It's beautiful isn't it? It really is. A beautiful mesh. A machine for changing your mind.
Now look at this one:
It's art as geography. Full of information (Diana Liverman, geographer, liked it a lot when I saw it with her the other week). It plots each Cape Farewell participant's reactions to various environmental factors (hilariously, reactions to digestive issues are included—see if you can spot them). Bigger circles indicate bigger reactions. It's about relationships between humans and environment. It's a wonderful mesh of stories and experiences. It contains its own metalanguage within it, its own autocommentary. It's a map. It's designed to reorient you, to upgrade your thinking. Based on facts we (think we) already know. To upgrade your thinking to accommodate this new set of relationships with the facts.
Like a Wordsworth poem, which talks about strangers in terms of the narrator's encounter with them. Like a Wordsworth poem, which baffles our need for closure with swathes and swathes of blank verse (the most prose-like form available at the time). Like a Wordsworth poem, a map of traumas, a biography or series of autobiographies.
A very sophisticated version of the same thing the 350.org folks are up to. Or the guys in the Pacific who held a cabinet meeting underwater. Educational, advertorial, PR, concept art. Relational and correlationist.