by David Cass

We have passed the turning point in terms of environmental change. To achieve the colossal aims of reducing our global average temperature, slowing sea level rise and decarbonising the planet, we must all do what we can: no matter how seemingly insignificant our actions may seem. For artists, this truly does come down to making conscious choices between using acrylic (plastic) paints or natural (handmade and completely lead free) oils; toxic resins or eco-resin alternatives; turpentine or zest-based cleaners; new papers or recycled papers… even one’s studio lighting should be considered. Every decision counts.

My most recent exhibition at The Scottish Gallery in Edinburgh – part of my ongoing series Rising Horizon â€“ comprised over 150 paintings. The exhibition discussed sea level rise and in the majority of the artworks, it did this not only visually but through material choices too.

As an artist, I’ve received most coverage thus far for my repurposing of found objects – doors, table tops, drawers, street signs, matchboxes – into the foundations of paintings. These works have explored environmental themes both historic and contemporary. Every artwork I have created since leaving Edinburgh College of Art in 2010 has been made from recycled materials, and recently I’ve aimed to present commentary on sustainability and the need for a circular economy.

Rising Horizon was perhaps the most far-reaching (by this I mean non-site-specific) exhibition I’ve ever created. The series describes the coming global crisis that is sea level rise: not exclusive to any one coastline. True, we see certain locations already impacted but overall, the rise affects the World Ocean.

Rising Horizon followed another exhibition of mine which described Venice, Italy as an example of localised inundation: a result of environmental, anthropogenic change. The series examined the tide-marked brick and plaster façades of Venetian buildings as we see them today: still exquisite but eroding, stapled together, plastered with advertisements and often covered with graffitis admonishing cruise ships and tourists. Venetians are already feeling the impact of sea level rise: many have permanently evacuated their ground floors and basements. Others have had the foundations of their homes raised hydraulically. Underwater walls are treated with waterproof (ironically, plastic) resin.

This Venice series used the face as a vehicle to convey change, while the ongoing project Rising Horizon zooms out to illustrate, quite simply, a rising horizon line. The artworks in the show were hung so as to position the viewer within the exhibition: within the water. One simple goal behind the series overall, was to chart a gradually rising horizon-line, but we chose not to display the works along a linear path. In part, this was to mirror the non-linear way in which sea levels are rising. Ice melt, for example, is not a steady stream. Rather, run-offs happen in waves.

Scale and materials matter. Understated expression is important to me. Individually – no matter the scale, no matter how turbulent the sea surface – my paintings aim to be subtle. They do not shout. But when taken together, the obsession which lies underneath is evident. Surfaces are worked and re-worked, paint is applied and then removed and re-applied. This repetitive approach mirrors the functional past lives of the surfaces themselves: motorway signs, tins, advertisement plaques… these items aren’t fragile, they were built to withstand time and the elements.

The paints are handmade and the metal panels I painted upon for this show are recycled, reclaimed. I used these items to reference the impact of metal production on the environment: 6.5 percent of CO₂ emissions derive from iron and steel production. Similarly, I painted upon panels made from re-formed plastic waste. One single square meter panel contains around 1,500 yogurt cups, for example. The World Economic Forum estimates that by 2050, plastics will be responsible for nearly 15 percent of global carbon emissions. This predicted increase will lead to plastics overtaking the aviation sector, which is currently accountable for 12 percent of global carbon emissions.

Certainly, the most discussed piece in the show was a painted copper boiler. Titled Horizon 42%, this piece directly references the warming of (sea)water. The percentage is the proportion which thermal expansion contributes to overall sea level rise. It’s also the target of Scotland, my home country, which aims for a 42% reduction in greenhouse gas emissions by 2020 (and an 80% reduction by 2050). An apt metaphor, as the boiler itself came from a Scottish home.

We dismantled the exhibition on February 25 and 26. Those were the warmest winter days on record in the UK. Radio stations were asking “how high will it get?” and the media used headlines like “UK basks in warmest February on record.” One newspaper dubbed the month “FABruary.” The media narrative was all wrong: this was not normal. At this exact time the previous year, we’d been suffering from extreme snow. The record-breaking temperatures should have been cause for alarm, not celebration.

Artists need to contribute to the global and growing bank of environmentally conscious artworks that carry a responsible narrative. The fact that art has the potential to convey messages makes it an essential tool for society. This website is one perfect example of the power of art.

