Kyong Park: From Urban Ecologies to the New Silk Roads

A conversation with Octavio Zaya
Atlantica Magazine, Spring 2009

Octavio Zaya: You conceived and founded StoreFront for Art and Architecture in New York in 1982, and left its directorship behind in 1998. Since then, you have been engaged in a process of nomadic research and projects concentrated around contemporary cities as moving organisms. We might say that you have been involved in some sort of laboratory-on-the-move, dealing with, analysing, and confronting the effects of globalisation on urban and suburban spaces, and considering and promoting new urban thoughts and approaches toward a post-capitalist future. These activities and commitments have taken you all over the world. How did this turn in your career come about? What prompted you to create the International Center for Urban Ecology (iCUE)? And how do you see the relationship between the work at StoreFront and what you have been doing since then?

Kyong Park: There were several important transitions in my relationship with art and architecture when I moved away from StoreFront to begin iCUE in Detroit. At StoreFront, I was concerned with the end of the art production process, or the exhibitions of the final product. At iCUE, I moved to the beginning of the art process, by initiating projects that would require the eventual making of art. And moving the site of my work was fundamental in bringing forth what you have described as "a laboratory-on-the-move", or what I like to call a "nomadic practice". My dissatisfaction with the increasingly gentrifying and normalising cultural condition of New York City certainly helped spur my exodus to Detroit, a city devoid of such post-modernisation. I also wanted to disengage myself from the producers, curators, and dealers of the art market, because I still believed that art is a community, not a commodity. Moreover, I sensed the demise of the centre and the potential of the periphery, and thus the possible rebirth of Detroit. This meant that I could be a part of the beginning of something new, rather than a participant in the sale and resale of end products in the world's biggest art market, New York.



OZ: What was it that you hoped to do in Detroit?

KP: Moving to Detroit completely changed my work. Working and living in one of the pre-eminent urban ghettos—the near eastside of Detroit—as opposed to a neo-bourgeois enclave within a global city—Soho in New York—radically changed my context. I thus learned that the best way to change my work, as well as my life, was to change my context. Artists, curators, directors, etc. were replaced by activists, urban pioneers, and ordinary citizens, and the reasons for making art were no longer about getting shows, reviews, fame, and fast money. Instead, the challenge was whether art possess any value to the families and communities of the city that has been getting fragmented, shrinking, or literally disappearing for more than half a century. Living in a half-renovated house for $200 a month, in front of two acres of urban farm at the heart of four square miles that only retained 20% of its original built structures, of which half were unoccupied or burnt—a third world at the heart of Fordism— certainly is different from living in a city that has virtually commodified art to serve its economic agendas.

OZ: But you didn’t have the intention of settling in Detroit for good, did you? Were you already thinking according to your conception of “nomadic practice”?

KP: Another important transition began with my project called 24260: The Fugitive House, an empty house in Detroit that began to travel through ten cities in Europe from 2001. My role in this project was to perpetuate the life of a homeless house by moving it out of the city that would surely destroy it. It was the American dream gone haywire: once a typical first home for factory workers of Detroit. The purpose of its nomadic state was to search for where the ideal of a perfect home might exist today. By coincidence, 9/11, which soon followed, destroyed my own belief in the existence of a perfect home or of the ideal nation-state. Feeling somewhat stateless, and no longer believing in the American Dream, I found myself living a nomadic life in Europe for five years, together with the house that I had made nomadic.



Life is again nomadic, in this geography of the infinitely ephemeral and temporary, which is the true tenet of globalisation if you will. Nothing is absolute anymore, in this post-ideological life ruled by neo-liberalist self-gratification, which is already trading your grandchildren's air, water, and food as “futures” in commodity markets. As the world becomes more outsourced and offshored, the real issue is our inability to locate our sovereignty, identity, and home in one fixed space and time. With everything becoming relational, it makes no further sense to observe the world from one fixed location. And what 24260 taught me was that I myself must become nomadic, if my practice was to get a real sense of our urban and cultural landscape, which is a continual transformation and movement from one city to another, and from one nation-state to another. Nomadic practice is a necessary paradigm for the documentation, examination, and representation of contemporary cultures. Therefore, what I am doing now has absolutely no relation with the work I did at StoreFront, which was prolonging a static view within a very unstable world.

