Chantal Bilodeau

Why I’m Breaking Up with Aristotle

This post comes from the Artists and Climate Change Blog

“Why I’m Breaking Up with Aristotle” by Chantal Bilodeau was originally published on HowlRound, a knowledge commons by and for the theatre community, in April 2016.

It’s me, of course, not him. After all, Aristotle and his posse of ancient Greeks gave us many of the elements that have become the foundation of Western Civilization. They gave us human rights, democracy, and the Olympics. They gave us philosophy, significant advances in mathematics, and medicine. And they gave us dramatic structure, the golden principle behind all of Western dramatic literature.

That’s a lot to admire, I know. But I’m still breaking up with him.

The thing is, our relationship has run its course. Given the new challenges brought on by a rapidly changing world and our inability to communicate effectively around them, and given the fact that I feel he doesn’t really see me as a woman, it’s best we go our separate ways. I have no doubt he’ll continue to be influential in my life—we had many good years together and I will forever value the lessons I learned from him—but in the end he’s too controlling and I need to break free.

To be completely honest, I’ve been feeling a growing discomfort for quite some time. It wasn’t exactly boredom and we were not fighting either but we didn’t seem to fit anymore. Round hole, square peg, type of thing. And then not too long ago, I came across Josephine Green’s presentation “The Power of Abundance.” Boom. Suddenly it all became clear.

The idea is this: Though Aristotle and his pals gave us all the good things mentioned above, they also subtly imparted their worldview and its attending values to us. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. That worldview has allowed human civilization to thrive for over twenty-five hundred years. But in the context of a world that is now massively different from ancient Greece—more populated and exponentially more connected—that worldview has become a liability rather than an asset.

On the most basic level, ancient Greeks were ruled by a bunch of unpredictable gods whose whims directly affected every aspect of human affairs. Largely ignorant of the natural forces shaping life on earth, people assigned power and knowledge to these supernatural beings and lived under their capricious rule. Then, as empirical knowledge developed through the study of science, some of the powers previously assigned to gods became better understood and a single Almighty God replaced the jolly bunch. The Almighty God prevailed until the industrial revolution when our increased resources and self-reliance moved us away from the divine and into the arms of mega-corporations.

Pyramid of Capitalist System

Pyramid of Capitalist System (1911 cartoon)

Though these represent big shifts in how we conceive the world and our place in it, the underlying assumption—that power is at the top and everybody below is subservient—has remained unchanged. In fact, it is so deeply embedded in our culture that most of the time we don’t notice it.

The simplest way to illustrate this concept is with a pyramid. Power and wealth live at the top, in the hands of a minority, while the majority exists at the bottom to support the top. This is how religions are organized, how monarchies thrived, and how today’s capitalist system functions. But as Green points out in her presentation, the pyramid model is not an absolute truth. It’s a worldview. Or put another way, it’s a function of the stories we tell ourselves about who we are. It should come as no surprise then that the structure we use to build our societies, and the structure we use to shape our stories, are one and the same. Aristotle’s theory of dramatic writing, later modified by German playwright and novelist Gustav Freytag, is a pyramid. Rising action on one side, climax at the top, and falling action on the other side.

Freytag's Pyramid

Freytag’s Pyramid

This form of storytelling flourished at a time where man needed to conquer in order to survive. Life was hard; nature, a hostile force to be reckoned with; and other nations a constant threat. Subjugating nature was a matter of life or death, while subjugating the masses was a way to secure power and resources, and build a sense of security. As this worldview and the stories used to keep it alive were passed down generations, they were (and still are) used to justify a slew of abusive behaviors such as feudalism, colonialism, slavery, genocide, violence against women and children, economic injustices, the plundering of natural resources, etc. In addition, Aristotle excluded a very important point-of-view from his theory. The festival of Dionysus, where ancient Greek theatre began, was for men only. Aristotle’s “core data” was in fact stories written by men, for men, and about men.

How can a dramatic theory developed in these conditions represent the world we live in today and the world we are striving to create? We’re living through an unprecedented transition in human history where we’re slowly shifting from a hierarchical worldview to a heterarchical worldview. New technologies and social digital media have created a complex world and in the process, flattened the pyramid into what Green calls a pancake, with relationships organized laterally instead of vertically. Given this new paradigm, is it ethical to embrace a dramatic form that was designed to justify inequality and violence? Can we, writers, say something new, something of value, if we don’t break free from that mold? If we don’t find a way to write ourselves out of the pyramid?

My friend Koffi Kwahulé knows this problem intimately. An African playwright born and raised in Côte d’Ivoire, Koffi spoke his tribal language at home and was taught French—a legacy of French colonization—in school. He was also taught playwriting according to the classical French tradition. But like most of his contemporaries, he realized that the experience of colonialism can’t be expressed using the language and forms of the colonizer. Koffi had to find a way to appropriate the French language and make it sing a different song. He had to develop a dramatic form that would express his own unique experience. Over the next thirty years he developed a unique aesthetic, akin to jazz music where, in the words of NYU Professor Judith Miller, “Kwahulé intends his theatre—with its stylistic nods to jazz, through its riffs, refrains, and repetitions, through references to composers and musical numbers—to capture both something of the pain of contemporary existential despair and the exuberant energy of improvisation.” Borrowing from a form developed by African American slaves struggling to maintain their cultural identity, Koffi reconceives jazz music to express the pain of French colonialism and by extension, the pain of oppression.

Sustainable

The idea is not new. Many playwrights—including Beckett, Churchill, Pinter, and Kushner, just to name a few—have played with form. But they did so in isolation and it could be argued that their concern was mainly aesthetic. In contrast, what we need today is a conscious use of dramatic structure in service of societal change. The hierarchical pyramidal worldview is based on values that promote competition, control, and a sense of scarcity—there isn’t enough to go around. And since we have to fight for everything, there will always be winners and losers. The heterarchical worldview, on the other hand, promotes innovation, collaboration, and creativity. It works with the assumption of abundance—there is enough. We just need to learn to look for it and distribute it more equitably.

