In a 2011 issue of the New, Yorker Swedish biologist Svante Pääbo discussed with writer Elizabeth Kolbert the possibility of a gene that might explain why modern humans (as distinct from Neanderthals) began, as he put it, “venturing out on the ocean where you don’t see land.” Pääbo mused that “Part of that is technology, of course; you have ships to do it. But there is also, I like to think or say, some m
dness there.”
No other animals have traversed the globe as humans have, so what drives us? Pääbo believes he has identified a genetic code that can explain the touch of madness that prompts humans to become explorers. While fear and non-necessity keep every other creature from adventuring past natural borders, we—or at least some among us—have the need to search for new places and unexplored ideas.
At some point in all of my conversations with the artists featured in The New Explorers, I brought up the possibility of an “explorer gene”—a genetic mutation that would impel certain people to push past physical and psychological boundaries in pursuit of something new or somehow unseen. There seemed no denying the possibility that a genetic “madness” played a part in the artistic inquiries of the twelve artist-explorers I feature in my book.
The artists’ responses to this notion were remarkably similar. First, they exchanged knowing looks with me, and then we shared nervous laughter. Even in the present day, unlike their male counterparts—who often relish the role of the daring explorer even if it means people find them a bit mad—it’s uncomfortable for women to identify with madness.
In American culture, the great explorers of yore are immortalized—their epic adventures woven into the fabric of what it means to be American. But the heroes are all men. What about the women who possess the so-called explorer gene? If there isn’t glory to be readily won from their endeavors, what are they after?
Storm-chasing iceberg portraitist Camille Seaman was game to acknowledge that a “freak mutation” could be responsible for shaping her choice of subject matter, which she often take great risks to get close to. The photographer spoke of being drawn to the unforgiving wilderness as, “an inexplicable itch, and I think I have had it as long as I can remember.” Perhaps there is something markedly different about Seaman’s very makeup that compels her to sail the poles in search of icebergs and chase down deadly storms.
According to Pääbo’s speculation, adventurers must be motivated by either madness or curiosity. As an artist and cultural critic, I was driven by curiosity, setting out on my own expedition to engage with a new kind of female artist-explorer, to find out why they do it and what they have discovered.
With so little geographic territory on earth left to discover, a genetically driven need may explain why the idea of exploration has not become obsolete. The compulsion to see something new, to leave a familiar space, to believe you have what it takes to reach whatever out of sight place you yearn for still excites us and makes adventurers and explorers out of a select few. The archetype of the explorer, still a relevant and compelling figure in the American public’s imagination, is ripe for redefinition. Twenty-first-century female artist-explorers carry on the longstanding tradition with a decidedly different ethos, one that emphasizes conversation over conquering.