Throughout the exhibition, I witnessed public appetite for bitesize environmental facts. My work will continue to explore themes of change; indeed, my next project is a collaboration with fine artist Joseph Calleja, in partnership with the estate of artist Robert Callender. We are exhibiting a series of works in An Talla Solais gallery in Ullapool, Scotland, and we’ve just launched an Open Call, seeking works from artists in response to environmental change. Consider applying (there’s no fee).

I have also just launched a petition. Given my location, it is UK-based but my hope is that it will gauge public interest in having a regular Environment News broadcast on radio. Here in the UK, we really are not hearing enough about climate change in mainstream news.

(Top image: Oil paint on re-formed plastic waste panel (detail), 2019.)

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David Cass’s graduation exhibition at Edinburgh art school (2010) was created using exclusively recycled materials. As a result of that show, he received a scholarship to Florence, where he combined this process of re-purposing with topics relating to environmental extremes. He spent four years exploring the history and legacy of Florence’s 1966 Great Flood, which led him to Venice and a study of its rising lagoon. Soon after, working in the Almería arid-zone, he added the topic of drought to the exchange. His recent projects (such as Rising Horizon) are more universal in their environmental outlook. They take the form of paintings, drawings, collages and sculptures – never using new materials.

Featured imaged: Lake Verret, Louisiana. Photo by Virginia Hanusik.

Happy “almost spring” to those of you in the Northern hemisphere, and a happy “almost autumn” to those of you in the South.

Happy wishes aside, I’m sorry to report some sad news: This February we mourn the passing of the “godfather of climate science,” Wallace Broecker, who helped popularize the term “global warming.” According to the BBC, Broecker “spent a career that spanned nearly 67 years at Columbia University in New York.” The scientist published an important study in 1975 that helped usher in a new era of thinking about the effects of carbon dioxide on global temperatures. Professor Broecker died on February 18th at the age of 87.

His legacy is felt by scientists, activists, climate communicators, artists, and writers around the world, all of whom continue to produce exciting and vital work that speaks to the urgency of climate change.

This month I have for you a wonderful interview with one of those artists. Virginia Hamusik is a photographer and architecture researcher whose work explores the effects of climate change on various landscapes. You may have seen her photos in The Atlantic, Places Journal, The Times-Picayune, Oxford American, NPR, or Fast Company.

Your project, A Receding Coast, features photographs of “the architecture of climate change.” Please tell us what you mean by that phrase.

We are living in the Anthropocene, which is characterized by human intervention on the natural environment. Climate change is a byproduct of human intervention and is shaping how we build, and will only continue to shape that process more so.

Architecture symbolizes society’s values: it is a physical manifestation of what we consider important and how we live our lives. When I’m describing my work photographing “the architecture of climate change,” I’m referring to the structural response to environmental issues.

Capturing the architecture of this moment is important because we are consciously changing the way we build and live based on environmental conditions, for arguably the first time in American history. I studied architectural history in college, and I approach my photography work in a similar way; I’m thinking about the structural details that describe larger cultural values.

What have you learned about how the communities you photograph are preparing – or not – for future extreme weather events and sea-level rise?

I think it’s important to understand that there isn’t one universally understood solution to the problem. It’s more common to hear about disagreements on the causes of climate change – or if it’s even happening – but with my work, I’ve become much more aware of the various types of approaches municipalities, organizations, and individuals have developed to combat the effects.

There are hundreds of challenges. Some challenges are specific to a community’s geography, some are not. There’s no one-size-fits-all fix, and I think that’s something the resilience field is focusing on too much. Organizations have done an important job of creating shared knowledge among cities, but there’s no global, local, or even state standard to how various communities (coastal and inland) should be re-imagining planning processes. As a result, some communities will suffer more than others due to inaction or policy failures. I’ve been following the work of scholars like Jesse Keenan at Harvard who are researching the impact of “climate gentrification” in Miami. The economics of coastal climate adaptation are already working as they were designed to –  benefiting those with more affluence and means to seek higher ground, and leaving poorer communities with few options but to be even more vulnerable to flooding.

In another project, Liminal Frontier, you explore the change in how people are thinking about coastal land. What has surprised you the most about what you’ve learned or witnessed?

Since this body of work is a lot larger in scale, I’ve spent a lot of time organizing and framing the project in parts. Most of the “chapters” are organized by geography (East, West, Gulf coasts), but there are also sub-categories such as recreation, transportation, and dwelling.