Moreover writing plays where scenes have a neat cause and effect relationship in the Internet age where ideas emerge through associations, and where biomimicry is replacing old mechanical principles, seems archaic. And with quantum physics telling us that two realities can exist at the same time and that an observed behavior is forever changed by the act of observation, shouldn’t we explore all the possible realms of existence and consciousness rather than stick to a thin sliver of observable reality? Humans are not the center of the universe anymore. Time is no longer linear. Our species could go extinct. These are profound ideas that should inform how we structure our stories.

I’ve seen some exciting plays recently that grapple with these concepts. And these plays have both nothing to do with climate change and everything to do with climate change. None of them addresses the topic directly. But embedded in their structure is an attempt to break down the many pyramids that rob us of power and agency, and to view humanity as part of a vast web of life. O, Earth by Casey Llewellyn, Smokefall by Noah Haidle, and CollaborationTown’s Family Play (1979 to Present) all possess a new sensibility that positions us within a larger and more compassionate frame. These playwrights are seizing the moment, they’re sensing what’s floating in the ether and responding to it. They’re creating the sustainable culture of tomorrow.

So this is it. For better or for worse, I’m breaking up with Aristotle. I don’t harbor any bad feelings towards him; I did love him. For a long time, our relationship was fun, passionate, and intellectually stimulating. But then things changed.

Maybe I grew up and he didn’t. Or maybe it was always meant to end this way, with us going down our separate paths. It’s the end of an era, that’s for sure. But it’s also the dawn of a new age. Though it’s not easy to leave the comfort of the known and knowable, I’m excited at the possibilities that lay ahead, at the chance to craft stories that are in line with my values and my vision of what the world is and can be. I’m excited to do my part and to bring all of me in that effort. I think I’ve earned the right to.

So long, Aristotle. It was swell.

 


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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Another World Is Possible: Displays from the Women’s March

This post comes from the Artists and Climate Change Blog

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Members of the Back to Work Collective at the Women’s March on Washington. Lady Liberty puppet by Christopher Soprano.

“We are unstoppable, another world is possible.” One of my favorite rally cries from the Women’s March on Washington is carrying me through the first week of this bonkers administration. This phrase, and the experience of being surrounded by thousands of people showing up for similar goals, signified to me the possibility for a sustainable future. The creativity on display, through signs, costumes, and performance, contributed to the impact of the weekend. These displays offered intersectional perspectives – the Women’s March was in no way solely about women, but about the equitable and just world that we want to live in, despite what the people in power have in mind.

Walking out of the D.C. Metro on Friday, January 20 was like entering a ghost town. No cars, very few people, eerie silence. There was the familiarity of red, white, and blue, of a Starbucks on every corner. Familiar, but not comforting. These symbols of nationalism and consumerism are not going to save us. Cue tear gas bombs going off, and riot police storming the intersection. Thus the tone of my Inauguration Day experience was set.

Arriving outside Union Station – where anti-Trump protesters were gathering – initiated a welcome tone. Here, my group and I found other organizations with banners, posters, and energy to resist the main event of the day. Among my favorite displays at this gathering included a large puppet with the phrases: “Look within,” “We are only as healthy as our mother,” “Protect our mother,” “Protect each other,” “End Racism,” from Bread and Puppet Theatre.

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Puppets at an anti-Trump rally from Bread and Puppet Theatre in Washington, D.C.

To me, these are calls to action. Starting with self. Starting with the source of life: Mother Earth. These phrases depicted on a female body signified, to me, the importance of individual agency. I may not be able to directly stop the destructive legislation of the current administration, but I can recognize in myself my capacity for empathy, change, and action. This recognition is a start. The question of what I will do with my self-reflection continued in me throughout the weekend, and as I encountered fellow marchers of diverse backgrounds.

My group also ran into Ethan Abbott, a farmer who brought his animal friends: a llama, two alpaca, and a bird. The revolution will be interspecies, I thought. What started out as an attention-grabber began to resonate more deeply with me. Of course we need our animal friends in the march with us! They are occupants of this planet, too. Farmer Abbott’s marching animals drew on that empathy that I was considering earlier; my empathy starts with myself, includes my fellow humans, and extends to other species.

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Farmer Ethan Abbott and his interspecies marchers.

The next day, Saturday, we stepped off the train into a different city. The D.C. Metro was packed. The streets were even more crowded. The group that I traveled with, the Back to Work Collective, is comprised of politically activated theatre artists. We brought a series of speeches from feminists throughout history to perform at the March, with a Lady Liberty puppet to connect these women as beacons of hope. We encountered press wanting to get context, marchers wanting to get their picture with Lady Liberty herself, and fellow artists speaking in solidarity about our work in varying communities around the country.

Once the March dispersed, Back to Work Collective performed our feminist speeches in front of Trump Hotel and the White House. As theatre artists, we wanted to contribute a performance to the March that strangers could reflect on, and draw upon the strength of women who helped lay the foundation of today’s justice movements. We wanted our fellow marchers to find personal connections with why they were present. The Lady Liberty puppet drew audiences in, and the performance of the speeches kept people gathered. My favorite line in our performance comes from Ursula Le Guin, in her 1986 speech at Bryn Mawr College: “We are volcanoes. When we women offer our experience as our truth, as human truth, all the maps change. There are new mountains.” This image of women as volcanoes spoke to how I felt about the surge of women and gender-non-conforming folk and animals and men and allies into the streets for Marches around the world. These Marches changed the maps, if only for a day. The power that Ursula evokes in her speech – and the resonance of the Marches – is the power of people coming together, speaking out in the face of oppression in any form.

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Amanda Ghosh of Back to Work Collective performing for a gathering near the White House.