OZ: So it seems that you felt as if your interests and projects at StoreFront had been exhausted, and that your work experienced a major transformation, taking you from curator to agent-producer, urban analyst, and activist. Your professional practice changed from static to nomadic. We might say that, now, you are observing the world from many angles and many places, instead of a fixed position, and that, in a way, your new approach and strategies are reflections of, and reflect upon, the realities and conditions of globalization—from outsourcing and offshore economies to the dissolution of space and time in the relations and transactions of peoples, in the new communication technologies, etc. Following your own ideas, we may say that none of us are static any longer. We are not relating to, or engaging with, any fixed entity from a fixed situation. So what happened to the concepts of place, culture, nationality, and identity, in this equation? How are your projects addressing this question?

KP: There are two choices that I can think of for how to live and act within this world of uncertainty. One option is to unplug oneself completely from the system, off from the infrastructure of the grand society, or, more specifically, from the empire syndrome. The other is to think of a new paradigm—which, by the way, is different from suggesting a utopia. At least to me, it’s obvious that the former choice is, in terms of survival, a self-mutilating way toward a dystopia. I side with the latter, which has a chance to be more constructive. But to do this, I feel the need of understanding a complete view of how the system really works, and how it fails to live up to our contemporary cultural and social expectations, not to mention any possibility for a future to our civilization. This is the main reason why I now work on a project called New Silk Roads.

OZ: Looking back, what do you think you accomplished at StoreFront for Art and Architecture that brought you to the creation of the Center for Urban Ecology, and then how did the Center of Urban Ecology prepare you to enter into the territory of this new project you are involved with now? Perhaps it might be useful to mention that StoreFront still is a challenging cultural space with a rather engaging exhibition program in Soho, New York, and that the Center for Urban Ecology prompted the projects and works you conceived and developed throughout the Balkans and Eastern Europe two years ago.

KP: You are right. StoreFront is still a very important forum and an exhibition space that continues to define critical relations between art, environment, and public on the international stage. And you might say that its influence on the creation of the International Center for Urban Ecology (iCUE) is substantial, such as the idea of art as a process that begins with issues that can produce discourses, which can then render visual representations. An example of that is Adam’s House in Paradise (1984), which attempted to save an instance of urban anarchy called Garden of Eden in the Lower East Side of New York, produced by a man who called himself Adam Purple. Adam obviously links to Eden, while Purple comes from the fact that he dressed in the color purple. Under the order of its demolition, to be replaced by a low-income public housing project, StoreFront brought it internationally to the attention of various architects and artists, asking them to propose designs that could make possible the co-existence of the garden and the housing project. Although the Garden of Eden was ultimately replaced by a very mediocre example of public housing, we had made a significant impression on the New York City Housing Authority, and were almost successful. Other examples are Project Atlas (1990), a design competition on the reuse of abandoned Intercontinental Ballistic Missiles in Adirondack Park in New York State, which was timed with the dissolution of the Cold War and responding to the then-popular political rhetoric of “peace dividends”; Homeless at Home (1985), on various ideas and designs to house the vast homeless population of New York City in that period; After Tilted Arc (1985), on works that could serve as alternatives to the controversial sculpture, eventually removed, by Richard Serra in Foley Square, New York City; Before Whitney (1985), generating alternative proposals to the never-built expansion of the Whitney Museum in New York, a post-modern malformation proposed by then-influential architect Michael Graves; and Project DMZ (1988), on proposals addressing the re-unification of Korea.

Furthermore, there were three exhibitions at StoreFront that greatly influenced me to move to Detroit. They were The New American Ghetto (1991), by Camilo José Vergara, with his photographic documentation of the demise of Detroit and other major American cities; Warchitecture-Sarajevo: A Wounded City (1995), on so-called “urbicide”, the destruction of history, culture, and memories during the siege of the city during the new Balkanisation of the former Yugoslavia, and Beirut, (1997) photographs on the destruction of that city during its civil war up to 1991. These exhibitions were about the destruction and decay of cities, alluding to both the fragility and the value of urban landscapes as vital instruments and forms of social, cultural, and political evolution. Detroit then seemed to be an ideal location of my future work, offering me the possibility of being a part of its reconstruction, preferably moving towards new urban and cultural paradigms.



OZ: After Detroit, you embarked on the Balkans project, right? How did it come about? What did you get from it? Was there an approach or a methodology that has in any way informed or influenced the work that you are now involved in?