Through this process, it’s become so much more explicit to me that the history of landscape photography has been dominated by the male gaze. As a woman, I’m planning out my shoots based on time of day, whether I feel safer with a partner, and, if so, coordinating their schedules. There are a dozen other factors that I don’t think are the same for men. Some of my favorite projects about American land were all done by men (Ansel Adams, Joel Sternfeld, Walker Evans) who had the privilege to photograph in desolate landscapes alone.

That’s all to say that this project is really helping me think critically about the process and what it means to make a photograph about land as the climate is changing. I think it’s a critical time to not just think about how we live along the coast, but who is telling those stories and how American identity is captured.

As Susan Sontag writes, “The painter constructs, the photographer discloses.” What can photographs of architecture, land, and other objects affected by climate change “disclose” to us that perhaps other art forms (including the written word) can’t?

I love a good Susan Sontag quote. I think that the accessibility of photography is what drew me to it from the beginning and continues to do so. I was raised in a working-class family that was full of artists, but they never referred to themselves as such because of the elitist stigma. Art means different things to different classes. My dad is a sculptor and carpenter, but he never describes himself as one. It’s just what he does when he’s not working, nothing flashy.

I like to think that I make my images in the same way; I don’t manipulate or even edit them much. As a photographer, I control the light and the frame, but not much beyond that. In terms of subject matter, the architecture and landscapes that I photograph really speak for themselves. The evidence is there. It’s real life looking back at you.

As an observer, you are able to step back and take in the details within a frame that you may miss in the context of real life. I like to compare the “banal” landscapes that I capture to seeing photographs of yourself. You analyze pictures of yourself more than when you’re in front of a mirror because someone else’s gaze may have captured something you never noticed before.

Also, I’m really not interested in making work that exploits victims of environmental disaster, but can rather be used as an educational tool to help move the needle on environmental stewardship.

What has the response to your work been like? Have you experienced any push back?

Overall, the response has been encouraging. I’ve been really lucky to have my work published in a number of outlets that prioritize new voices in photography and architecture, and have been able to connect with so many thoughtful people changing their communities.

Most of the push back that I’ve received has come from individuals who don’t believe in climate change. Not a big surprise there, but this exists outside of the South!

Honestly, the most challenging conversations that I’ve had are with self-identified liberals and progressives whose prejudices of the South or rural communities come out with their comments. “How could people be so ignorant?” “Why don’t they leave?” “Why would you choose to live there?” These are all actual questions that I’ve heard posed in a serious way. It’s really disappointing to me, but just shows the work that still needs to be done.

What’s next for you?

I’m still disseminating A Receding Coast and connecting with leaders in the climate adaptation field on collaborations. Right now, I’m in the development phase of Liminal Frontier and am identifying funding to build out the project in phases. I’m hoping to spend time in the Chesapeake Bay this summer and photograph some sites that I’ve been trying to get to for a while. In addition to this project, I’m excited to be writing more and am working on a few pieces for the Louisiana-based store and publication, Defend New Orleans.

Read more about Virginia Hanusik and her work at her website.

For previous articles by Virginia Hanusik, check out:
A New Narrative for Landscape Photography in the Anthropocene

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.

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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 and follow her on Twitter at @ingredient_x. 

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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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Can art save the bees? Sculptor Emily Puthoff is attempting to do just that through the Hudson Valley Bee Habitat. She, along with her fellow artists, are engaging their community in a large scale art project that builds bee habitats. Learn about this ambitious project and about the essential roles bees play in our everyday life.

Coming up next month, writer Elizabeth Rush and her book Rising: Dispatches from the New American Shore.

(Top image: Designs for bee habitats.)

If you like what you hear, you can listen to full episodes of Citizens’ Climate Radio on iTunes, Stitcher Radio, Spotify, SoundCloud, Podbean, Northern Spirit Radio, Google Play, PlayerFM, and TuneIn Radio. Also, feel free to connect with other listeners, suggest program ideas, and respond to programs in the Citizens’ Climate Radio Facebook group or on Twitter at @CitizensCRadio.

This article is part of The Art House series. 

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As host of Citizens’ Climate Radio, Peterson Toscano regularly features artists who address climate change in their work. The Art House section of his program includes singer/songwriters, visual artists, comics, creative writers, and playwrights. Through a collaboration with Artists and Climate Change and Citizens’ Climate Education, each month Peterson reissues The Art House for this blog. If you have an idea for The Art House, contact Peterson: radio @ citizensclimatelobby.org

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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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Featured image: Cheonggyecheon gentrification mapping workshop, Listen to the City, 2017.