The Women’s March brought together a multitude of personal displays of concern and hope, through physical signs and echoing chants. The intersectional voices I heard during the March reignited in me the necessity of intersectional action in addressing issues of justice – social, economic, and environmental. If we are going to combat the unjust decrees to come, those of us that are able must think and act more intersectionality. As public demonstrations like the Women’s March become more important in our current democracy, how can we, as artists, make intersectionality part of our public practice? With beauty, performativity, and intentional spectacle artists have an opportunity to address social, economic, and environmental considerations, through the way in which we use time, bodies, and space. As the sun set on a monumental day, protest signs replaced humans on the streets, forming an alternative display in the space between our nation’s monuments. The variety of art that I witnessed in these signs and throughout the weekend is an example of how we can collectively fight for varying issues. The resulting eclecticism resonates as I recite: “We are unstoppable, another world is possible.”

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Signs from the Women’s March on Washington left on fences surrounding the White House.


About Artists and Climate Change:

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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Performance, Video & Ritual in the Era of Climate Change

This post comes from the Artists and Climate Change Blog

by Guest Blogger Monet Clark

Given the monumental devastation brought on by global climate change, as an artist I feel the urgency to be vigilant, a warrior and, despite our dystopian present and the probability of a worse dystopian future, courageous enough to hope. Last year I found myself in a state of veritable despair. I wondered,”How can I make an impact on something so much larger than me?” I was in the midst of making my performance/video piece BUNNY GIRL, shooting from the gut, with no script nor understanding of where the piece was going. Towards the end, however, cathartically the piece revealed itself and gave me my answer. I found a new focus in my work, drawing from a side of myself that I used to hide from the art world, the suppression of which has played into the patriarchal structure contributing to this global mess we’re in…

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BUNNY GIRL (video still) performance/video piece, 2016

BUNNY GIRL is driven by the crises state of our biosphere. In it, I play a Playboy Bunny/animal of the same name traversing sweeping landscapes layered with found footage of the current mass species extinctions, as well as recent toxic catastrophes. With wry humor, the piece ties environmental destruction to the vulnerability and suppression of the feminine. In the surprise ending, the title character blossoms and realizes, as have I, that our hope for the future lies within the rising of the feminine.

bunny-girl-poster

Through the making of BUNNY GIRL, I discovered that I had internalized misogyny. I saw parallels between the destruction of our environment, and the marginalization of the feminine and the indigenous perspective. It is a great irony that toxic masculinity patronizes the perspectives needed to save our world. Also ironic is the historical term ‘white man’s burden’ when now what we have is ‘brown man’s burden’! Indigenous people are trying to tell us, as they have all along, that when we destroy our environment we destroys ourselves. Why is it so hard for westerners to understand holistic theory, that parts influence the whole and the whole influences the parts? Even our thoughts and beliefs contribute to the whole, so our fears and negativities have negative impacts. Therefore, internal work is important. I’m a big fan of the present moment. It is from the present that we are building the future. We all have options in the present for positively shifting humanity. Part of that can be by just shifting ourselves. As we clean up our own internal environment, our actions become more effective to remedy the crises of the external one, and our evolution influences those around us and it reverberates from there. My latest pieces incorporate all of these ideas. They work to expose internalized misogyny, and use a combination of technology and ritual to transmute individuals’ negativity.

I grew up in a marginalized subculture. I was immersed in California’s utopian back-to-nature movements of the 1970s. As a small child, I learned from the studies of my mother and her friends, developing skills to cultivate food without toxic pesticides, visiting indigenous peoples whose perspectives influenced us on issues ranging from traditional spiritual forms of healing, to the delicate balance of ecosystems. There were the ongoing studies of healing plants, holistic eastern medical traditions, and how to prepare food nutritiously vs buying processed foods. Meditation techniques revealed the mind/body connection, eastern spirituality exposed the energetic component of our physical bodies. We rallied for no nukes and clean air and water, coming to an understanding that we all share one biosphere.

There was a clairvoyant church that we attended when I was very young, headed by a robust psychic, an older woman with big eyes and a round face. I only remember her as being named Gloria. She predicted many events that have since come to pass, which my mother wrote in notebooks while Gloria spoke: a benevolent Russian leader with a birthmark on his head would lessen cold war tensions with the U.S. ushering in a new era of peace and freedom (Gorbachev); the tearing down of the Berlin wall; wars in the Middle East. There was one prediction that has stuck with me, as a kind of looming backdrop to my life since I was 6. Gloria said that water would become a precious commodity, and she saw visions of people killing for it to survive. In the 1970s, before bottled water was on stores shelves, we took water for granted and her words seemed odd. Now, 40 years later, Gloria’s words make perfect sense.

BUNNY GIRL (video still) performance/video movie 2016

BUNNY GIRL (video still) performance/video movie 2016

As an adult, I expanded on the knowledge-base my upbringing gave me in Bay Area academia and in feminist art-making. I also spent 25 years rigorously training in eastern spiritual practices and in the healing arts, including with my own indigenous relatives, working to recover from a life-threatening neuro-immune illness I developed after a toxic exposure. I began to work with clients, as a clairvoyant, energetic healer, and nutritional coach.

After I made BUNNY GIRL, I used my clairvoyant and energetic healing skills in a live performance called The Intuitive Feminist at Krowswork Gallery in Oakland, acting in defiance of the patriarchal influence which makes these skills taboo in an art world setting. In the performance, I directed each audience member to focus on an issue. Using bibliomancy, I randomly opened pages from classic feminist texts and intuitively expounded on them, with a focus on the individual’s internalized sexism. I administered a vibrational flower essence remedy I had specially prepared for masculine/feminine balance. These are tools that women were once burned at the stake for.

