by Susan Hoffman Fishman 

During the first three decades of the 20^thcentury, Rudolf von Laban, an Austro-Hungarian dance artist and theorist who is regarded as one of the founders of modern dance in Europe, developed what he called “movement choirs.” Just as vocal choirs are groups of people singing as one, movement choirs, as Laban defined them, involve large numbers of people moving together according to directed choreography and some elements of individual expression. His theory of dance included the notion that there is a natural connection between dance and nature. He said that:

Existence is movement. Action is movement. Existence is defined by the rhythm of forces in natural balance (…) It is our appreciation for dance that allows us to see clearly the rhythms of nature and to take natural rhythm to a plane of well-organised (sic) art and culture.

In 2008, almost one hundred years after Laban created movement choirs, an international group of 11 individuals, certified by the Laban/Bartenieff Institute of Movement Studies in New York City, met at a conference on Movement and the Environment at Schumacher College in South Devon, England.

Inspired by the conference, the setting and each other, the original group of 11, all with extensive experience producing movement choirs, decided to develop a global dance project related to the environment using this format. After discarding other elements such as air, wind and soil, the group chose water as the focus of the project, which they named Global Water Dances: Dancing for Fresh Water Everywhere. Their mission was to “connect and support a global community of choreographers and dancers to inspire action and international collaboration for water issues through the universal language of dance.” Global Water Dances is now part of the Arts and Culture programming of the Laban/Bartenieff Institute of Movement Studies, the organization that originally sponsored the conference in 2008, where the project was born.

The original planning team chose Marylee Hardenbergh from among their group to serve as the Artistic/Executive Director of Global Water Dances. Hardenbergh is a choreographer and former dance therapist with decades of experience creating large-scale, outdoor, site-specific performances all over the world. Hardenbergh and I spoke by phone recently about Global Water Dances and about her own inspiring work. As she relates on her website, titled Global Site Performance, her dances have taken place at a wide variety of locations, including:

an Aerial Lift Bridge; on skyscrapers; on a bombed-out Parliament Building in Sarajevo, Bosnia; on a clock tower on the Volga in Russia; on a Mediterranean beach in Israel with a Palestinian community, and; on oyster harvesting boats on the Housatonic River. (She’s) worked with community and trained dancers all over the globe and has turned Bobcat loaders, fire trucks and Coast Guard and U.S. Army Corps boats into dancers.

When I asked Hardenbergh which of her numerous projects outside of Global Water Dances was the most memorable for her, she described The Plant Dance, which took place at a sewage treatment plant in 1995 near her hometown of Minneapolis, Minnesota. Hardenbergh’s concept was to show through dance the process that converted waste water into clean water. In addition to watching the dance itself, audience members were invited on a tour of the plant – an eye-opening experience that showed them firsthand what happened after they flushed the toilet. Ultimately, the film that was created about the project won an award from the National Water Environment Federation.

The Plant Dance choregraphed by Marylee Hardenbergh, 1995

Hardenbergh explained in our conversation that the first biennial Global Water Dances took place on June 25, 2011, with 57 sites participating, including Florence, Beijing, Berlin, Cairo, Lagos, Mexico City, Paris, Tel Aviv, The Hague, Vienna and numerous other global and U.S. cities. Local choreographers who signed up were asked to choose outdoor sites that involved water. They were given a template consisting of a component to be choreographed locally with music of their own choice and a global section in which all sites performed movements using the same music. Local planners were encouraged to include community action events related to local water issues. 

Three additional Global Water Dances occurred in 2013, 2015 and 2017 using the same format, with the number of sites growing incrementally from 63 in 2013 to 106 in 2017. Four months before the June 15, 2019 event, 125 sites have already registered. Hardenbergh described the project as an homage to water, an opportunity for audiences and dancers to pause from their busy schedules to actually look at a river or other body of water for an extended length of time, and a vehicle for community building. The video below is a compilation of the dances from Global Water Dances 2017 and shows the remarkable diversity of the sites and participants.

Although Global Water Dances celebrates and brings recognition to the beauty, power and universality of water as well as to current problems affecting the viability of water, its leadership realizes that environmental action is equally important in solving water issues. They’ve documented some examples of how the local dances have brought awareness and change to local water problems, including the two described below:

In Takoradi, Ghana (Ankobra River, 2017), environmental engineer Emmanuel Brace described how

the dance performance was choreographed to raise awareness about the adverse impacts of unsustainable mining practices, called galamsey. The ideologies reflected in the choreography and overall performances advocate a “bottom-up” approach and effective stakeholder engagement practices. The chief of Funko region and the regent of Akatenke spoke about the importance of the event and their efforts to stop galamsey practices.

In Buffalo, New York (Buffalo River, 2017), choreographer Cynthia Pegado related how

we raised awareness of the need for increased research on effects of ingested toxins and continued advocacy for clean water because research shows certain environmental exposures for people with genetic disposition increase the risk of developing Parkinson’s disease. PCBs have been found in relatively high concentrations in the brains of people who had Parkinson’s disease. Our message is especially strong because our Global Water Dances performers are people with Parkinson’s disease.

As I have learned repeatedly from writing this series, there are hundreds of visual artists, playwrights, poets, musicians, spoken word artists, etc. all over the world who are tackling the topic of water as it relates to climate change and environmental crises. The Global Water Dances project shows that the universal language of dance is a compelling vehicle for communicating ideas about climate change and the environment in an effective and engaging way.

(Top image: Global Water Dances 2013: Sunshine Coast, British Columbia)

This article is part of Imagining Water, a series on artists of all genres who are making the topic of water a focus of their work and on the growing number of exhibitions, performances, projects and publications that are popping up in museums, galleries and public spaces around the world with water as a theme.

 ______________________________

Susan Hoffman Fishman is a painter, public artist, writer, and educator whose work has been exhibited in numerous museums and galleries throughout the U.S. Her latest bodies of work focus on the threat of rising tides, the trillions of pieces of plastic in our oceans and the wars that are predicted to occur in the future over access to clean water. She is also the co-creator of two interactive public art projects: The Wave, which addresses our mutual need for and interdependence on water and Home, which calls attention to homelessness and the lack of affordable housing in our cities and towns.

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Artists and Climate Change is a blog that tracks artistic responses from all disciplines to the problem of climate change. It is both a study about what is being done, and a resource for anyone interested in the subject. Art has the power to reframe the conversation about our environmental crisis so it is inclusive, constructive, and conducive to action. Art can, and should, shape our values and behavior so we are better equipped to face the formidable challenge in front of us.

Go to the Artists and Climate Change Blog

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by Mary Woodbury

It’s hard to believe that we’re up to our tenth author spotlight in this series, but here we are, with an introduction to Jo Marshall, who spent seven years as a volunteer literacy tutor for elementary school students. In the D.C. area, from 1999 to 2006, she worked as the Legal Assistant for the General Counsels of two nonprofits – the Paralyzed Veterans of America and Oceana. Jo earned a B.A. in German Language and Literature from the University of Maryland, Europe and, from 1984-1987, she worked as a liaison between the military and international communities in West Berlin.