I was born and raised in a capital city (Amsterdam), have always lived in capital cities (London, Seoul, Taipei), and expected I would continue to do so. I’m a cultural omnivore and food snob, and (ignorantly, I admit) thought the top-notch cultural and gastronomical offerings were only to be found in cosmopolitan cities.

Two years ago, I moved to a smaller, more rurally located city and realized how much the quality of my life increased. It suddenly became clear to me that capital cities are mostly overcrowded and overpriced; the quality of the air is terrible and you waste too much time on transportation. Though ideas may sprout, they can hardly be developed and reflected upon as everyone is busy-busy-busy trying to survive. I decided I would enjoy capital cities like one enjoys Uber or AirBnB: with no permanent commitment, temporarily making use of these services and amenities when I need them.

But a burning question kept haunting me: Have I given up on cities too soon?

I don’t seem to be the only one being pulled to the periphery. When I re-visited Seoul recently, I saw an exhibition in MMCA, the National Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art, which showed works by the nominees for the Korea Artists Prize, including Okin Collective.

Okin Collective is a group of artists – Joungmin Yi, Hwayong Kim, and Shiu Jin – whose work often poses critical questions about contemporary Korean urban society. The collective was named after the Okin apartment complex in Jongno-gu, Seoul, where their first project was held and from where a group of residents got evicted in 2009. The exhibition included a film about artists moving from Seoul to Incheon, a bordering city where the main airport is located. The film follows an interesting group conversation where the artists explain why they traded Seoul for Incheon, and how this decision influences their lives and artistic practice. The reasons vary from “I feel less poor here” to “I just wanted to see the sea.”

For so many artists (and non-artists), Seoul is becoming too expensive. It is a fast growing beast; the greater metropolitan area is already home to 25 million people. This population explosion forces us to reckon with gentrification and more specifically, with the ironic relationship between artists and gentrification.

You don’t have to have read Richard Florida to know that artists are often used to make a depressed area more attractive. Artists are offered affordable studios in exchange for their artistic sex-appeal. Then once the value of the property has gone up, they have to pack their bags and move further out to the fringe to gentrify another area. This phenomenon is happening all over the world and creates a tension between locals and “cheap-rent seeking artists.” However, both groups are victims of the same developers and real estate market.

A striking example of the threat of gentrification in Seoul is the Euljiro neighborhood, which is home to a lively artist community as well as some 50,000 tradespeople who sell objects you didn’t even know existed. All kinds of manufacturing parts can be found here: from tiny bolts to endless varieties of wiring. Euljiro tradespeople essentially made the postwar economic boom possible (called “Miracle on the Han” – after the river that flows through Seoul) by providing parts to build everything from phones to boats.

In October 2018, it was announced that the intricate ecosystem of small businesses that make up Euljiro will be replaced by swanky apartment and office buildings. Also art collective Listen to the City is located in Euljiro and yet again it is the artists standing up to developers in an attempt to save the neighborhood. They have been co-organising anti-eviction marches and protests. Listen to the City and several artists and designers have set up an organization called “Cheonggyecheon Euljiro Anti-gentrification Alliance”, organizing rallies and debates including an online poster protest. Over 100 designers have uploaded their posters against the redevelopment.

Destruction of Cheonggyecheon. Photo by Listen to the City.

It’s not the first time this has happened: the traditional market was wiped out to make space for Zaha Hadid’s Dongdaemun Design Plaza, for example, and whole communities were evicted for the Olympics and for the making of the Cheonggye stream, an artificial stream that runs through the city. On numerous occasions, Listen to the City has staged artistic interventions to address these evictions, often having to face thugs. They have produced Urban Film Festivals, published a Sustainable Event Manual (on how to organize an event responsibly), organized food sharing days and feminist urban planning seminars, as well as presented exhibitions.

These are the people who inspire me, the people who have not given up on their cities and never will. And that’s exactly what still lures me to cities: the fact that they attract diversity and convene incredible talents and energies. If these heroes get priced out (or worse, beaten out), that last bit of appeal might be lost forever and our cities will be nothing more than expensive and soulless places.

(Top image: A protest march with artists and mechanics carrying posters from the online poster protest. By Ueta Jiro , February 18, 2019.)

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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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Earth Day is one of the most important days of the year because it reminds us of a most fundamental truth: we belong to the Earth. Like it or not, we are of the Earth. Despite our dizzying technological progress and illusion of separateness, our well-being is still intricately connected to the well-being of all the creatures with whom we share this planet.