The Intuitive Feminist performance, Krowswork Gallery, Oakland, CA 2016 (photo Jared Johnson)

The Intuitive Feminist performance, Krowswork Gallery, Oakland, CA 2016 (photo Jared Johnson)

I’m currently working on two performance/video ritual pieces. One is an 11-screen collaboration with video art pioneer John Sanborn, called NOW, where we humorously address fatalism. Two opposite female characters, one sarcastic, one optimistic, provide instructions for transmutation using a ring of monitors that envelopes the audience in sacred space. Utilizing technology as a conduit to unlock physiological power in participants, we seek to invoke altered states where beliefs transform into reality. NOW will be unveiled in February 2018 at San Francisco Camerawork. In my other project, I humorously play three female archetypes which are commonly shunned in feminist discourse and critical theory. These point to the patriarchal influence, racism and misogyny within these discourses. They will be projected larger than life. Like NOW, this piece involves a nexus between ritual and technology.

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Monet Clark is a performance/video artist and photographer from California, with a BFA from SFAI. Her works are raw, refined, wickedly humorous, political, feminist and semi-autobiographical. She depicts women in media and subculture, exploring dichotomy, ritual and transmutation. Exhibitions include WP8, Germany; The Kitchen, NYC; SFMOMA; solo at Krowswork Gallery, Oakland; Rapid Pulse, Chicago; and more. She recently completed a residency at Krowswork where she finished BUNNY GIRL, which has since shown in film festivals internationally.


About Artists and Climate Change

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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New Monthly Post: Renewable Energy Artworks

This post comes from the Artists and Climate Change Blog

As a renewable energy photographer, I can’t think of a better way to embrace the new year than to celebrate artists who are inspired by renewable energy and who, collectively, are changing the social narrative surrounding what (the late) President Obama calls our irreversible transition to a post-carbon future.

Throughout 2017, I will post once each month about an artist or group of artists whose work explores wind, solar and other forms of renewable energy from a variety of perspectives. From architects to poets to sculptors to musicians, these artists are changing the mood music about climate change while drawing much-needed attention to the many health and economic benefits of renewables, improved energy efficiency and electrifying transport systems in our increasingly crowded and polluted cities.

For our opening post on renewable energy artworks, we travel to the UK’s maritime city of Hull on the Yorkshire coast, where the multimedia artist Nayan Kulkarni recently transformed the historic heart of the city with the installation of a massive 28-tonne, 250ft-long (75m) offshore wind turbine blade. “The Blade” is the first major artwork commissioned as part of Look Up, a year-long cultural celebration of public artwork and installations marking Hull’s tenure as UK City of Culture 2017.

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The Blade was built by local men and women newly hired at Siemen’s recently constructed state-of-the-art offshore wind manufacturing plant located in the revitalized Alexandra Docks on the Humber River.

According to The Guardian, this industrial blade-cum-artwork draws important links between Hull’s industrial past, its more recent slide into economic despair and – thanks to the promise of offshore wind – an optimistic future.

For example, up to one thousand new manufacturing jobs will be created by the new factory, in a city with one of the highest unemployment rates in the UK. Further development of Alexandra Dock will continue throughout 2017, including construction of a new harbour for pre-assembly and load out of wind turbine components destined for the construction of massive offshore wind projects off the coast of England and northern Europe.

In an online interview published by The Mirror, Martin Green, CEO and Director of Hull 2017, hopes that the installation of this enormous industrial object will start a debate about what constitutes art. “This is a very beautiful object, hand-made, in a really interesting context at a very interesting time in the city’s history. And to me, that makes art. But I think that debate will rage,” he added.

In a press release, Mr. Green added “Nayan Kulkarni’s Blade is a dramatic, yet graceful addition to Hull’s city centre. Despite its size, what is striking about the sculpture is its elegance. Putting this example of state of the art technology against the historic charms of Queen Victoria Square makes you look at this fine public space differently. It’s a structure we would normally expect out at sea and in a way it might remind you of a giant sea creature, which seems appropriate with Hull’s maritime history. It’s a magnificent start to our Look Up programme, which will see artists creating sight specific work throughout 2017 for locations around the city.”

The Blade will remain in Queen Victoria Square until March 18th.

Next month’s post: Land Art Generator Initiative‘s “Renewable energy can be beautiful”

Follow Joan Sullivan on Twitter @CleanNergyPhoto

 


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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In Residence at the Former Apartment of Artist/Activist Friedensreich Hundertwasser

This post comes from the Artists and Climate Change Blog

Author: Yasmine Ostendorf 

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Friedensreich Hundertwasser (1928-2000) was a rather eccentric Austrian artist, known for his colourful paintings and Gaudi-esque architecture. His work can be found all over the world, brightening up streets from Vienna to Osaka. He was unconventional and rebellious and stated  that “the straight line leads to the downfall of humanity.” He applied this rule to both his paintings as well as buildings, resulting in uneven floors and sometimes dangerously low ceilings. But the straight line wasn’t his only worry: he was an environmental activist concerned about our human relation to nature and addressing issues such as the quality of the air (“we are suffocating in our cities from poison and a lack of oxygen”) and dangers of nuclear power plants, through his art practice.

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Use Public Transport – Save the City (1989), Hundertwasser

This month I’m staying in Hundertwasser’s original former apartment in Vienna, as Curator-in-Residence of Kunst Haus Wien. The apartment, located on top of the museum, is a true health and safety hazard (even the floors aren’t straight) but allows for a great insight into his work and philosophies. Hundertwasser believed that art has to be the bridge between the creativity of nature and creativity of man, and that art has to include nature and its laws. For Hundertwasser it means, amongst other things, that one should be able to hang out the window and change the exterior of a building as far as the arm can reach (I haven’t tried this yet) but it also means one should be surrounded by plenty of trees. From the house one should be able to see the trees from different perspectives. This is certainly the case in his own home; not only is there a rooftop garden, but the apartment is full of windows, large and small, from which you can peek outside, or to the other rooms. Hundertwasser stated the trees are also tenants of the apartment, and that their contribution towards the rent is actually much more valuable than any currency humans use. His ten-point manifesto celebrates the tree tenants, bringing oxygen and “the needed moisture to the city.”