This is the first in our series to explore an author’s works aimed toward children, but rumor has it that adults also enjoy her stories! Still, it is perhaps our children and grandchildren who may more clearly understand the realities of climate change – and who will inherit the mess from our lack of responsibility toward it. So, for authors exploring global warming in fiction, a children’s audience seems most apt.

Jo’s Twig Stories series – the suggested reading age is 8-12 years-old – is a beautifully designed volume of four books thus far. The first in the series, published in November 2011, is Leaf & The Rushing Waters. Since then: Leaf & the Sky of Fire, Leaf & the Long Ice, and Leaf & Echo Peak. You can see that Leaf is the main protagonist, and has a pretty sweet name to boot (also the name of my favorite character in the Game of Thrones!). Jo lives in the Pacific Northwest near volcanoes, rainforests, and coastal wetlands. She is concerned about climate change impacting the wildlife and forests in this region, and so her timely eco-literature novels describe this transforming world by means of fantasy adventures involving Twigs.

Twigs are “impish stick creatures no taller than robins” and have leaf sprouts growing on their arms and legs, their toes curling like roots. Their hair and eyes reflect the color of their local trees. Children will learn about all kinds of trees, such as red cedars, emerald leaf maples, silver leaf poplars – but kids also love adventure, and the Twigs certainly have plenty of that as they must save themselves from various environmental crises beyond their control. In doing so, the Twigs are very crafty, learning how to make tools from their surroundings and fighting with courage while working with other forest animals.

Twigs are impish stick creatures,
amusing & adventurous.
They live in knotholes of ancient trees.
When climate change
threatens their old forest
Twigs stick together to survive!

From Jo’s Twig Stories

From Jo’s Twig Stories

I’ve known Jo for a few years now, featuring her books when the Eco-fiction.com site first began, and I enjoy her work – I ordered the first of her books for my niece a few years ago. Teaching kids about climate crises through fiction is something that just a few take on, though it is a growing trend. The Twigs are wonderful heroes to children, facing the same problems we are, but Twigs are smaller and more vulnerable and not at all the culprits. Twig problems reflect real problems, such as bark beetle swarms, firestorms, melting glaciers that flood and destroy the forests and valleys, and – in the latest addition – a daring escape from a volcano.

In this series on authors who explore climate change in their stories, I often look at writing styles and world-building – and one conclusion I’ve come to is that no matter how strongly the author desires to warn the readers, by far the best approach to all fiction, no matter the subject, is just great storytelling. Jo succeeds, not just with fun, insightful, and adventurous stories but with art that vividly illustrates what’s happening.

I recall being drawn to what I think of as “books of wonder” as a child. Fantasy, adventure, interesting illustrations – these things all appealed to me during my early reading years (and still do), and started me on the path to making our planet’s ecology my number one interest in all things. I had inherited some older storybooks from my parents, which were very focused on nature and the wilderness, though back then not all of these stories were particularly about environmental issues (whereas some books like Bambi, A Life in the Woods or The Giving Tree were). I read plenty of fairy tales, fables, and other fantasy stories where nature was eminent and ordinary characters became extraordinary through strength and determination.

In many cases the wilderness was a strong character, such as the mysterious forests in Snow White and Hansel and Gretel, and of course many characters came from the woods, sea, or mountains, such as mermaids, elves, fairies, and ice trolls. Fables usually centered around animals, rivers, the sun, the moon, and the sea. In all cases, nature was bigger than life, prompting me to investigate my own local forests and rivers to find that certain otherworldly beauty – finding it to be real and delicate and yet wild and powerful, and in some cases just very weird. And the morals of these stories showed how we should be fair, kind, and wise in our journeys. Fables taught us to not be greedy, to respect others (people and the wild), and so on.

In the Huffington Post, Sara Maitland suggests:

We have been aware for a long time that landscape, the natural world, deeply affects many individual writers and artists. Very often it is the landscape of childhood that imprints itself indelibly on the creative imagination…

As children, we begin to separate reality from fantasy – and stories help us learn how to do that. Fantasy is not just entertainment; it can teach us, at a young age, about imagery, allegory, and symbolism as well as how imagination empowers us as individual people. It taught me, for instance, how to recognize parable versus fundamental truth as well as how to find truths within metaphor. When a story exalts nature, we learn early, in a fun way, that we are a part of nature too. That nature exists out there, even if it isn’t always evident near our increasingly urban environments.

Good children’s writers build worlds in which the reader can both escape and yet become captive by how that world is similar to our own. I think of this captivation as a sense of pure wonder, almost magic-like in reality, something that, if we still have as adults, is remarkable. An article about children’s fantasy literature in The Conversation takes issue with the literary or realism approach in fiction often being touted as more important than fantasy. The evolution of fictional realism versus fantasy is interesting, so I would highly suggest reading the entire article, which touches upon it.  The article states:

One of the most obvious benefits of fantasy is that it allows readers to experiment with different ways of seeing the world. It takes a hypothetical situation and invites readers to make connections between this fictive scenario and their own social reality. Fantasy writing, says [Professor John] Stephens [of Macquarie University], operates through metaphor – so that the unfamiliar is used to stand in for, or comment upon, the familiar. Metaphors are obviously less precise than other forms of language (they are subject to more complex interpretive processes) and this is perhaps a significant advantage of fantasy over realism. Fantasy’s use of metaphor makes it more “open” to different readings and meanings. This allows fantasy to explore quite complex social issues in ways that are less confrontational than realism because it takes place in a world that is distanced from social reality (and can also be mediated with humor).

Teaching through fantastical stories, however, doesn’t have to take away from an author’s intention to warn – but a story doesn’t work when didactic either, which Jo avoids. When I asked Jo, “What, in your mind, is the importance of environmental storytelling to children, and how did you go about imagining Twig Stories?” she said:

Most stories based on fantasy and funny characters engage children, so it’s easy to blend in natural facts and climate change events into the Twig Stories adventures. What makes these eco-journeys significant is children experience the frightening impacts of a warming world – melting glaciers, endangered wildlife, floods, and wildfires through the experiences of Twigs. Some children become aware of climate change for the first time because of Twig Stories, and others feel a desire to help mitigate its effects. That’s a wonderful goal and that’s what makes environmental storytelling important.

When my daughter was in fourth grade we imagined Twigs playing in the old-growth forest in our back yard. It was just play as we created different characters living in the giant western cedar closest to us. Later, I was eager to share my experiences as a child camping at Yoho Kicking Horse Canyon in British Columbia with her, so we took a trip one summer. As we drove, our excitement changed to shock. Millions of trees were devastated by bark beetle infestation. It was heartbreaking to see dying forests. And we wondered how wildlife could survive. When we returned we imagined our favorite Twig, Leaf, as a hero battling the horrible, swarms of barkbiters, and rescuing other Twigs living in the dying forests. That became Leaf & the Sky of Fire.

