By Brooke C. White, Gina Caruso, Rick Dettwyler, Suzanne Greenberg

Reader-submitted stories of the COVID-19 pandemic, in no more than 100 words. Read past stories here. Submit your own here.

I AM ESSENTIAL

10:45 AM. Metro North? Uh uh. I drive. ICON parking. Gloves, homemade mask around my neck, red polka dots. I take the ticket, walk three blocks to work. A few pedestrians. We nod, acknowledging the war. It’s important to get news on the air. I risk my life, my family’s health, for Lester and Rachel and Stephanie, who all get to work remotely. I don’t. I’m essential. Home, it’s midnight. I stand outside, have a smoke, remove my clothes. They go in the basket marked radioactive. Then shower, pajamas, bourbon, ice. I don’t feel it. I can’t, or I’ll cry.

— Rick Dettwyler (Amawalk, New York)

* * *

MY NINETY-ONE-YEAR-OLD MOM

My mother is ninety-one years old and completely deaf. When one of her five daughters calls her, she can’t hear the phone ring, even if she’s sitting right next to it. Her fellow assisted living residents must be six feet apart, so she can’t converse with them either. My mother doesn’t email or text, so my older sister bought her a phone that displays our conversations on a screen. Now that her gift of gab has been restored, she can rant about politics, gossip, and give unsolicited advice extravagantly, for which my sisters and I are extraordinarily grateful.

— Gina Caruso (Baltimore, Maryland)

* * *

GASP

I stand in front of our old refrigerator. The door is open, and I’m aware that whatever cold air was left is now leaking out. Still, I can’t help but stare. The previously empty shelves are weighted down with almond milk and wine and tortillas. These days, with two adult children home, we are suddenly a family of four. Steve tries not to shop too often and yesterday found a stocked grocery store. I have asthma and am grateful he shops. But our refrigerator feels as if it’s gasping for air. Once again, I think, please don’t die.

— Suzanne Greenberg (Long Beach, California)

* * *

WANDERINGS

In my most recent work, Wanderings, I include a broad range of photographic approaches, including digital capture and output, photo-encaustic on paper, and historical processes such as wet plate collodion. Wanderings began in 2015 as an investigation into place and family, and now amidst the COVID lockdown, I have found myself and my daughter isolated for days on end with nowhere to go but to walk on our six acres. In this space, new worlds have been created, ideas fostered, and photographic collaboration between mother and child has developed.

— Brooke C. White (Oxford, Mississippi)

(Top photo: Tree hugger.)

———-

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

Powered by WPeMatico

By Alined Bolero, Laurie Marshall, Lisa Suhair Majaj, Nighat Gandhi

Reader-submitted stories of the COVID-19 pandemic, in no more than 100 words. Read past stories here. Submit your own here.

READING BHITAI DURING LOCKDOWN

We read Bhitai, the eighteenth century patron saint and poet of Sindh. A friend and I do readings on a WhatsApp call across borders. I choose Sur Sorath, the story of a traveling musician and the king of Sorath, who offers any reward he wants, so besotted is he with the musician. The musician wants nothing but the king’s head. Sadly reminiscent of the time of coronavirus:

Neither rich nor poor escape its clutches
It takes whosoever’s life it wishes
In its snare rulers and kings turn to dust
May such a seeker never come to town
Whose coming is the call of death

— Nighat Gandhi (India)

(Top photo: Musicians sing Bhitai’s poetry at his shrine in Bhit Shah, Sindh, Pakistan.)

* * *

FREEFALL

I’ve been doing online yoga with a friend, the poses channeling my motion. We don’t realize what freedom is until it’s restricted. My son says I seem more active in lockdown than in normal life—daily yoga, my government-permitted walk around the block—but I feel like a hamster on a wheel. Outside in the silent streets time seems in freefall, spring slipping away without us. One day the lot down the street is full of wildflowers, the next day it’s clods of brown earth. I remember that last afternoon at the beach: feet walking, then running.