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Hundertwasser’s healing suggestion for a residential building, 1971/72 – Application of Window right and Tree duty

Already in 1975, Hundertwasser was exploring the idea of a “humus toilet,” a do-it-yourself composting toilet that doesn’t use electricity, water, or chemicals. He also developed a water purification system for urine and waste water using aquatic plants such as cypress grass and water hyacinth. Though none of these innovations are installed in his apartment on top of the museum (unfortunately?), what you do notice is how all the organic forms and shapes in his home – even the uneven floors – create a very relaxed, warm and welcoming atmosphere, like you are in a boat. Maybe it wasn’t all so crazy to think that “being forced to walk on flat asphalt and concrete floors […] estranged from man’s age-old relationship and contact to earth, a crucial part of man withers and dies.” According to Hundertwasser, living in these “designers’ offices” has “catastrophic consequences for the soul, the equilibrium, the well-being and health of man.”

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Hundertwasser’s water purification system

Being in residence in his house allows me to learn more about this curious persona and see what his legacy means to contemporary artists in Vienna. To what extent are these 70s and 80s rhetorics and aesthetics still relevant? This month, in collaboration with curator Jade Niklai, I will be interviewing pioneering artists, architects, designers, thinkers, curators and other creative professionals focused on the key environmental issues of our time: flooding, drought, ecocide, extinction of species, loss of biodiversity, waste, ocean acidification, climate change, energy transition, resource use; and the notion of the Anthropocene. The aim of the research is to map existing efforts by Austria’s cultural communities, facilitate their amplification abroad and develop an ambitious exhibition on the topic.

My first visit was to Brazilian artist Kadija de Paula, in residence at art space M21 in Vienna. Dinner on Saturday with the artist meant eating what she and her partner Chico found during a local dumpster-diving expedition. They found a lot of bananas which meant we ate both banana compote as well as a banana peel stew. It was surprisingly delicious! During their month-long residency they take up the challenge to live and work with found resources, food and materials, avoiding the use of resources that should not have been created or that will soon be depleted. They will research habits and processes of disposal, recycling and social assistance in Vienna, and collect found objects in the house (which was already getting a bit full after one week in town!). But sharing the food together, surrounded by beautiful objects, you could not not think about our ridiculous obsession with buying and consuming. It was probably my most sustainable meal ever and I think Hundertwasser would have been proud.

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Banana peel stew, photo by Yasmine Ostendorf

Diving into the life and work of Hundertwasser shows that artists working with environmental issues is nothing new, nothing “hip” and unfortunately it hasn’t become less urgent. Hundertwasser was a visionary artist expressing his concerns about nature almost 50 years ago and sadly we are still dependent on fossil fuels, addicted to consuming and creating unsustainable amounts of waste. This month I hope to find many more inspiring examples by artists and hopefully will be eating more banana peels.


For the whole of January Yasmine Ostendorf is in residence at Kunst Haus Wien. The research forms the foundation for an exhibition in late 2017, to be presented in the framework of The Garage Gallery’s ongoing programme on the topic. Follow Yasmine Ostendorf in residence at Kunst Haus Wien via her Instagram take-over.

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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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Embracing the Vulnerability of Others

This post comes from the Artists and Climate Change Blog

Feature: Storyboard from the animated film pilot for “Next to Now,” by Annette Mohr.

Marte Røyeng is a singer/songwriter based in Oslo, Norway. I met her on a trip to Norway a few years ago where, at the time, she had just finished creating a musical with at-risk youth that dealt with aspects climate change. I have been following her work from a distance since then, always delighted to listen to her haunting and richly textured songs. A gifted musician who plays mandolin, piano, guitar and banjo, Marte has performed in concert venues, cafés and smaller festivals in Oslo and as far north as Lofoten. Here, she tells us what drives her, why urgency must be accompanied with compassion, and why embracing the vulnerability of others is a source of hope.

Marte Røyeng© John Nordahl

What inspires you?

I often find inspiration in descriptions of a life that is different and more extreme than mine. When I feel like a stranger to what I am listening to, reading, or seeing, I feel the need to respond, and that response is usually a piece of music, or a song. For a while now I have been really drawn to dystopian and post-apocalyptic fiction and films. I think what inspires me in these stories is that they often contain some kind of search for compassion. Cormac McCarthy’s The Road is the strongest example I know of that kind of story. It is beautiful and horrible, and has become a point of reference for me. I want to bring some of that sense of human strength and vulnerability into what I do.

What can music do for climate change that other art forms cannot?

Music has a lot in common with other art forms, of course, but one defining feature is that it happens in time. It gives you something to react to, and then moves on. So what lingers, what resonates, what you find interesting or important is deeply personal. Music has many layers and it interacts with a complex mix of “materials” inside your mind: emotions, knowledge, memory, self-image, and culture. You pick up the song’s message, but you bring a lot of yourself, a lot of your own “material” to it. Music can be abstract and very open. In terms of climate change, it gives the opportunity to have a personal experience. I’ve written a song called “While You Can” which could bring to mind images of islands slowly being washed away by rising oceans. Or it could just as well be heard as a description of a relationship withering away – or even carry both meanings at the same time.

https://soundcloud.com/marteroyeng/while-you-can-master

I really appreciate how music offers a mild and non-judgmental space for people to explore their own emotions. I like it when I listen to music and think “this is so important, I need to remember this.” And it is in part the music itself and in part my own personal “material” that brings out this sense of importance. The music and art project “Next to Now” is all about that. The words I sing can be direct and desperate, but the music softens them, or adds a question mark to them. When I make music and write lyrics about climate change, I try to balance the sense of urgency with the understanding that it is difficult and takes time. I don’t want to point fingers too much. My hope is that the songs become more open to many different listeners that way.