Twig Stories’ royalties are shared with nonprofit groups concerned with wildlife protection, climate change research, nature conservancy, and forest preservation. Book illustrators include Ali Jo, who helped to illustrate a climate change for kids gallery, “Watch Over Wildlife,” interactive Twig Play section, and other design/illustrations on the website, as well as D.W. Murray, an award-winning Disney and Universal Pictures artist whose screen credits include Mulan, Tarzan, Lilo & Stitch, Brother Bear, and Curious George. An award recipient of the prestigious New York Society of Illustrators Gallery, his talent is also recognized by the 2004 Gold Aurora Award. The Twig Stories’ illustrations are brilliant and vibrant!

Jo Marshall’s Twig Stories have been lauded by Amanda Swan, Director of Development & Communications, The Lands Council; Dr.  Edwards, Manager of Education, The British Columbia Wildlife Park; D. Simon Jackson, Founder and Chairman, Spirit Bear Youth Coalition, Executive Producer, The Spirit Bear CGI Movie; Dr. Tim Foresman, Director of Development & Communications, Professor & SIBA Chair in Spatial Information, Institute for Future Environments Queensland University of Technology; Abigail Groskopf, Science Education Director, Mount St. Helens Institute; Eleanora I. Robbins, PhD, Science Explorers Club; Gwenn E. Flowers, Associate Professor & Canada Research Chair in Glaciology, Department of Earth Sciences, Simon Fraser University; Sarah Boon, PhD, Associate Professor, Geography Alberta Water and Environmental Science, University of Lethbridge; Clay Heilman, Environmental Educator, Nature Vision â€“ Environmental Education Non-profit, Woodinville, Washington; Joanna Marple, Miss Marple’s Musings; Heidi Perryman, Ph.D., President and Founder, Worth A Dam – Martinez Beavers.org; Sharon T. Brown, M.A., Director and Wildlife Biologist, Beavers: Wetlands & Wildlife; Erik, This Kid Reviews Books; Wayne S. Walker, Home School Book Review; Jennifer, A Tale of Many Reviews; Dr. Diana L. Six, Professor, Department of Ecosystem & Conservation Sciences, Integrated Forest Entomology/Pathology, University of Montana, Six Lab; Rose Sudmeier, Sixth Grade Teacher, Snohomish, Washington; Paula Hawkins, Retired Social Worker, Reno, Nevada; and Dr. Richard W. Hofstetter, Forest Entomology Professor, School of Forestry, Northern Arizona University.

This article is part of our Wild Authors series. It was originally published on Dragonfly.eco.

______________________________

Mary Woodbury, a graduate of Purdue University, runs Dragonfly.eco, a site that explores ecology in literature, including works about climate change. She writes fiction under pen name Clara Hume. Her novel Back to the Garden has been discussed in Dissent Magazine, Ethnobiology for the Future: Linking Cultural and Ecological Diversity (University of Arizona Press), and Uncertainty and the Philosophy of Climate Change (Routledge). Mary lives in the lower mainland of British Columbia and enjoys hiking, writing, and reading.

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Artists and Climate Change is a blog that tracks artistic responses from all disciplines to the problem of climate change. It is both a study about what is being done, and a resource for anyone interested in the subject. Art has the power to reframe the conversation about our environmental crisis so it is inclusive, constructive, and conducive to action. Art can, and should, shape our values and behavior so we are better equipped to face the formidable challenge in front of us.

Go to the Artists and Climate Change Blog

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by Mary Woodbury 

John Atcheson, a regular contributor to Common Dreams and Think Progress, and an environmental and political fiction author, wrote one of my favorite environmental novels, A Being Darkly Wise. The novel is set in the Boreal forest of British Columbia, with strong influence from the Dunne-za (the real people). In Being, a group of K-street and environmentalist-activist types from Washington D.C. travel on a wilderness survival trek to one of the most isolated areas of northern British Columbia with a mysterious man named Jake. The novel is set in the present day. Unlike some climate change novels, where the literary characters need to adapt to climate change in the future, Atcheson’s novel gathers people to adapt to the idea of where we’re at and very closely heading now. It’s also rich with descriptions of the wilderness – the place beyond that I (we) so want to reconnect with, and often do.

On his website, John states – on whether fiction can be autobiographical in nature:

Take Pete, the protagonist in my first book, A Being Darkly Wise. We both worked at the US Environmental Protection Agency. We both backpacked many of the most remote areas in North America. And like Pete, I have taken wilderness survival and I’m a former marathon runner (knees went). But the resemblance stops there.

I talked with John about his novel Being over three years ago. I was drawn to it because it was set in the wilderness of British Columbia, a place I have hiked, rafted, ran, studied, and written about – not to mention the story was a page-turner and had me suspended nonstop. I recently talked with John again, remembering that Being is part one of a trilogy. He let me know that part two (Black Fire Burning) is finished and in the editorial stage, and he’s working on part three (In the Language of Lemmings).

I read Being in the course of less than a week, deeply hooked on what it was saying and where it was leading. I was further intrigued by John’s answers to a few questions I had about the novel. Of all the climate change novels I’ve read, this one strikes me as the most effective at conveying a sense of urgency while imparting ancient wisdom and inspiring us about what we need to do as a human race, not just next but forever more – and, most importantly, now.

At the Free Word Centre, I featured the novel among my then (September 2014) twelve favorites novels about climate change, by saying:

“John has a background in the EPA, so he knows about the red tape involved in getting real work done to protect our environment. The story is very well written: a modern suspense and adventure tale about a group of people traveling with a very interesting guide to an isolated mountainous area in British Columbia. The book is about a journey back to one’s most essential self as one relates to nature rather than culture.”

As I noted to John recently, so much has changed in the world since 2014, when we first chatted about his book. The EPA red tape was terrible then; now the EPA has been completely undermined. A portion of our earlier interview follows.

* * *

Mary: I love the title of your book, which comes from Alexander Pope’s “An Essay on Man.” Your novel manages to remain focused on a modern-day story that fits into a long narrative of humankind’s lineage on earth. We get the feeling from reading A Being Darkly Wise that we’re on the cusp of something big, something terrible, due to climate change, resource grabs, and the human race moving away from nature. Do you agree with this assessment, and how do you think novels such as yours can make an impact on readers?

John: Starting with your first question, I do think we are on the cusp of something big: an epochal shift caused by humanity’s post-evolutionary relationship with the Earth. This is a temporary situation â€“ nature will have her way, ultimately – but it is having profound consequences.

To understand this, we must start some 3.8 billion years ago, when the first life forms emerged on Earth, and a magnificent experiment began. We humans exist – tenuously – because at this precise moment, the carefully wrought balances of energy, material, chance and time produced the one physical world and climate that allows us to survive and the ecosystems we rely on to prosper.

All the magnificent life forms we take for granted; all the exquisite natural systems that make our oxygen, provide our food, and feed our souls are a product of that 3.8 billion year journey.

So here we are, gifted with that most miraculous – and fragile – gift, a world conducive to our existence. Yet in what amounts to micro-seconds in geologic time, we are now wiping these precious gifts out like a flashflood roaring through time. Some life forms will survive this massive destruction; we might even be among them. But it will be a poorer, meaner and less prosperous world for the creatures who do manage to survive it.