KP: The year 2001 was another crucial moment for my work, perhaps the beginning of my nomadic practice. Besides it being the beginning of 24260: The Fugitive House, travelling through Europe, and before I ended up in the Balkans, I began to work as a member of the curatorial committee, a co-curator, and a participating artist of Shrinking Cities, a project initiated by the German Cultural Foundation, which was under the directorship of Berlin-based architect Philipp Oswalt. With Detroit, Liverpool/Manchester, Halle/Leipzig, and Ivanovo (Russia) as the project’s main case studies, we investigated urban decay—mostly in developed countries—and try to to imagine critical and innovative responses to this emerging global condition. I was travelling between these cities, as well as working on other projects in eastern Germany, such as BAR/GDR/FRG (2003), a multi-channel video project about competing urban ideologies from three historical periods within the once-fire-bombed centre of Dresden; and The Slide (2003), a proposal to build a continuous transparent sliding tube through eighteen floors of an empty high-rise former dormitory building in Halle Neustadt, the depopulated socialist utopia built in the former German Democratic Republic.

My work in the Balkans was centred on a partly-realised project called Europe Lost and Found, which started with the Slovenian artist Marjetica Potrc, when we travelled together through twelve cities in the Western Balkans, in four weeks or so at the very end of 2004. While it started as a kind of exploration through the land that coined the notion of Balkanisation, we soon began to see its potential to serve as a future model of decentralised and networked political relations that may become the eventual destiny of the European Union (EU). What interested me was the comparison between the now virtually completed territorialisation of the EU, against the fragmentation of the brief and incomplete utopia of Yugoslavia, which had fallen victim to the revival of ethno-nationalism, partly tinged with the fascistic legacy that had earlier been crushed by the Tito-led Partisan movement during the Second World War. At the same time, we were witnessing the evolution of a semi-supranational statehood for the EU that hints at the gradual weakening of the nation-state— or, according to some, even its end—and we considered how this might be different from earlier forms of supranational statehood, such as the Soviet Union or Yugoslavia.



Granted that the origin and the goal of the EU are purely matters of economic interest, whereas those of the Soviet Union were more political and ideological, and Yugoslavia may have found its legitimacy through a shared ethnic, cultural, and linguistic commonality, to a certain extent. Seeing the fragmentation of the latter two, not too far apart in time, it is relevant to question whether, and how, the EU would continue to hold its legitimacy over an extended period of time. It is common among the victims of the dissolution of Yugoslavia to predict that a similar kind of fragmentation awaits the EU eventually.

Nevertheless, I was interested in the contestation between the post-modern and neo-bourgeois expansion of the semi-neoliberal structure of the EU against the so-called “barbaric” or emotional states that hold sway during the remaking of nation-states under heroic or even monarchic notions. Equally, the process of disintegration of Yugoslavia into micro-nation-states, which has produced a variegated collection of non-parallel entities, along with their informal economy, may stand as a warning, not only about the future of the EU, but also about the very functionality of the globalised economy and its industries—a warning brought back to mind now amid the current world-wide economic crisis.

These and other issues about our future intrigued me to continue to travel throughout the Western Balkans and Western Europe. This literally made me functionally homeless—or stateless in a political sense—as I moved between cities at a rate of one per week, pursuing my urban research, while seeking collaborations in both regions.



Finally, starting with a team of eight collaborators, we were able to realize Lost Highway Expedition during the summer of 2006, where roughly two hundred people travelled together through nine major cities of the Western Balkans in 25 days, two days in each city, with one day of travel in between. With collaborating organisations at each city putting together unique programmes of activities, exhibitions, lectures, and discussion, the expedition produced a series of publications, exhibitions, and other activities throughout Western Europe and the Western Balkan since then.

These projects, which I initiated or in which I participated, are centred on the question of the contemporary or future status of “place” and “identity”, amid shifting conditions, fragmentation, and reconstruction, within the ephemeral and unstable geography of our locations and heritage, where the desire or sustainability of singular or organised conditions seems utterly questionable. With much debate going on about the need for precise and accurate prescriptions for the redefinition of globalisation, now under further challenge from the current global financial crisis, we seem to require new paradigms and a more realistic strategy or structure for our existence within the simultaneous, yet conflicting, geographies of no-where and every-where.

