’s themes and research question. An area of the film that could be further explored is the sound design. Further experimentation with the layers and editing of sound could uncover further potentialities of the medium on the exploration of the discussed topics. While sound design is crucial in every film, essay film is the ideal mode of filmmaking for innovative and creative use of sound.

Throughout the supporting statement, Rogers demonstrates her commitment to decolonisation in both research methodology and filmmaking. She challenges Western ideas of human-nonhuman divisions, hierarchies, and privacy, and embraces indigenous knowledge systems that prioritise connectivity and guardianship. By acknowledging the complexity of Māori relationships with the nonhuman, she invites critical reflection on the entanglements between humans and other species.

While the article provides a rich account of the author's personal journey and research process, it would benefit from further elaboration on the outcomes and impact of her work. Although Rogers briefly mentions the presentation of her film at a symposium and its relevance to current concerns about wildlife loss, more details on the reception, discussions, and potential future directions for her research would enhance the article's completeness.

Overall, this is a compelling article that raises important questions about belonging, identity, and the entangled relationships between humans and the nonhuman world. Rogers' incorporation of her personal experiences, adoption theory, and indigenous perspectives provides a unique lens through which to examine the complexities of human-nonhuman entanglements. The article opens up avenues for further exploration in decolonising methodologies, wildlife filmmaking, and the recognition of our shared responsibility for the nonhuman inhabitants of our environments.

All reviews refer to original research statements which have been edited in response.