With regard to the second question, I believe novels can be a powerful way of motivating cultural change. As I wrote in a review of climate fiction back in February of 2010, sometimes, fiction is the best way to influence people â€“ H. G. Wells’ The Time Machine and George Orwell’s classic 1984 come to mind. Each provoked a visceral reaction that galvanized the culture around it, changing forever the way issues such as class and totalitarianism were perceived. Neville Shute’s On the Beach made the consequences of nuclear war real, and therefore, unthinkable.

In a scientifically illiterate culture such as ours, these kinds of myth-based meta-narratives may be the best way to communicate complex scientific issues like climate change. Myths, as Bill Moyers and Joseph Campbell revealed, are not necessarily false, nor are they automatically at odds with science. At their best, they provide another way of viscerally experiencing a truth.

Finally, I think climate change is unique in terms of the kinds of challenges humanity has faced.  For the first time, we must tackle an existential threat, before the worst consequences are felt. But we may be hardwired to deal with the present proximate, not the future probable. Fiction is one way to make that future more real, more palpable.

Of course, it has to be done in a way that resonates on an emotional level – sort of the opposite of the writing I’m doing here.

Mary: I know from talking with you that you’ve spent time around the place that you’ve written about – that British Columbia is quite the wilderness area, though it is increasingly threatened by logging, mining, oil sands pipes, and supertankers on the coastal ecosystems. I’d like to pretend that we’re sitting around a campfire and you have some stories to tell. Do you have a good bear story? A good wolf story? Tell us more about your personal experiences in this wild isolated section of Canada.

John: I have hiked and backpacked across some of the wildest areas left in North America, including parts of the Boreal forests, the setting where A Being Darkly Wise takes place. Much of this was done solo, in my younger years.

As for a bear story, I do have one. Readers of my novel will recognize it – I gave it to Pete, and he remembers is early in the novel.

OK, first let’s gather around a campfire, somewhere in one of the most remote areas left in North America. Beyond the thin, fragile fringe of light afforded by the fire, is a vast forest, wrapped in a darkness that is unimaginable to those who have passed their lives in cities and towns. The trees hiss in the wind, obscuring any sounds, leaving us sightless and senseless. We have our backs to the unknown, and the unknowable. Quiet now.  Did you hear that … Just a branch crashing to the forest floor says one grizzled old guy hopefully. The circle pulls in tighter.

Yes, there could be anything out there and we wouldn’t know it until it was upon us. In this fear inducing crucible, what else is there to do but swap stories of dangerous times we’ve faced – tales of wolves, and wolverines, pumas and polecats, and of course, Grizzly.

It’s my turn, and I begin slowly.

I guess my most dramatic encounter with a grizzly occurred in Denali National Park, Alaska. It was the first week of June and most of the Park was empty. I was hiking up a braided stream bed toward a range of hills, when I rounded a bend and saw a mother grizzly with two cubs on a small rise by the stream, maybe 30 yards from me. This combined three of the worst things you can do with a grizzly – surprising a mother with cubs, coming from downwind, and being alone. I froze, and so did she, for a moment.

I’d seen plenty of bear over the years, including one fairly close call with a grizzly in the back country of Glacier National Park, but he’d run off as we approached, and most of the others had been black bear, or grizzlies at a considerable distance.

But I’d never encountered one this close. She could see me – bears have pretty good vision, but their nose is their main source of information â€“ and I was downwind. She stood on her hind legs and swayed back and forth as she tried to get my scent. She was a huge female, and completely unafraid of me. I had the sense that if there were a thought bubble over her head, it would have said something like, “Should I kill this thing now or get the cubs to safety first?” Anyway, another minute or two of that and she would have  picked up a scent – urine â€“ running down my leg.

But, fortunately, she dropped to all fours and chased her cubs over the rise, and I thought I was in the clear. Breathing a sigh of relief, I wondered whether I should head back to the road, or keep going. About the time my pulse rate got down to 150 beats per minute, there she was again, standing atop the hill, looking straight at me.

I have never felt so insignificant in my life. This was her world; the next step in our dance was hers to make, and there was nothing – not one thing – I could do. She was faster than me, stronger, and in this context, a good deal smarter. We locked eyes for a moment – another stupid thing to do: you’re supposed to be submissive in the face of an aroused grizzly.

Was I frightened? Hell, yeah. But there was something else going on here, too. I felt alive in a way I never have before or since; blood and adrenaline coursed through my veins, and I had an almost preternatural focus, as seconds became centuries, and centuries of our species history boiled up within me in seconds. No thinking now. Just her and me in a vast expanse, locked in dance choreographed by both our ancestors over a million years’ time.

All I could see were her eyes, and I struggled to read my future in them.  She did the same, as she held my gaze. She wagged her head back and forth, her black eyes fixed on me. I began to speak softly, assuring her I meant no harm. I’ll never know whether she heard me or not, but after a few more moments, she dropped to all fours and headed back over the hill.

Me? My hike was over … I headed back to the road, very happy to be alive. I have a couple of photos of her chasing her cubs over the hill. They’re not very good. I think the camera may have been shaking a bit. But they are among my favorites.

Mary: I was enchanted by Lynx from the Dunne-za (the real people). Have you spent time with this Aboriginal group? I did a little reading on them and learned that there are only 1,000 or so left. Their historical culture involved hunting-gathering, vision quests, and a religious type of prophet group called Dreamers. Is Lynx supposed to be a dreamer? You mention that the Dunne-za believe that all people have magic in them. Can you expand on these ideas?

John: I have not spent time with the Dunne-za. I first read about them years ago in British Columbia Magazine, and I was fascinated by their creation story. As you note, vision quests and Dreamers are a big part of their belief system. I was beginning to think about writing a novel, and I filed them away, sure there was a place for them. Lynx is a Dreamer, and so is Jake.

The idea that the Dunne-za believe everyone has magic in them was something I seized on for my story, although there’s some evidence that historically they did believe that. What I wanted was a way to look at our “civilized” world through the eyes of an outsider – someone who experiences the world in a way we do not, someone who can see the folly of our own beliefs and behavior.

Mary: You and I have had a little discussion on the beginning of the book, which basically starts with the main character (or one of them) reading an ad in the paper. I had pointed out that Daniel Quinn’s Ishmael began the same way; I think it’s interesting that in Quinn’s book, the ad asks for a student who has an earnest desire to save the world. You cited your inspiration to be Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, who often also begins the story with a letter or news article. I think this is an interesting writing device. The character Jake is looking for people to help him save the world. This is a long lead-up to my question, which is: Would you respond to such an ad? Where do you think it might lead?

John: I’ve had a chance to reflect on your question about Ishmael, and I’ve come to the conclusion that it may well have influenced me. It had been many years since I read it, and I’d forgotten how prominently the ad played in the opening sequence. At the same time, techniques such as letters, ads, and phone calls are pretty common methods to start a novel, so who knows, maybe it was Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, or maybe it was just another arrow I’d stored in my quiver, gleaned from reading constantly and widely. My second novel in the trilogy starts with a letter, by the way.