OZ: The New Silk Roads, the ongoing project in which you have been involved for the past two years, although it is more complex and ambitious than the project you developed in the Balkans, seems further to reflect and to expand on what you call “the question of the contemporary or future status of ‘place’ and ‘identity’, amid shifting conditions, fragmentation, and reconstruction, within the ephemeral and unstable geography of our locations and heritage”. I’m thinking, for example, of the dismantling of traditional Chinese neighbourhoods and the new urban settings erected in their place, which go together with the reconfiguration of the socialist government in a market economy, etc. Following your interests, we may consider this link as a metaphor for the transformation of a power and the concrete realisation of a new framework of life when we are trying to make any sense of the urbanisation of China, etc. But the New Silk Roads project seems to be set beyond those parameters as well. You originally conceived it as an expedition-based urban research project to examine the contemporary complexity of Asia’s transformation through photographic, video, and audio documentations of the transitional regions and cities between Istanbul and Tokyo. You wanted to focus on the relationship between the materialized movements of products, labour, and resources against the immaterial movements of information, capital, and services over the real and virtual landscapes of Asia. As of now, you have visited some eight countries, of the roughly twenty that you will be involved with by the end of the project. To what extent can you say that you now understand better the cultural, political, and economic interplay within and between East and West, including their colonial and post-colonial relationships and conditions? To what extend are you interested in the new geo-political changes taking place along and around the historically globalised vectors of the old Silk Road?



KP: It’s unfortunate, but my work and experience in the Balkans did not come to a desired conclusion, particularly in producing a work in some form that could be presented to the public. But, as usual with me, I hope to return to the Balkans on a later day and finish it. I also feel that—in many ways—my work has certain consistent trajectories or interests, which link StoreFront to New Silk Roads, and everything in-between, as one single project. What exactly that is, I am not sure. Only my own life, and the works that would define it, would eventually answer that, and perhaps that is the reason why I have never been able to separate my life from my work, which could easily be shared by other artists.

The use of art as a visual language, with the purpose of understanding the riddles of life, both for individuals and society as a whole, and of presenting certain revelations that offer purpose, belief, and value to our existence, is the key reason for being an artist. Additionally, we, the artists, are given the special and perhaps tragic fate of having parallel or overlapped states of life and work. This would be my answer to those who think that we are free and irresponsible: our inability to compartmentalise our living and our working. Their inseparability is precisely the ground of our intentions, the peculiar nature of being an artist, although we do not have a monopoly on such privilege or tragedy.

In this light, it becomes clear that my nomadic practice is equal to my nomadic life, a situation where I belong to no place and to no identity. As I mentioned before, 9/11 was a precise moment when I no longer believed in the nation to which I had migrated and which I had adopted. For many, it was the moment when an empire began to decline. At least it was beginning to lose its position as the object of cultural and socially reverence throughout the world—a reverence that I myself had had as a young child in a small and remote city in Korea. But now, having lived most of life in the domain of empire, culturally assimilated to it voluntarily, I find myself unable to return to my origin, which itself has changed significantly in the meantime. Therefore, I find myself without a singular identity associated with the sovereignty of a nation or a culture, even feeling “stateless”, wanting to be no longer a member of any particular society, culture, or state, since these are no longer at the forefront of worldly advancement in human rights or equality. 9/11 was for me a point where I began to feel homeless, like 24260: The Fugitive House from Detroit, which could only sustain itself in existence by wandering through different places, away from the place of its origin.

Maybe this is the clearest explanation for my travelling throughout Western Europe, then to the Western Balkans, and now through Asia. My expeditions through Asia since the summer of 2007 are a prolonged wandering in search of a new “home”, like that of 24260, but probably without reaching or finding it at the end.

OZ: What is the reason then, and the purpose, of such a nomadic life, of this apparently never-ending working on the move?

KP: Perhaps the answer is that our perpetual movement is not limited to the objects in question, like a “home”, as in 24260, or a “person”, like me, but places, cities, and territories themselves are moving as well. This is the point that I made in Shrinking Cities, where I felt that Detroit was a “moving city”, one that slowly wanders over the land over time. Such a notion recalls the Continuous Conveyor Belt City, one of the Twelve Ideal Cities developed by Superstudio in 1972. Like an enormous snake, made of a population of 8 million, the Continuous Conveyor Belt City moves across the landscape, progressing at a speed of 40 centimetres (15 inches) an hour. Its mouth devours the natural landscape, the green fields, to construct fully equipped and operational city districts within its body, while leaving decayed and destroyed wasted landscapes behind its path, in which only the social outcasts dare to survive among its ruins, just like the inner city of Detroit. And Detroit too has moved across the landscape, outward from its centre, more like the pulsating heat wave ring of a nuclear explosion that expands out, rather than the static image of a fat doughnut that most urban geographers favoured for decades. Detroit has moved out roughly 30 miles in 50 years, 3240 feet each year, or 9 feet per day, and 11.5 cm (3.5 inches) per hour, roughly at 1/4 of speed of the Continuous Conveyor Belt City.