— Lisa Suhair Majaj (Nicosia, Cyprus)

* * *

YOU ARE LOVED

The edifices crumble.

I felt this way when my marriage fell apart. I looked at our 150 year-old brick house and saw it dissolve into sand—this tall building that I thought was firm.

Yes, my friend replied. I’m alone. I have the symptoms. Fever. Cough. I can’t get tested because I didn’t come in contact with someone who has the virus. No one knows if they have the virus because there are no tests. I have to be in respiratory failure to get tested.

If I die, who will take my cat? Who will take my birds?

— Laurie Marshall (Novato, California)

* * *

POOR QUEER ON COVID-19 POST

March 23.
ACT UP New York posts an image referencing David Wojnarowicz.
The Twitter queers and allies tear it up.
“Why Mar-a-Lago? … this ain’t it.”
“DO NOT COMPARE THESE TWO.”
They forget that the poor and the colored bodies were most impacted by the HIV/VIH and AIDS/SIDA epidemic(s)…
They are suffering.
Cada dia, noche, y año.
No access to health care.
Upward mobility blinds—blinds the better off.
The comparison? The poor and colored bodies suffer(ed) the most.
So if I die because of a lack of resources, take me to Mar-a-Lago.

— Alined Bolero (Orange, California)

______________________________

This series is edited by Thomas Peterson. One of the editors of Artists & Climate Change, he is also a theatre director and researcher whose work focuses on the climate crisis.

———-

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

Powered by WPeMatico

By Amy Brady

As someone who works in the climate storytelling space, I have marveled the last couple of weeks at how climate change activists, writers, artists, and other storytellers have responded to the COVID-19 health crisis, drawing important links between the outbreak and climate change. I want to bring attention to these voices, which include, among others, Mary Annaïse Heglar (What Climate Grief Taught Me About the Coronavirus), and Bill McKibben (The Nature of Crisis).

As for this series, it’ll keep the interviews coming for as long as I can. I think there’s something to be said for maintaining some kind of normalcy during periods of uncertainty. I also think that the work of the artists I feature continues to be vitally important. 

Case in point: This week’s interviewee, filmmaker and magazine editor Emmanuel Vaughn-Lee, is the director of Earthrise, a documentary film about the first photograph of Earth taken from space. You can stream the 30-minute film online. 

I was delighted to interview Emmanuel. Not only am I a fan of his filmmaking, I love his magazine, Emergence. Serving as the magazine’s Executive Editor, Emmanuel has created a space on the internet for beautiful and ground-breaking storytelling that crosses genres and pushes the limits of what a multi-media publication can do. The magazine, which is mostly online but also publishes an annual print edition, focuses on climate change, environmental justice, and ecological mindfulness. In the wake of the outbreak, Emergence is also offering FOR FREE an online book club, conversations with contributors, a nature writing course, and other workshops. I recommend checking all of them out.

In this interview, I spoke with Emmanuel about his filmmaking and his work at Emergence, what he sees as the value of multi-media environmental storytelling, and what he hopes to publish at Emergence in the near future. 

As the maker of Earthrise, a documentary about the first photograph of Earth from space, and the Executive Editor of the ecologically minded Emergence Magazine â€“ both of which we’ll discuss in more detail momentarily – you have long focused your artistic energy on environmental justice, climate change, and other ecological and humanitarian concerns. What draws you to your subject matter?

I have always felt drawn to stories that explore our relationship to the living world, and all the myriad forms that relationship takes. Climate change, environmental justice, ecological, and humanitarian issues are all interconnected. We can’t look at what is happening to our ecosystems – locally or globally – without looking at ourselves. We need to look deeper at the root causes of these issues, which to me stem from our separation from and desacralization of the Earth.

Through my films, I’ve been exploring both of these root causes. The lens might shift from a personal character-driven story about the first US climate refugees to a film about the last speaker of a Native American language or the story of the Earthrise photograph. Still they all seek to reveal the impacts of disconnection and separation from the living world and explore the threads connecting ecology, culture, and spirituality.