There are several answers to your question about answering the ad. As a young man in my twenties with no children, I would have answered such an add in a nano-second. After having children, probably not. And now, with my kids on their own, I would like to think I would.

As to where it might lead – why, to an adventure, of course. The best kind of adventure where a little bit of good might come of it.

Mary: I caught some interaction between characters, from Socratic dialogue (Jake questioning and answering those who responded to the ad) to otherwise didactic relaying of information in dialogue (such as survival tips, philosophical quips) that came out in conversation. These dialogues served as an effective tool in providing information. Did you ever feel that by doing this – which I actually thought was done quite brilliantly – you were really going to create a seed in the reader’s head? I think it worked – was this your aim?

John: It was exactly my aim.

One of the great challenges in climate change fiction, particularly for those of us who feel passionately about the need to tackle global warming immediately and seriously, is to avoid writing a polemic. If the characters and story are a thinly disguised way of making your argument, then it will show, in weak characterization, predictable or implausible plots, and deadly prose. If that’s your aim, study the science and policy and write a non-fiction book. Nothing wrong with that â€“ there are plenty of great ones out there.

But fiction must stand on character and plot. Any information a novel imparts can’t come from you, the author. It must be organic to the story and the people populating it. If it is part of conflict, or if it comes from a mysterious place, so much the better. Fiction may connect on a rational level, or it may not, but it absolutely must connect at an emotional level, or it won’t work.

One of the best examples of this comes from On the Beach by Nevil Shute. The characters’ struggle to carry on with a sense of normalcy in the face of imminent death says more about the horrors of nuclear war than a thousand essays, or a stack of statistics. When we watch Peter Holmes plant and lovingly tend a garden he will never harvest, or attempt to tell his wife how to kill their baby daughter before radiation sickness sets in, we care about them. And because we do, we not only understand the horrors of nuclear war, we feel it. 

This is the power of good fiction, and it is what I am striving for when I write.

* * *

John writes and tells great stories, fiction and otherwise. Who doesn’t like a good bear story? I was thrilled to hear the next part of the trilogy is coming soon. It is like looking forward to a visit with an old friend. When we recently talked again, he told me:

I think fiction still has an important role to play in defining the zeitgeist of an era. What I find fascinating is the plethora of dystopian works in film and fiction. I believe they are both a reflection of the times we’re in, and a creator of them. By which I mean, there’s a vague sense of dread, even among those who don’t acknowledge climate change, and dystopian stories allow them to grapple with their fear. Actually, I think the dread goes beyond climate change. The institutions and the disciplines we used to rely on are in disrepute so there’s an inchoate sense of doom … hence the other phenomena in film, and in graphic novels, The Super Hero.

This is an interesting point – the feeling of growing insecurity leading to this sense of doom. I think we’ve always felt that, but for much of the world not trusting a world leader, such as the current president of the United States, it just adds another layer of fright as though things are going to end, with a whimper or a bang, maybe in our lifetimes.

John also contributed a short story to Winds of Change: Short Stories about Our Climate, which I published at Moon Willow Press in 2015. The anthology originated from a short story contest put on by Eco-fiction.com in 2014. We recently provided John’s short story, “How Close to Savage the Soul,” for free at the Dragonfly Library in order to contribute to teaching material at Western Michigan University, whose English professors had read the anthology and thought so highly of John’s story that they really wanted to use it in their classrooms and in the book Teaching Climate Change to Adolescents: Reading, Writing, and Making a Difference. This teaching text’s comments about John’s story and others from the anthology may be found in Google Books.

I think that this kind of reach that eco-fiction and similar genres have is remarkable. Throw a contest. Publish the best entries in an anthology. And the next thing you know, some of the stories are taught to students and make it into an instructional teaching book. It’s exciting to get noticed, but for me, the love of this literature is ultimately realized when students become energized and excited by these stories – when these students who are inheriting our messes find hope. In a highly insecure and frightening world, we are building a place of wonder and inspiration, in stories. And if we look to one thing many authors who write about climate change want to accomplish, this kind of outcome is very positive.

This far reach can include nonfiction as well, and John sent me the cover teaser for his newest book, WTF America? How the US Went Off the Rails and How to Get It Back on Track.

This article is part of our Wild Authors series. It was originally published on Eco-Fiction.com on June 15, 2017.

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Mary Woodbury, a graduate of Purdue University, runs Eco-Fiction.com and Dragonfly.eco, sites that explore ecology in literature, including works about climate change. She writes fiction under pen name Clara Hume. Her novel Back to the Garden has been discussed in Dissent Magazine, Ethnobiology for the Future: Linking Cultural and Ecological Diversity (University of Arizona Press), and Uncertainty and the Philosophy of Climate Change (Routledge). Mary lives in the lower mainland of British Columbia and enjoys hiking, writing, and reading.

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Artists and Climate Change is a blog that tracks artistic responses from all disciplines to the problem of climate change. It is both a study about what is being done, and a resource for anyone interested in the subject. Art has the power to reframe the conversation about our environmental crisis so it is inclusive, constructive, and conducive to action. Art can, and should, shape our values and behavior so we are better equipped to face the formidable challenge in front of us.

Go to the Artists and Climate Change Blog

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by Yasmine Ostendorf 

In the last decade, the capital of the Netherlands has become incredibly popular with tourists, the giant letters I AMSTERDAM in front of the iconic Rijksmuseum serving as the ultimate selfie backdrop. However, slowly but surely, more and more Amsterdammers started opposing these letters, which had become a symbol of “overbranding” and “Disneyfication” of the city and museum square. Then something interesting happened: In November 2018, the Green Party (Groenlinks), now the leading party in Amsterdam, managed to have the letters removed – a bold political move that fueled a wider debate about tourism and the role of museums.

This conversation is relevant not only to Amsterdam, but to most European cities where Easyjet flights packed with sightseers land every hour. Have our museums become theme parks for tourists? Exhibitions are consumed –as well as plenty of coffee and cake – and topped off with the unavoidable “exit through the gift shop.” There seems to be no escaping selfies and slogans, consumption and queues.

People are increasingly living in cities: from 50% of the global population in 2008 (when the population was 6.7 billion) to an expected 84% in 2100 (when the population will be a mind-boggling 11.2 billion). Aside from the fact that we need to start talking about this frightening population growth, I’m expecting a growing need (and interest) for museums located outside of cities – far from the hustle and bustle. So next time you are looking for a weekend activity, consider visiting an art institution that is not only in a beautiful and tranquil area, but that also curates exhibitions and programs events on the topics of ecology and sustainability. Please find below my personal favorite Top 10 most exciting art institutions in rural areas – in Western Europe (for now).

Just don’t say you got it from me and don’t go there all at once!

1. Verbeke Foundation, Belgium

Founded by art collectors Geert Verbeke and Carla Verbeke-Lens, the Verbeke Foundation is a private art site, which opened its doors to the general public in June 2007. A “refuge” for art, the foundation holds an impressive collection of modern and contemporary art and offers exciting possibilities for emerging as well as less renowned artists.