I know you often work with kids… Does your work with them influence your music?

The last time I worked with kids was on a theatre project called Black Sea / White Foam: The Little Mermaid, a collaboration between Scenelusa, America-based Experimental Theater Lab and Myers-Bowman Productions. Five teenage girls created and performed several versions of the fairy tale The Little Mermaid using experimental theatre techniques. Incorporating their thoughts on climate change into the performance was part of the project. In addition to making music for the pieces based on recordings of the girls’ own voices, my role was to give a few talks during rehearsals about different aspects of climate change. In these talks, I tried to stay close to the teenagers’ lives. I avoided exploring the issues from a too specific or political point of view, trying instead to give the girls a chance to check in on their own feelings and thoughts about climate change. We talked about things like responsibility, perception of time, and the relationship between us and nature. Listening to the discussions that followed the talks, and watching the performance itself (which was very emotional), I was struck by the blunt seriousness with which the teenagers treated the issue. It was sobering. I even felt a bit guilty as if I’m not serious enough about climate change myself. It still feels far away and unreal. But to them, it’s all very true. My impression is that young people look at their future with more stark realism than many adults do. Even though I’m less than ten years their senior, I haven’t grown up in the same way they have, listening to news that are becoming more and more dire.

What is the single most important thing artists can do to address climate change?

Artists are in a position to create works that act as reminders of something we perhaps already know: Every human being is part of a network that can make big things happen. Artists are really good at making hidden or forgotten connections visible, and at helping us overcome our feeling of being anonymous or insignificant by presenting alternative ways to view ourselves in the middle of our ongoing stories. They challenge our sense of responsibility. They hear and respond to our sense of being useless, of disappearing in the crowd, of being drowned out by stronger voices.

Speaking of making connections, I really support the idea that there is a lot of potential in collaborating with researchers and others working outside the art world. I am inspired by people like Heike Vester, who I met this summer in Lofoten, in Northern Norway. Heike is a biologist and the founder of a fantastic project called Ocean Sounds. She studies the vocal communication of whales and dolphins, using that knowledge to protect the marine ecosystem from harmful human impacts. Ocean Sounds lists Art Projects as one of their project aims, with the explanation that art can help bridge the gap between “dry” science and its audience and create deeper understanding. I admire Heike’s approach. Maybe artists need to be more actively on the lookout for collaboration opportunities?

https://soundcloud.com/marteroyeng/into-the-wild

What gives you hope?

Climate change is about equality and fairness and everyone having the right to a good life on a healthy planet. The fact that we can consciously choose between connection to, and rejection of, others gives me hope. It means that we can choose to care about people beyond those in our closest networks. It is so good to see growing movements of people who believe in the importance of looking after each other, not just one’s own interests. I am hopeful that more and more people will choose to embrace the vulnerability of others as well as their own.

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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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The Nature of Man

This post comes from the Artists and Climate Change Blog

by Guest Blogger Mark A. Durstewitz

Featured Image: The Nature of Man poster

Madmen and Dreamers is a progressive rock band who writes, records, and performs original rock operas. Our first project, The Children of Children, enjoyed a limited run at the Bleecker Street Theater in New York City following its regional tour. The band, founded by Christine Hull and me, is raising funds for the tour of its new project, a climate change rock opera called The Nature of Man, written by Mario Renes, Christine, and me.

While we were touring The Children of Children, Mario, Chris and I began to talk about the next project. The environment was the obvious choice, but which aspect of climate change should we focus on? As writers are universally cruel to their characters we started tossing around worst case scenarios.

It didn’t take long to settle on water: the lynchpin of climate change and flash point of fracking and pollution. But… how to make this huge issue accessible to the audience?

While pondering that, Chris and I were invited to a WhyHunger fundraiser in New York City. We accepted to help a good cause. At the event, we found ourselves sitting with WhyHunger’s International Coordinator, Peter Mann and Aldous Huxley’s granddaughter, Tessa. I was seated at the right of Peter next to Ms. Huxley, and Chris was seated on Peter’s left.

While Ms. Huxley and I were talking, Chris told Peter about the project. He tapped me for the when of the story. I told him we’d set it 25 or so years in the future. He shook his head and said no, these problems were already underway. He invited us to meet in his office one night.

Mario and I met with Peter and a hydrological engineer named Greg. They laid out how much trouble we were in and supported it with a stack of data.

Basically, we’ve upset the planet’s hydrological cycle. Freshwater is evaporating as we raise the air temperature, leaving little for agriculture, animals, and humans. This causes conflicts and failed states. It’s a real mess.

And a number of large corporations are taking advantage of it. 

After the meeting we drove in silence, trying to take it in. The horror of the situation preempted any discussion of our story.

Being the one with some scientific training, I took the data and spread it out on the coffee table, highlighter in hand, and started to read. When Chris got up in the morning I was still there. She looked at the pile of data and asked how bad it was. I told her it was very bad and refused to comment further. I secreted the data in my office and began to ponder.

Any reasonable human being, carrying such knowledge about the survival of his species, is morally compelled to act. It would be monstrous to trash it all and party while waiting for the inevitable collapse. We all deserve a better fate than that meted out by the world’s industrial elite. This story must be told and it must be successful.

Our first attempt was released as the concept album Remembrance while we were running The Children of Children in NYC. We weren’t happy with it and we were torn between reworking it and moving on. Reworking it was a mammoth undertaking. The only way to get it right would be a series of readings with actors reading the lyrics (libretto) as characters. The reading isn’t the hard part, it’s the rewriting . . .

We talked seriously about dropping it, but . . . I have this friend with a lofty title at the United Nations and he would give me no peace. Every time we saw each other, he subjected me to an excruciatingly polite harangue about the importance of the story. He was seeing it play out on a global scale.