Stories can be powerful tools not only in raising awareness or understanding but also in helping to weave back together a fabric of connection with the living world.  They have always been and will continue to be the foundation of our cultures. Yet, because of greed, materialism, and exploitation, our stories have become distorted, and our fabric frayed. We’ve become profoundly disconnected from our roots and from the Earth. We need the kind of stories that help us to weave those threads back together and build a foundation grounded in reciprocity, kinship, and connection with the Earth.

Emergence Magazine is a quarterly online publication with an annual print edition that launched in early 2018. Please tell us about how you came to be involved with the magazine.

Up until founding Emergence, I had primarily worked within the mediums of film and music (I was a jazz musician before I became a filmmaker). But I’ve always been interested in pairing different mediums together to create a unique and dynamic storytelling experience. I’d done some of this in the past, creating online platforms or multimedia that blended film, photography, essays, audio, and interactive web experiences, but on a much smaller scale than what we’ve been doing at Emergence.

The idea of creating the magazine came from the desire to create a multidimensional storytelling platform that combined all these mediums and experimented with new mediums to create a compelling narrative experience and explore how to live in relationship with the living world in a rich and meaningful way. Expanding on what I’ve been trying to do through my films and work over the last fifteen years, I wanted to create a platform that invited diverse writers, artists, and filmmakers into a space where they can explore ideas and create and share compelling and meaningful stories.

Emergence launched as a multi-media publication that combines visual art, sound, documentary, and all kinds of writing. How do you see these various modes of creation working together to tell stories? 

The notion of what a “magazine” is has been changing as publications leverage the web, podcasts and digital storytelling as part of the magazine format. If you’re purely a print publication, then the stories you can tell are limited to ones that can be presented on the printed page. Being both an online and print publication with a podcast means we can leverage multiple mediums to tell stories and engage with audiences through diverse formats.  Sometimes the best or most dynamic way to tell a story is through film, photography, or multimedia, whereas other times, the best approach is through a traditional article or essay. Virtual reality is a new medium that opens up dramatically different ways to tell or experience a story. And listening to an author narrate their essay is a different experience than reading it. 

We’ve also been telling stories that bring multiple mediums together and encouraging collaborations between artists, writers, and filmmakers.  For example, in our latest issue on Trees, we have two of these collaborations. A multimedia experience with poet Forrest Gander and artist Katie Holten exploring the relationships that surround the redwood tree and a film and essay on the church forests of Ethiopia by writer Fred Bahnson and filmmaker Jeremy Siefert.

With these diverse mediums, we’re trying to both offer a multi-sensory way of telling and experiencing stories while engaging with audiences in ways that dynamically explore the print, online, and podcast formats.  The vision behind Emergence was always to create a space where these mediums of creative expression would live and thrive side by side, informing each other, building off each other, and offering audiences multiple ways to slow down and connect with these stories.

What kinds of stories – in terms of form or content – do you hope to tell in the future at Emergence?

One of the most exciting things we’ve been experimenting with at  Emergence is offering a live event and gallery experience of the magazine. Over the past year we’ve done a series of special “pop-up” events with film screenings, virtual reality installations, gallery installations, and live storytelling. In the same way we’ve been combining mediums online and in print, we’ve been doing that for live events. Sharing stories with live audiences is as archetypal as it gets, and there is something deeply satisfying and nourishing that comes from people being in a physical space together, sharing stories.  It’s something we hope to do a lot more of in the future.

As far as content…there is never a shortage of great and important stories to tell that seek to challenge the dominant human exceptionalist worldview and help us reconnect with the living world. I’m always deeply inspired by the ideas and stories our contributors and staff come up with.

Let’s discuss your filmmaking career. I saw your documentary Earthrise for the first time last year on Earth Day. What an incredible film! The original photograph is deeply moving, but the story behind how the photo was captured is absolutely fascinating. How did you come across this story, and at what point did you know it’d make for a good documentary?