‏Culture, nature, and ecology go hand in hand at the Verbeke Foundation. With 12 hectares (29.7 acres) of scenic area and 20,000 m² (4,9 acres) of covered space, the Foundation is one of the largest private initiatives for contemporary art in Europe. The warehouses of the former Verbeke transportation agency were converted into unique exhibition halls, and one of the buildings houses an extraordinary collection of collages. Artists have the opportunity to be in residence, and large and small exhibitions are held at the museum continuously.

Our exhibition space does not aim to be an oasis. Our presentation is unfinished, in motion, unpolished, contradictory, untidy, complex, inharmonious, living and unmonumental, like the world outside of the museum walls. You will find no flamboyant sensational buildings here but rather a refreshing, unpretentious place to look at art and a subtle criticism of the art world.

Founders Geert Verbeke and Carla Verbeke-Lens

Founders Geert Verbeke and Carla Verbeke-Lens

2. Museum Insel Hombroich, Germany

Museum Insel Hombroich aims to be in harmony with nature, or to show “art in parallel with Nature.” This description echoes the quote by French Post-Impressionist painter Paul Cézanne: “Art is a harmony parallel to nature.” It captures the spirit of the Museum, which explores the idea of creating a space as an ideal in both museum and landscape terms.

Opened to the public in 1987, Museum Insel Hombroich sits on a 21-hectare, conservation-grade landscape and is comprised of ten pavilions (called “walk-in sculptures”), which are open exclusively during daylight hours. Some pavilions are quite hidden amid stunning meadows filled with wildflowers. The absence of captions, labels, signposts or even barriers in front of the works contributes to making this a very tranquil and almost spiritual experience; you can fully engage with the artworks and get lost in the experience. It’s not about the fame or ego of the artist (though there are some incredibly famous works in the collection). Furthermore, there is hardly any artificial lighting, which allows the works to always be connected to the outside world.

To me, Hombroich means not only the construction of a museum, but an attempt to find a new way of living with all the ideas and things that one might almost see as having been disparaged in our current society.

Karl-Heinrich Müller (1936–2007), founder of Museum Insel Hombroich and Foundation

Karl-Heinrich Müller (1936–2007), founder of Museum Insel Hombroich and Foundation

3. Kasteel Wijlre, The Netherlands

Located less than half an hour away from the quaint town of Maastricht, tucked between the rolling hills of Limburg, you will find Kasteel Wijlre, a castle-esque private home turned contemporary art space. Though it received the European Garden Award in 2014, the term “castle park” seems more appropriate for this three-hectare green area, which includes lawns, a rose garden, an apple orchard, an herb garden, a vegetable garden and a toad pool. This “castle park” houses several permanent artworks, including the archetypal Broken Circle by Ad Dekkers, and the easily missed, yet not-to-be-missed bronze tree by Giuseppe Penone, hidden among “real trees.”  Previous exhibitions have included a selection of previously unseen collages, photographs and drawings by Gordon Matta-Clark, as well as the exhibition What About A Garden (shown above), examining how the garden affects our thinking and sense of agency.

We love sculptures, but didn’t want a sculpture garden. In our garden, a tree is never sacrificed to make way for an artwork. In Wijlre, art, architecture, and landscape form a perfect unity.

Founders and collectors Marlies and Jo Eijck

Founders and collectors Marlies and Jo Eijck

4. Hauser & Wirth Somerset, United Kingdom

The fancy and well-known contemporary art gallery Hauser & Wirth is mostly associated with bustling city-life, with its galleries located in cosmopolitan hubs such as London, Los Angeles, New York, Zurich and Hong Kong. However, in 2014 Hauser & Wirth decided to bring their next artistic venture to a farm that had been derelict for several decades in rural Somerset. Next to the old and restored barns turned exhibition space, and a great restaurant, there is the stunning outdoor area: a landscaped garden dotted with sculptures designed by internationally-renowned Dutch landscape architect Piet Oudolf. With conservation, education and sustainability at the core of its mission, Hauser & Wirth Somerset offers a variety of special events including talks, seminars, workshops and film screenings. It is also home to a bookstore and an artist-in-residence program where visiting artists can immersive themselves in the idyllic surroundings.

5. Louisiana Museum, Denmark

Sitting on a cliff, overlooking a stretch of ocean between Sweden and Denmark, is a museum that was initially intended to only exhibit Danish art when it opened in 1958. It is still home to significant Danish modern and contemporary art, but it also displays work from beyond the Danish borders and keeps close ties with museums globally. The grounds around the museum include a landscaped sculpture garden that connects art, landscape and architecture. The property slopes towards the Øresund strait and is dominated by huge, ancient tree specimens and sweeping vistas of the sea.

On display are works by artists such as Jean Arp, Alexander Calder and Louise Bourgeois. The sculptures are either placed so they can be viewed from within the building, in special sculpture yards, or they are installed around the gardens, where they enter into a symbiotic relationship with the surrounding lawns, trees and the sea.

6. CDAN (Center for Art and Nature), Spain

On the outskirts of the city of Huesca, in the north of Spain, you might not immediately expect a cutting-edge expo on gender and ecology, yet this is exactly the type of exhibition you find at the Center for Art and Nature. Merging art and nature through contemporary art exhibitions, the center invites new reflections on the relationship between creation and landscape. In most shows, the visitor is encouraged to be an active collaborator.

The beautiful natural light, and the quality of the landscape and natural elements that surround Huesca, contribute to making a visit to CDAN a  stimulating yet calming experience.

7. Centre international d’art et du paysage de l’île de Vassivière, France

This incredible museum is located in the middle of a lake and reached only by footbridge (or boat). Apart from it being on an island, the Centre international d’art et du paysage de l’île de Vassivière (the International Center of Art and Landscape at Vassivière Island) stands out because of its emblematic lighthouse and aqueduct-shaped building, designed by Aldo Rossi and Xavier Fabre.

The Centre is a place dedicated to contemporary creation, experimentation, production, research, exchange, training, and reception. It aims to be a habitable and convivial place for art on a human scale, and presents series of temporary exhibits. Over the months and years, great names have exhibited their works there including Pierre Bismuth, Hubert Duprat, Yona Friedman, Cyprien Gaillard, Thomas Hirschhorn and Tino Sehgal. A stroll in the beautiful natural environment of the island is mandatory.

8. Skaftfell Art Center, Iceland

Skaftfell, based in Seyðisfjörður East Iceland, is a visual art center with the essential role of presenting, discoursing, and encouraging the development of contemporary art. It is a meeting point for artists and locals and its activities consist of exhibitions and events, alongside an international residency program and outreach program. Skaftfell is also the guardian of a very small house previously owned by a local naïve artist Ásgeir Emilsson (1931-1999). In March 2013, Skaftfell received an Icelandic award, Eyrarrósin, for outstanding cultural leadership in a rural area.