This is the nature of mobility: it moves the capital from "sunset" to "sunrise" locations, and Detroit is the iconic victim of the de-industrialisation of developed national economies during the 1970s and 1980s, or the single largest sacrifice to the neo-liberal economic policies that cut up the nation-state industries to feed the internationalised economic structures, which are typified by the proliferation and elevation of multi-national corporations and the legitimisation of supra-national states and institutions. The southwesterly movement of capital and labour from the northeastern region of the USA, or, more precisely, from the Rust Belt to the Oil Fields in and around Texas after the OPEC Oil Crisis of 1974, which laid the groundwork for the further and rapid demise of Detroit since the 1960s, later escalated into a virtual wholesale movement of manufacturing industries from the West to the East, first creating the export-oriented Tiger economies of South Korea, Singapore, Hong Kong, and Taiwan, which have now broadened to Southeast Asia in general, and, most importantly, to China and even India.

In many ways, my movement through a series of expeditions in Asia, in principle, corresponds precisely with the movements in general that define the contemporary condition of capital, labour, and culture, which are economically too restless to be confined to a particular territory. Again, as in the cases of 24260 and myself, perhaps the only identity that we could have from now on is a moving one, or one that is transformative and multifaceted at the same time. Not only do we see a resurgence today of transnational migrations, from labour exporting nations such as the Philippines and Indonesia to the labour importing states of the Persian Gulf, or, within a single country, China, a floating population of nearly 100 million that is currently moving from the countryside to cities; we also have Palm Springs in Hong Kong, the California suburb in the Iranian desert called Arg-e-Jadid, Malibu Town outside of Delhi, Napa Valley and Orange County villa estates outside of Beijing, or Fontainebleau Villas in Shanghai and many more replication of Western “places”, according to Laura Ruggeri, where these gated communities “have become standardised products, like cars or television sets” that can be exported and dislocated from one place to another. This self-colonisation, in contrast to the anti-Western movement to impregnate the French Concession and International Settlement areas of Shanghai with native administrations during the ascendance of the Republic of China, not only indicates a certain amount of reverence or desire to “catch up with the World”, but, more importantly, it shows that people assume the right to appropriate any culture of their own desire, albeit a popular, media-rendered one, rather than being victims of that culture. In this regard, it’s not just the East seeking the West, or, more specifically, the current mythological status of Southern California, but the latter itself dreams of Mediterranean cultures, with the frequent naming of its housing enclaves and developments after the places and styles of Spanish or Italian coastal and countryside towns and places. Such tendencies can be found in Almaty and Astana, the old and new capital of Kazakhstan, or even in the boutiques, cafés, and restaurants of Samarkand, Uzbekistan. Overall, every place seems to want to “move” to another place. Every culture is dissatisfied with having just one place, or its original place.

OZ: What about the new geo-political shifts, national conflicts, ecological issues, and scarcities of resources overwhelming parts of Asia? Are you addressing these matters in the New Silk Roads project?

KP: The breakdown of former unions of states is causing nationalist tendencies and conflicts to emerge. With the new mini-states of ex-Yugoslavia, all of them are hoping to be eventual members of the EU, which some already have become, but all independently, through separate means and ways. In turn, in Central Asia, the struggle over the resources of oil, gas, water, and arable land has pinned countries into unresolved conflicts, whereas before, they were centrally controlled by Moscow, which dictated their equal sharing, more or less. Now Kyrgyzstan and Tajikistan, possessing about 85% of the water resources of Central Asia, but without much oil and gas, are building dams to generate electricity during the winter period. This causes water runoff during winter, downstream to Uzbekistan, Kazakhstan, and Turkmenistan, flooding them, while their giant cotton fields, established to supply the rest of the Soviet Union in times past, remain dry during the summer. The lower states’ insistence on water being a universal resource to be shared by all is not equated to the idea of oil and gas as natural resources to be free to all when they are a highly price commodity in the global market, particularly because of the ever-increasing thirst to run the industries of China and India in the future.