I’ve always been drawn to the Earthrise photograph and the powerful earth photography captured during the Apollo program. A few years ago, I learned that NASA had no interest or intention to capture images of the Earth during the Apollo 8 mission in 1968, the first mission where humans left Earth’s atmosphere and journeyed to the moon. And in all the space documentaries I had seen, this story was never told. It wasn’t just that the Earthrise photograph was a surprise; it transformed the way humanity saw ourselves and ushered in a collective shift in consciousness. 

But the backstory – the fact that NASA and the astronauts didn’t think about the value of photography – was too good to pass up. And, surprisingly, it hadn’t been told before. With the 50th anniversary of the photograph coming up, I thought it would be an important and worthwhile story to tell. And amid our deeply forgetful collective culture, one where the image of the whole Earth and its significance is often taken for granted, telling this story could be an opportunity for returning to its significance and its relevance 50 years later, in the midst of climate breakdown and division.

Once I sat down and interviewed the Apollo 8 astronauts, who shared their story with candor, vulnerability, and humility, I knew there was something special to work with. And that 16mm footage and 70mm photography they captured never gets old.

The subject of climate change has finally begun to permeate almost every art form I can think of. Where do you see it entering the realm of filmmaking?

I think climate change entered the realm of filmmaking quite a while ago. It wasn’t until AnInconvenient Truth in 2006 that it hit the mainstream, but it had been going on for quite some time before that. And there have been so many climate change-related films since then, both documentary and narrative. It’s hard to keep up. Luckily there are less and less “big picture” talking heads, fear-based films being made and more creative approaches being taken, and personal character-driven narratives that connect audiences on a relatable human level to what’s happening.

What I think we need more of, and what I haven’t seen much of, is narratives that don’t just focus on the human experience or threats. We need more stories that share the non-human experience and the connections between the human and non-human.  

I have seen VR and AR starting to do this more and more – using the medium to experience reality from the non-human perspective and how climate change and our relationship to the living world isn’t just about us.  

What’s next for you? 

I’m actually taking a year or two off from making films and just focusing on the magazine at the moment. Right now we’re working on volume two of the Emergence print edition and a new online version of the magazine, both of which will be released in the fall. That’s more than enough to keep me busy.

This article is part of the Climate Art Interviews series. It was originally published in Amy Brady’s “Burning Worlds” newsletter. Subscribe to get Amy’s newsletter delivered straight to your inbox.

___________________________

Amy Brady is the Deputy Publisher of Guernica magazine and Senior Editor of the Chicago Review of Books. Her writing about art, culture, and climate has appeared in the Village Voice, the Los Angeles Times, Pacific Standard, the New Republic, and other places. She is also the editor of the monthly newsletter “Burning Worlds,” which explores how artists and writers are thinking about climate change. She holds a PHD in English and is the recipient of a CLIR/Mellon Library of Congress Fellowship. Read more of her work at AmyBradyWrites.com at and follow her on Twitter at @ingredient_x.

———-

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

Powered by WPeMatico

By Lígia Oliveira, Michael Chase, Molly Fisk, Victoria Carranza

Reader-submitted stories of the COVID-19 pandemic, in no more than 100 words. Read past stories here. Submit your own here.

THE WOMB SPACE SPEAKS

Mothers have the natural ability to nurture anything and an exponential capacity to love. So, I settled on the joyous idea to plan for another. My husband and I debate about adoption and bringing another human into an uncertain world. I’ve been uneasy about the whole thing. Climate change isn’t a tiger scratching at our front door. Then, the virus talk started. Now, we stay close to home in hopes a silent killer who can walk through walls doesn’t creep into our lungs. I love you, you courageous unborns and mothers to be. I love you so much.

— Victoria Carranza (Atascadero, California)

* * *

OBSIDIAN

My cat who was dying last week has revived and is chasing a ball through the living room. Twenty years old with kitten glee, but wiliness, too, from experience. Obsidian. We call him Sid. I say we, but it’s just me here, and the cats. I find myself using the plural to feel less alone. I’m not alone: four cats, various gopher innards and lizard tails to clean up, the occasional, oh God, hummingbird feather.