Then, on a certain night, I got home and Chris recounted a conversation she’d had with her acting coach. She’d brought her songs into class so they could work on the necessary emotions for each recording session. Maggie was of the same opinion as my friend at the UN. We both sighed and agreed that it was a story that desperately wanted to be told.

It’s about the last, clean freshwater aquifer in North America lying deep beneath the ground of Woodstock, NY., the farms that sit on top of it and use its water for agriculture, and the company who wants the water.

Could be happening anywhere in the world right now and, according to my friend at the UN, it is. But we added a few twists to the story (sorry, no spoilers). For starters, the woman who runs the farms (Sophia) and the man who owns the company (Geier) have history and it gets ugly quick.

When Sophia’s daughter, Demi, and her husband, Will, return from the desert west after The Great Los Angeles Fire, Sophia’s farm is a beautiful refuge from their dangerous and painful journey east. Green hills and rolling fields of crops greet them as Sophia tells them that her home is now their home.

What she doesn’t tell them however, is that Geier has his sights set on her land and the water beneath it. And he’ll stop at nothing to get it.

We are raising funds for the first leg of a college tour of The Nature of Man. Our aim is to involve the students in the production and bring in environmental groups to help get them organized and moving in defense of their future. If we leave every school with a dedicated group working on local problems, we can change our trajectory and move toward a future filled with hope.

Mark & ChrisMark & Chris

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Mark A. Durstewitz lives in both the creative and technological worlds; the digital studio is his domain. He’s played keyboards for southern and progressive rock bands and has collaborated with fellow musicians, writing keyboard parts and lyrics during studio sessions. A published novelist who has also won awards for short stories, the nexus of music and storytelling is his home. His first rock opera; The Children of Children, garnered rave reviews and world-wide radio play.

Madmen and Dreamers’ blog can be found here.

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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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Theatre, Climate Change, and an Election Year

This post comes from the Artists and Climate Change Blog

Performance of Theater in Asylum’s The Debates: NY Primary Performance. Photo by Bailey Carr, 2016.

Different artists have different relationships to systems, particularly political systems. To me, as an artist seeking to illuminate the flawed status quo and to offer space for alternative futures, confronting political issues is a given. The political realm has been at the forefront of my thinking for the past year, as the U.S. wades through a divisive election season. As time counts down to Election Day, I have been reflecting on the trajectory of this campaign cycle, and how the political issues that I care deeply about have or have not been addressed in the public sphere.

Earlier this year, during the United States Primary Elections and about two-hundred days before the 2016 United States General Election, I assisted NYC-based theatre company Theater in Asylum on their adaptation of the Democratic Primary Debates for the stage. Their production, The Debates: Democratic Primaries Performance, sought to illuminate the characters of the 2016 Democratic candidates for President, and to dissect their political histories. The production did not show bias for or against any candidate, and was intent on empowering audiences to cast conscious votes. As a creator on the show, I myself was reinvigorated in the U.S. political process and in collaborative play-making.

The events of this summer and early fall – from Brexit, and war in the Middle East, to protests of the Dakota Access Pipeline – proved challenging. Why now? Political and social unrest is not new to human history. The development of technology in the past decades has increased how much and how quickly coverage of world events is circulated. This includes the leakage of information on both the major-party candidates here in the U.S. This unprecedented degree of media coverage has led to what Peter Pomerantsev terms “a ‘post-fact’ or ‘post-truth’ world,” in his essay “Why We’re Post-Fact.” Pomerantsev’s notion resonates with me and my concerns around climate change, as he goes on to describe this world: “Not merely a world where politicians and media lie – they have always lied – but one where they don’t care whether they tell the truth or not.”

What I find doubly troubling about this “post-fact” world is Pomerantsev’s explanation of how the lies play out in our everyday lives, with search-engine algorithms collating website searches and clicks to target and confirm existing biases. This also happens on social media, which Pomerantsev depicts as “echo chambers of similar-minded people, feeding us only the things that make us feel better, whether they are true or not.” As someone who relies on social media to stay in touch and spread word about projects important to me, this framing of social media is tricky but useful. As a theatre-maker, I see the possibilities in social media to attract audiences through a direct appeal to their emotions, in the way that social media sites can craft narratives. But I recognize the limitations of such stories, and the nature of their relative truth. Stories through social media can dangerously paint one-sided perspectives. Social media is just a tool, a tool among many. Another tool I am interested in wielding is directly connecting to the beast of the political system itself.

About fifty days before the Election, I moderated a HowlRound Twitter Chat on “Theatre in the Age of Climate Change in an Election Year.” Artists tweeted their questions, concerns, and suggestions around tackling the topic of politics within the context of theatre that addresses climate change. Participants via Twitter ruminated on the challenge to send messages through the form of theatre without alienating audiences. Others expressed feelings of overwhelm around the world of politics itself. One recent concrete example of reaching politicians comes from a New York University student from Montreal, who confronted Canadian Prime Minister Justin Trudeau while he was visiting New York earlier this fall. In an exchange caught on video, this student asked the political leader “‘Will you reject the Kinder Morgan pipeline?,’” a British Columbia tar sands project, proposed by Texas-based company, Kinder Morgan. This student took direct, courageous action to engage a politician, if only for a moment. I cannot help but hope that instances like this, of undeniable human interaction, are what will change our world for the better.

debates-general-logo4Poster for Theater in Asylum’s The Debates. Design by Ran Xia, 2016.

About fifteen days before the Election, I began rehearsals with Theater in Asylum on the continuation of their Debates project, The Debates: General Election Performance. The two-week rehearsal process commenced after all of the General Election Debates had taken place, so we had to prepare for scenes quicker than ever before. The condensed timeline for this project also highlighted where my interests lie, including my interest in using theatre to craft alternate realities. In an alternate reality, climate is regularly on our political leaders’ radars. Journalists both in the U.S. and abroad have noted the lack of attention on climate issues by the two major-party candidates over the past year. Being in a rehearsal room with collaborators on The Debates has provided necessary space to decompress from the absurd topics that are being covered in this campaign season, and to brainstorm what we can make of it all.