The Center also hosts a residency program that allows artists to live and work in a unique micro community where creativity is applied to the everyday, and that fosters dialogue between art and life. Over 250 artists have come to Seyðisfjörður and to East Iceland through the Skaftfell residency over the past 20 years. Some have left a physical trace, or a trace in someone’s memory. Some have returned many times, and others have stayed for good. Skaftfell is far away from the busy capitals of contemporary art, and it offers a refuge for artists – a hiding place, and a thinking space. The Center encourages artists to embrace the idea of a slow residency, and to allow themselves time for contemplation, setting the ground for a shift in their practice.

9. Volcano Extravaganza, Italy

Every year since 2011, Fiorucci Art Trust has presented the artist-led program Volcano Extravaganza on the volcanic island of Stromboli, Aeolian Islands, Italy. Artistic leaders of previous editions include Runa Islam (2018), Eddie Peake (2017), Camille Henrot (2016), Milovan Farronato (2015), Haroon Mirza (2014), Lucy McKenzie (2013), Nick Mauss (2012), and Rita Selvaggio (2011). In recent editions, Fiorucci Art Trust collaborated with the Serpentine Galleries. The events include film screenings, contemporary art exhibitions in the Fiorucci Art Trust houses, and experimental performances across the island.

10. Mustarinda, Finland

The Mustarinda Association, comprised of a group of artists and researchers whose goal is to promote the ecological rebuilding of society, the diversity of culture and nature, and the connection between art and science, is located in a house at the edge of the Paljakka nature reserve in Kainuu, Finland.

Contemporary art exhibitions, boundary-crossing research, practical experimentation, communication, teaching, and events form the core of their activities. Mustarinda reaches towards a post-fossil culture by combining scientific knowledge and experiential artistic activity.

The Association is active both locally and internationally, and is involved in the PoFo project in collaboration with the Helsinki International Artist Program where they invite people from various fields to discuss what a  post-fossil future might look like.

PS: I’m researching similar initiatives outside of Europe – in Africa, Asia, South-America, etc. Please let me know if you know of any hidden art gems in rural areas!

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Curator Yasmine Ostendorf (MA) has worked extensively on international cultural mobility programs and on the topic of art and environment for expert organizations such as Julie’s Bicycle (UK), Bamboo Curtain Studio (TW) Cape Farewell (UK) and Trans Artists (NL). She founded the Green Art Lab Alliance, a network of 35 cultural organizations in Europe and Asia that addresses our social and environmental responsibility, and is the author of the series of guides “Creative Responses to Sustainability.” She is the Head of Nature Research at the Van Eyck Academy (NL), a lab that enables artists to consider nature in relation to ecological and landscape development issues and the initiator of the Van Eyck Food Lab.

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Artists and Climate Change is a blog that tracks artistic responses from all disciplines to the problem of climate change. It is both a study about what is being done, and a resource for anyone interested in the subject. Art has the power to reframe the conversation about our environmental crisis so it is inclusive, constructive, and conducive to action. Art can, and should, shape our values and behavior so we are better equipped to face the formidable challenge in front of us.

Go to the Artists and Climate Change Blog

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Fire has been an element of the Australian landscape for tens of thousands of years. The indigenous Aboriginal people used it in a controlled manner to manage fuel loads, and more recently European settlers also used it to clear land for pasture. But out of control wildfire can exact immense devastation on both the natural environment and civilization. And only two things ignite a wild fire: lightening and the actions of people.

Growing data on global catastrophic fires reveals that exaggerated – often record-breaking – droughts and heat driven by human-induced climate change are causing more extreme fires to strike, and strike more frequently. Recent horrific wildfires in Spain, Portugal, Greece, California, Chile and even Hawaii add a heavy weight to this testimony. 2018 saw fires in Sweden reach inside the Arctic Circle for the first time. The 2018 wildfire season in California was the deadliest and most destructive on record, with a total of 8,527 fires burning an area of 1,893,913 acres.

Ten years ago, on February 8, 2009, Australia experienced its most catastrophic fire in recorded history; 173 people perished and the fire burned a staggering 1,000,000 acres in a single day. The week before the fire assault saw consecutive days over 43 °C in Melbourne’s central business district. On the day of the fire, a new heat record of 46.4 °C (115.5 °F) was set. (This record was broken again in January this year with 46.7 °C .)

The day of the 2009 Black Saturday Fire, 100 km/h winds
blew from the inland desert, inflicting something like a hot fan oven in
overdrive on all living beings. To aggravate the situation, with no rain for
over a month, and an eleven-year dry period, the landscape was like an
explosive time bomb hyperventilating from strong drying winds. These combined
climatic conditions made it evident that infrastructures like trains, power,
etc. were struggling and that they were simply not designed for these extremes.

The fire ignited about 50 km away from where I live at St. Andrews from an electrical transformer fault. Windblown embers then started a fire a few valleys over from us which began heading towards our house and the Baldessin Press printmaking studio. We were away from the area, and as the ferocious fire front approached, the neighbors were frantically calling, telling us: don’t expect a house when you get back. But as fate would have it, the wind suddenly changed and blew in from the south at about 120 km/h; the fire changed direction, away from the press. However, the long burning flank suddenly became the head and the scale escalated by 100 times.

The immense destructive force rushed away from our place, and up the valley to the top of the mountain at speeds of about 200 km/h with the roaring sound of low flying jets. The heat was so intense that houses and cars exploded before the flames even reached them. From some angles, the fire was so hot that there was no real smoke – just flames and fire balls from vaporized eucalyptus oil in the leaves of the trees. Most people had no warning or chance of escape.

While we are privileged to operate a printmaking studio in a bushland setting, The Baldessin Press, and the fire missed us by a wind change and a few kilometers, we had an artist friend who had worked in the studio perish in the fire. We were not home at the time but returned home the next day.

My first trip into the burnt-out desolate area was with Stewart Morgan up Olives Lane to his devastated property. As soon as I opened the door of the car, there was an overwhelming peculiar smell or sensation of a smell. Years ago, when I was in my 20s, I had been put up to change the stones on the base of a large bread oven. I was the skinniest one on hand. I had to crawl inside the oven, pass out the stones, and lay the new stones. Inside the oven was a strange sensation, as though the oxygen had been consumed
through the intense heat. Now, on opening the door of the car, the same sensation from 40 years earlier came flooding back. The smell sensation of the fire area, the charred trees and ash, was the same only much more intense. It was as though all the living energy had been consumed and we were in a vacuum devoid of life.

As an artist I felt compelled to respond to the fire. A few days after the tragic event, I gained police permission to enter the area and photographed the charred ashen landscape. I took a series of three disjointed images that combined to create a triptych in a technique I had used on The Last Rivers Song project in 1983. Over nearly 2 years, I continued to return to the fire-affected area and photograph the regeneration of the bush and nature. I built a huge archive of thousands of photographs.

From this enormous archive I was challenged to produce works that embodied the complexity and subtleness of the gradual return of green from the stark grey landscape. A time-based screen work offered a
solution.

Hence, the Entropy project evolved. I worked with Alex Hayes to develop two apps. One allowed me to build a huge composite image of hundreds of triptychs. In total, there were 30 of these mosaic composites.