If one must stay home, as I must and am and shall, cats are better than television, when they’re awake. And not dying.

— Molly Fisk (Nevada City, California)

(Top photo: Sid, photographed by Jacquie Bellon.)

* * *

PERSIMMON TREE

I look, I wander, I see: eyes climb the neighbor’s tree, the fertile grounds screaming for spring, and as I take the brush for a walk among the branches, the ants, the bugs, the birds yet to sing, we both wonder, persimmon and I, on the summer breeze and the beautiful days to be.

— Lígia Oliveira (Portugal)

* * *

SHELTERING OUTSIDE

Sheltering in place, New York City. I bike, repeatedly, to visit my girlfriend; she bikes back. Biking is strange, even scary. Pedestrians are everywhere, together and separate, on the sidewalks and the bike path, each jockeying for aerosol-free private space. For several days I am pissed off at the bike path intruders; why don’t they walk or run where it’s safe… away from me and my pent-up bike? And then it hits me. Community space is under renovation. Let it go, I tell myself. Slow down. It’s a new world, maybe a kinder one? Do I have it in me?

— Michael Chase (New York, New York)

______________________________

This series is edited by Thomas Peterson. One of the editors of Artists & Climate Change, he is also a theatre director and researcher whose work focuses on the climate crisis.

———-

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

Powered by WPeMatico

By Mary Woodbury

For this post, we travel to South Africa to explore the beautiful country and environmental themes found within Deon Meyer’s crime novels (Meyer writes in his native Afrikaans, and his books have been translated in many languages). The Lemmer series, which includes Blood Safari and Trackers, are well-reviewed thrillers filled with what one reviewer calls:

A cast of characters in situations and relationships that are evident of the ‘new’ South Africa: whites, blacks, men, and women in different power struggles…different racial and political tensions, selfsame greed and corruption.

In this series are conflicts central to wildlife poaching, including the white-backed vulture and black rhinoceros. Lemmer is an “invisible” professional bodyguard who is hired to get involved with situations he would rather not, but he does so for the money. “I don’t go looking for trouble, it comes looking for me.”

The Lemmer series isn’t Meyer’s only work dealing with plots and issues centered around environmental subjects. According to Livers Hebdo, Deon Meyer “excels in his descriptions of the urban and natural landscapes.” 

I talked briefly with the author and asked him what sorts of environmental issues made their way into his novels. He replied:

I tend to write about the issues that concern me most: the destruction of natural habitats, ecosystems and species extinction in (Southern) Africa, and global warming in general.

When I asked about unique situations regarding climate change and other ecological crises in South Africa, compared to the rest of the world, he said: 

Of course, the endangered species (rhinos, elephants, vultures and hundreds of others) are unique to the continent. But perhaps the major difference is that in the northern hemisphere, the damage being done is driven mostly by greed, and in Africa it is driven mostly by poverty.

BLOOD SAFARI

Blood Safari is a harrowing novel from an expert storyteller whose wickedly fast-moving narratives reveal the heart of his enthralling country. Emma Le Roux, a beautiful young woman in Cape Town, sees her brother named on the television news as the prime suspect in the killing of four poachers and a witch doctor. But it can’t be possible: Emma’s brother is supposed to be dead, having disappeared twenty years ago in Kruger National Park. Emma tries to find out more, but is attacked and barely escapes. So she hires Lemmer, a personal security expert, and sets out into the country in search of the truth.

I was pleased to see the author photographed with a white-backed vulture (Gyps africanus) at the Moholoholo Rehabilitation Centre. He is trying to hold on to the meat (just like Emma in the book), but the vulture is much too strong. Gyps africanus is the most widespread and common vulture in Africa, although it is now undergoing rapid decline. I once worked with a Harris hawk, in a similar situation, but it was much smaller and easier to deal with. According to the IUCN Red List:

Its [Gyps africanus] global population has been estimated at 270,000 individuals. Consistent with other vulture species, it has declined by over 90% in West Africa, and it has largely disappeared from Ghana apart from Mole National Park. The species has also declined in Sudan and South Sudan, Somalia and Kenya, but is apparently more stable in Ethiopia, Tanzania, and across southern Africa where an estimated 40,000 individuals remain.