There are many ways to celebrate this day. We can (and should!) go outside, soak in the sun, take a walk in the forest or a long bike ride along the river. We can donate to worthwhile environmental organizations or participate in local festivities. Or, if we are short on time, we can at the very least step outside for a minute and take a deep breath.

But a day of appreciation is not enough. Given the urgent social and environmental challenges we are facing, ours is a time for sustained action – as exemplified by the courageous students and activists who have recently taken to the streets. So as an artist and co-organizer of Climate Change Theatre Action, I want to invite you, on Earth Day (or on any day between now and the end of the year), to sign up for a season of theatrical presentations and action taking place this fall between September 15 and December 21, 2019.

Climate Change Theatre Action is is a worldwide series of readings and performances of short climate change plays presented biennially to coincide with the United Nations COP meetings. Through theatre, we bring communities together and encourage them to take local and global action on climate. We providing tools (a series of plays) free of charge, some guidance on how to produce events, marketing support, a model that encourages leadership and self-determination, and empower everyone to harness their creative potential and put it in service of the greater good.

How It Works

Earlier this year, 50 professional playwrights, representing all continents as well as several cultures and Indigenous nations, were commissioned to write five-minute plays about various aspects of climate change under the theme “Lighting the Way.” (In the spirit of celebrating the amazing work that is being done, we are giving center stage to the unsung climate warriors and climate heroes who are lighting the way towards a just and sustainable future.)

This collection of plays is now available to producing collaborators (that’s you!) who might be interested in presenting an event in the fall using one or several plays from the collection. Events can be in-house readings, public performances, radio shows, podcasts, film adaptions – the possibilities are endless! You can design your event to reflect your own aesthetic and community, and include additional material by local artists.

In addition, to emphasize the “Action” part of Climate Change Theatre Action, we urge collaborators to think about an action – educational, social, or political/civic – that can be incorporated into their event. It may involve the scientific community, other departments within a university, local environmental organizations, etc. Examples of actions from previous years include: presentations by scientists; donations to hurricane relief efforts and food banks; conversations with social justice and environmental organizations; writing letters to legislators, and; sharing tools for sustainability at the local level.

Our Track Record

We piloted this project in 2015. Two years later, in 2017, close to 140 collaborators in 23 countries hosted events, reaching an audience of 12,000. In the United States alone, 90 events took place in 60 cities. Plays were read and performed, live and on radio, and presented in a variety of settings including: theatres, high schools, middle schools, universities, yoga studios, community centers, libraries, churches, museums, cafes, bars, people’s living rooms, and outdoors. At the end of the season, the plays were published together in Where Is The Hope? An Anthology of Short Climate Change Plays available from the York University Bookstore.

Now, two years later, we want to continue to bring our communities together to discuss what kind of future we want to create, and put pressure on elected officials and CEOs to do what is right. We want to build on what other dedicated climate warriors are doing to ensure we avoid the worst. And most importantly, we want to help everyone come to terms with the inevitable losses we are facing, and learn to be resilient.

Join Us

Climate Change Theatre Action is participatory – that means we can’t do it without you. We hope you’ll join us this fall by organizing an event in your community and adding your voice to the countless other voices who are demanding an end to the status quo. Actors, producers, directors, avid arts supporters, and concerned community members from all countries – everyone can participate! Check out our Call for Collaborators for more details and email us at ccta@thearcticcycle.org to receive the guidelines and access to the plays.

Together, we can do this. Happy Earth Day.

(Top image: The Anthropologists at the CCTA New York Launch in 2017. All photos by Yadin Goldman.)

Previous articles about Climate Change Theatre Action:

What I Learned About Gender Parity and Racial Diversity from Running a Global Participatory Initiative by Chantal Bilodeau
Changing the Climate Narrative Fifty Plays at a Time by Chantal Bilodeau
A Theatrical Revolution of Hope by Alicia Hyland
Graz, Austria: City of Culture… City of Climate Change Communication by Nassim Balestrini
Does Laughter Have a Place Here? by Aysan Celik

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Chantal Bilodeau is a playwright whose work focuses on the intersection of science, policy, art, and climate change. She is the Artistic Director of The Arctic Cycle – which uses theatre to foster dialogue about our global climate crisis, create an empowering vision of the future, and inspire people to take action – and the founder of Artists & Climate Change. She is a co-organizer of Climate Change Theatre Action, a worldwide series of readings and performances of short climate change plays presented in support of the United Nations COP meetings.

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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 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.

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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.

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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.

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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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