The wars over resources, particularly that of energy, began soon after 9/11, and were partly pre-empted by the United States upon its invasions of Iraq and Afghanistan, the latter for geo-political purposes. This is the initiation of a return to colonialism throughout the territory of the globe, spurred on by environmental concerns, which, without a doubt, will increasingly include water, air, pollution, and waste disposal as well. The labour migrations throughout Asia are another indication in the new millennium of the movement of labour even if the movement of capital and commodities might be slowed and nationalised through the period of the current global financial crisis. In fact, the latter condition will likely only increase the importance of Asia in relation to the rest of the world, particularly the West, as well as the importance of emerging economic and political relationships within Asia itself.



As you already mentioned, New Silk Roads is an expedition-based urban research project that will explore the new urban landscapes that are emerging in rapidly expanding and transforming Asian cities and regions. Using the research method that I have been calling “nomadic practice”, I have already conducted a sequence of three expeditions throughout the transitional regions and cities between Istanbul and Tokyo. The first one was through Shanghai, Singapore, Seoul, Tokyo, Guangzhou, Foshan, Dongguan, Shenzhen, Hong Kong, Macau, and Beijing, in that order, from July 20 to October 2, 2007. The second was a horizontal cut through Asia, by travelling to Istanbul, Delhi, and Dubai from December 17, 2007, to January 7, 2008. The last one was made through Central Asia: Buchara, Samarkand, and Tashkent, in Uzbekistan, and then Almaty and Astana, in Kazakhstan, from September 3 to September 24, 2008.

There are several key objectives for New Silk Roads. First is to investigate new cultural, economic, and political relations between East and West that may be developing, with a conceptual reference to the old Silk Road as one of the earliest examples of globalisation. This will include the colonial and post-colonial conditions in Asia, together with the political, economic, and cultural transitions in the post-communist territories of the former Soviet Union, as well as the neo-socialist territories of the People’s Republic of China, including the new geo-political shifts that are now emerging around the middle region of the historic old Silk Road. Second is to represent the spatial and physical effects of globalisation by visualising, as you quoted, the relationship between the materialised movements of products, labour, and resources and the immaterial movements of information, capital, and services over the real landscapes and virtual spaces of Asia. Thirdly, the project will examine various conflicts and cooperation between developing and developed nations occurring within their multinational, transnational, and post-national cultures, as well as their economic and political dynamics at local, regional, and metropolitan levels. Finally, it will study the renewed interrelation between vastly different regions of Asia itself, ranging from the economic strength of the Pacific perimeter to the emerging empire of the People’s Republic of China, the renewal of Central Asia, urban fantasies in parts of the Middle East, the political stasis in Eurasia and Northern Asia, the “offices of world” in South Asia, and more.



The result may be an attempt to trace relationships between texts, data, graphs, photographs and visualisations, to offer a more comprehensive understanding of the dynamics of the urban transformations that attend the cultural, economic, and political evolution taking place on the continent. The underlying platform is the geography of territory, with data, text, and information overlaid in a time-based format, so as to create a dynamic visualisation, a kind of motion-graphics of the evolution of Asia. It’s a hugely ambitious project, obviously. And, despite a lack of resources, in terms of labour, skills, technologies, and finances, I hope, at least, to show the potential of this kind of process. Hopefully, with the exhibition and publication we are going to present at MUSAC this year, I will be able to convince many more people that this is a project for the construction of what I would like to call “knowledge software”, made from the interrogation of data, critical analysis, and intuitive speculation, and that it can show us how the geography of unstable cultures, histories, and identities might change over time and space in the future. Furthermore, to explain why it is necessary to take on such a large scope and such a vast territory in this project, I am trying to develop a notion of “relational knowledge”, a sort of anti-expert knowledge, and a counterweight to specialised and isolated disciplinary history. With the ascendancy of global human and environmental issues, it become essential, undeniable, and necessary to recognize that there is no limitation nor boundary in the quest for a better understanding of the resources and production, of anything that has relevance to the sustainability of our existence. Like the functionality and evolution of ecology, a better understanding of all elements of existence, actions, and thoughts must be pursued in order for both natural and artificial systems to function properly.