The second projection application was written in C++ and when playing, began by selecting one of 30 large composite images and randomly generated a pathway to a single image, which eventually filled the screen before returning to another large composite image. The projection plays at 120 frames per second and manages over 5,000 images. Unlike a video loop, the application creates a random on-going unique sequence from the archive. Entropy String randomized projection featured in Bushfire Australia at TarraWarra Museum of Art in 2010. The projection consisted of more than 4,500 images and was developed with assistance from Regional Arts Victoria and Arts Victoria.

The work juxtaposes the abstract macro view by zooming into the micro.

While prints from the archive were exhibited in a number of exhibitions, in 2011 the work featured in a solo exhibition at the Australian Centre for Photography, with prints and the screen work. The series also featured in a solo survey exhibition at Deaken University Art Gallery in 2014, A PHOTO: synthetic pathway.

The screen work was purchased by Deakin University and plays continuously in the library at the Burwood Campus. The project can be viewed as a free e-book.

As an opportunity to reflect and commemorate the tenth anniversary of the fire, the local Nillumbik Shire Council has curated an exhibition, Renewal, which will be held January 24 – February 25, 2019 across two spaces: Eltham Library Community Gallery and Wadambuk Art Gallery.

(Top image: A large composite work, Entropy string 25, consisting of Triptychs 354, including 1062 images, is included in the exhibition. Pigment print, 110 cm x 194 cm.)

See also Lloyd Godman’s previous article: Creating Sustainable Living Plant Sculptures

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Lloyd Godman is an ecological artist whose current work explores practical ways to integrate plants into urban infrastructure in a truly sustainable manner. He established and was head of the photo section at the Dunedin Art School, New Zealand for twenty years before moving to Melbourne, where he taught at RMIT for nine years. He is Vice President of the Baldessin Press, where he lives with his partner. Lloyd holds an MFA from RMIT University Melbourne (1999). Perhaps this from John Power, Editor of Facility Management Magazine best sums up his work.  â€œLloyd Godman is one of a new breed of environmental artists whose work is directly influencing “green” building design… Godman’s installations are the result of a unique blend of botanical science, environmental awareness and artistic expression. All three elements are intrinsic to the practical realization of his polymathic vision.”

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Artists and Climate Change is a blog that tracks artistic responses from all disciplines to the problem of climate change. It is both a study about what is being done, and a resource for anyone interested in the subject. Art has the power to reframe the conversation about our environmental crisis so it is inclusive, constructive, and conducive to action. Art can, and should, shape our values and behavior so we are better equipped to face the formidable challenge in front of us.

Go to the Artists and Climate Change Blog

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by Joan Sullivan 

I’d love to go on a treasure hunt with Dutch designer Merel Karhof through the backstreets and cul-de-sacs of London or Amsterdam.

Karhof, who splits her time between the two cities, has spent more than a decade perfecting what she calls “revealing the unnoticed” in public spaces. Trained at the Design Academy (Eindhoven) and the Royal College of Art (London), Karhof delights in combining playful curiosity with technical research and design. The result is an impressive body of work that draws our attention to the many gifts provided by nature – wind, light and water – in urban environments.  

“These natural elements are my tools, part of my toolbox,” explained Karhof in a trans-Atlantic phone interview. “What is important to me is to explain [technical] things to people through my work.”

Wind energy is one of Karhof’s favorite tools. As a designer, she wondered what would be the best way to demonstrate how the wind’s free energy can be harnessed to create useful products. In 2009, after several months of research, she designed what is quite possibly the world’s first wind-powered knitting machine.

The genius of Karhof’s Wind Knitting Factory is that it is accessible. Unlike the industrial wind turbines that I photograph (most of which are located far from urban centers), Karhof’s portable windmill can be installed almost anywhere in an urban setting, perched atop a variety of surfaces: windowsills, balconies, gates, porches, fences, and even on a simple tripod.

“I bring my windmill with me when I travel,” Karhof says. “Wherever I set it up, it draws people in. At first they are surprised and then they smile when they realize what I am doing.”

What she is doing, in my opinion, is extremely important. Whether intentionally or not, Karhof has added her voice to those of other artists who are “changing the narrative” about climate change and the inevitable clean energy transition. She does this by creating a sense of awe and wonder about a humble technical object – a windmill – that many people have never seen up close, much less in their own neighbourhoods.

Karhof’s wind knitting machine acts like a magnet: it immediately draws people in, seducing them to take a few minutes out of their busy schedules to meditate on the delightful fact that the wind is knitting a woolen scarf – right in front of their eyes. Imagine the potential conversations about clean energy that designers such as Karhof could have with a captive audience like this!

Now imagine these same conversations continuing over the following days and weeks, as Karhof’s wind-knitted scarves are purchased and given as gifts to friends and family. This is how artists and designers contribute to “changing the narrative” – by lighting a spark that continues to burn on its own, without further intervention by those who initiated it. The same could be said of Lennon/Ono’s iconic anthem Imagine, which continues to inspire almost 50 years after it was written.

Karhof’s message is simple: urban environments provide myriad energy resources – wind, solar, water – that are “unnoticed” and, by consequence, unused. The majority of the free wind energy that whips through our cities remains unharnessed. Artists, designers and architects can help open our eyes to “see” these gifts and, more importantly, to find creative and sustainable ways to turn them into useful products or to power our lives.

If you would like to purchase one of Karhof’s wind-knitted scarves, visit her online store. She also sells other wind-knitted textiles including bracelets, cushions and upholstered furniture at art installations, galleries, art shows and online.

Wind is not the only tool in Karhof’s artist toolbox. She frequently collaborates with other designers and scientists on a wide variety of projects that explore color, light, water, natural dyes, recycled tiles and, most recently, reviving the old Dutch craft of leather tanning using discarded fish skins. I will save these treasures for a future post about Merel Karhof, preferably after accompanying her through the backstreets and cul-de-sacs of London or Amsterdam as she hunts for her next inspiration to “reveal the unnoticed” of our daily urban lives. If I am lucky, in London and Amsterdam.

(Top image: Photo by Merel Karhof.)

This article is part of the Renewable Energy series.

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Joan Sullivan is a Canadian renewable energy photographer. Since 2009, Joan has found her artistic voice on the construction sites of utility-scale wind and solar projects. Her goal is to help others visualize – to imagine â€“ what a post-carbon world will look like. Joan is currently working on a photo book about Canada’s energy transition. She also collaborates with filmmakers on documentary films that explore the human side of the energy transition. Her renewable energy photographs have been exhibited in group shows in Canada, the UK and Italy. You can find Joan on Ello, Twitter and Instagram. 

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Artists and Climate Change is a blog that tracks artistic responses from all disciplines to the problem of climate change. It is both a study about what is being done, and a resource for anyone interested in the subject. Art has the power to reframe the conversation about our environmental crisis so it is inclusive, constructive, and conducive to action. Art can, and should, shape our values and behavior so we are better equipped to face the formidable challenge in front of us.

Go to the Artists and Climate Change Blog

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