TRACKERS

In Trackers, Meyer expertly weaves together Lemmer’s story with a missing person investigation and the machinations of a top intelligence agency. Wielding a phenomenal cast of characters, Meyer delves deep into the people, the breathtaking landscapes, and the politics and problems of this fascinating country. A #1 Best-Seller in South Africa, Trackers is an insightful novel that will take your breath away.

According to Deon’s website and WWF:

In Trackers, Lemmer rides shotgun on a truck transporting two of these – the black rhino.

Today, black rhinos remain Critically Endangered because of rising demand for rhino horn, which has driven poaching to record levels. A recent increase in poaching in South Africa threatens to erase our conservation success. The increase is driven by a growing demand from some Asian consumers, particularly in Vietnam, for folk remedies containing rhino horn. In 2014, a total of 1,215 rhinos were poached in South Africa – a 21% increase from the previous year. (Reference: WWF.)

When Deon does research for a book, he often travels to the actual settings, and takes lots of photographs. We’ve posted them here – just scroll down – to give you a glimpse of the world of the novel.

FEVER

He’s just really good, and Stephen King agrees, comparing Fever to his own novel The Stand.

Post Magazine

In Fever, a coming-of-age story, the narrator, Nico, tells the story of his father, Willem Storm, who died in the Year of the Lion. His father had built an oasis away from the rest of the world suffering from a deadly virus resulting from genetically modified foods. This post-apocalyptic tale rivals others, such as Cormac McCarthy’s The Road, when looking at the future of humanity and how people would react knowing that the world might be coming to an end.

Shots Mag has a wonderful interview with Meyer and states:

It is the vignettes scattered throughout Fever that make you pause, make you reflect and ponder what it is about us that makes us human, as well as the thinness of the line that separates us from all that is feral, wild and dangerous – both within humanity as well as outside – the inhumanity of our situation. The story of a survivor, who used to own an “all you can eat buffet” before the fever came, and why he closed it down becomes the novel in microcosm. Deon smiled and told me that the story of the guy who shut down his “all you can eat buffet” [before the virus hits] despite the success of the restaurant – was based on a true story, that he heard at a dinner party.

THIRTEEN HOURS 

Bennie Griessel is the detective on the case of two crimes that unfold over thirteen hours. A book review on IOL describes how one character in the novel sees the other:

He’s realistic: “Political global warming and racial climate change should have taken their toll long ago, but here they were still, two old carnivores in the jungle, limbs stiff, teeth blunt, but still not completely ineffective.”

MORE

Please see Meyer’s website for his other novels, all of which bring in the natural beauty of South Africa’s physical landscape and fuse it with great storytelling, sure to grip the reader. A review for Cobra in the Wall Street Journal says:

Mr. Meyer, the leading thriller writer in his native country, traffics in crime-novel situations familiar the world over: drunken cops, charming robbers, dangerous murderers, sudden violence – and sometimes, issues of race. Mr. Meyer’s South Africa, however, is unique. His books, translated from Afrikaans, are usually set in the Cape Town region, where mountains spectacularly meet the sea on the Horn of Africa. Amid these vistas his detective confronts his own – and his country’s – tortured past and the legacy of Apartheid.

While the author is a renowned crime-thriller novelist, he stated in a Guardian interview: “For me, the most important thing is to try to tell an entertaining story – let other people worry about what genre it is.” He recognizes fiction as having a restricted window view of society but also states, about representing all sectors of South Africa:

Everything is in service of the story and there are certain realities – in the police force, they have people of all ethnicities working together, so just to have black or white cops would not be credible. It’s all about verisimilitude. You have to create a world that’s believable, that’s close enough to the truth to be believed.

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.

———-

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

Powered by WPeMatico