There are so many different connections. Is the server connected to the battery? To the controller? To the panels? To the power supply? To the internet? Am I connected to the internet? Can I connect to the server? Are the Minecraft authentication servers down? Do I have the right password, the right IP address, the right port, the right account, the right profile, the right amperage, the right solder, the right room?
Sometimes, when I build, it’s because I want to share the space with someone else. A base becomes a space for friendship, and collaboration. A house serves as proof of my participation on the server, and where I locate myself according to the other players changes how they will interact with me online. Design becomes a negotiation when you decide to settle down with another player, especially when that means sharing a storage system. Your building becomes a space for shared memory, where someone other than yourself can move through it, notice it, and respond to it.
This idea of regrowth or reclamation had a singularly humanist pretension in that the game’s progression, especially in the solipsistic single player world of Minecraft, was all for my own benefit. I wasn’t greening the world; I was greening MY world and indeed I only needed to change the land as much as my eye could see (if that). So, this grand ecological gesture which seemed at first so poignant suddenly struck me as just an enthusiastic form of gardening.