In the final days before the Election, I am ambivalent about the outcome. I anticipate I am not alone in feeling overwhelmed by the outpouring of media content throughout this campaign, especially around what he said or what she did. And as “facts” in our society become more relative, the more surreal the circumstances feel. The more surreal our political systems appear, the more we need each other – the stories, the human voices, the feelings we can share with other humans – as these elements will keep us tied to who and where we are, and avoid being sucked into the magnetic vortex that is the polarizing political candidates before us. I am not proposing we all disengage from the political process, not at all. I am propelling the opposite: that we join as communities to speak out about our dissatisfaction, about our disillusionment around our political processes, in order that we might surpass the surreality that is now overwhelming the airwaves. In an age of climate change, this is especially necessary, if humans are to continue living on this planet. On a smaller scale, coming together to engage politically is a necessity because – in a political system like that in the U.S. – decisions are made in local or national governments that impact individuals’ everyday lives. I do not know what the outcome of this election will be. Regardless of who wins, the shape of American politics has shifted. I am hopeful that we – artists, activists, citizens – can continue a shift in a direction towards more sustainable alternatives, in political and social circumstances.

14560051_1340141442685282_9015114395964112029_oRehearsal for Theater in Asylum’s The Debates: General Election Performance. Photo courtesy of Theater in Asylum, 2016.

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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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Building into Water

This post comes from the Artists and Climate Change Blog

by Guest Blogger Lisa Reindorf

Hurricane Matthew blew into Florida the same night as my exhibit “Building into Water” opened at Galatea Gallery in Boston. The installation, consisting of aerial view paintings, is an interpretation of the coastal ecosystems of Florida.

The aftermath of the storm demonstrated the very issues that I was depicting in my work – the clashes between building and nature that are exacerbated by climate change. Climate change has resulted in floods, waves, and winds that inundate infrastructure and wash away beaches, land, and buildings.

The art that I find most intriguing involves artists confronting social, political, and economic issues. I’ve been an architect, artist, and teacher and I put a lot of thought into why we do things and what is the meaning of our work. My art has been concerned with architectural structures and systems, and their intervention in the natural world. Formally, a grid system is often overlaid with free flowing organic shapes.

Content-wise, I’ve begun focusing on climate change because it is vital to our planet’s survival. As an architect, I dealt with creating structures and considering their impact on the land. My practice has been to minimize negative effects, emphasizing energy conservation and utilizing the land and natural systems in a beneficial manner, such as siting to maximize daylight, reusing water, and minimizing disruption of ecosystems. Now that I am a full time artist, I’ve taken some of these ideas into my artwork.

Artists have a long history of landscape painting, but I wanted to explore current human impact on the land. Land is being drastically reshaped by human intervention and affected by climate change. My work visually addresses the inherent conflict of built infrastructure and ecosystems. Natural systems that have been disturbed by the expansion of man-made structures apply counter-pressure in response to disturbances. In other words, man intrudes into nature and nature strikes back.

Sand, Sludge and Sea

In these aerial views, I depict some aspects of this conflict and its confluence with climate change. By building into natural habitats, we interrupt ecosystems, pollute water, put carbon into the environment, and raise temperatures. Nature responds with storms, flooding, and rising tides. Rampant development has invaded and distorted that natural land formation and the systems that keep it healthy.

I begin by looking at aerial views of coastal areas and maps of cities. While these are my inspiration, the works are visual imaginative interpretations. Each piece portrays a specific issue. I decide on the scale, where some areas are zoomed in close and others depict a larger landscape. These square panels are in multiples that can be recombined and reoriented so that it is a general rather than specific interpretation and viewers can create their own narrative.

Florida Aerial View

Paintings such as Toxic Green and Algae Bloom look at the redirection of natural waterways and polluted aquifers that result in toxic algae blooms. Here, neon green shapes bloom in aqua waters. Sand, Sludge and Sea concern runoffs that contribute to sludge, and sandbars that block natural waterways and reshape land.

The rising sea level and increasing tides that are a result climate change are shown in Florida City Aerial View, where the grid and system of cities face encroaching water and eroding shores. In the pieces Third Wave and After the Storm, man-made islands in vibrant colors of neon pink and day-glow orange project into the ocean, connected by long causeways. They are extremely vulnerable to weather events. Tidal Wave and Tsunami depict strong storms and sea water that inundate the structure of the city. In all these pieces, a systematic structure confronts free flowing organic shapes.

Tidal Wave

Why did I focus on Florida? Florida is literally ground zero for the United States and climate change. Florida’s east coast ranks as the region’s most vulnerable to sea-level rise. Just this week, Hillary Clinton and Al Gore devoted a speech to climate change, which they presented in Miami. They discussed the science behind climate change and concomitant issues such as rising tides and storms.

As the recent hurricane demonstrated, rising sea levels and storm surges inundate cities during major storms. What happens in Florida is just a precursor of what will happen to our coastal areas. Focusing on this issue is particularly important as some politicians even deny the existence of climate change, not to mention its drastic effect on our land.

My intention is not to lecture but to stimulate thought. Artists have a long tradition of exploring the landscape, environment, and planet we live on. We can interpret scientific data and information in ways that are accessible to the public. My hope is to communicate to the audience the urgency of the global climate challenge.

See the article in the October issue of Artscope Magazine for more information.

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Lisa Reindorf is known for her vibrant mixed media works of architecture and landscapes. The color sensibility is influenced by time spent in Mexico in a community of artists. She has a BA in Design of the Environment from the University of Pennsylvania and received her MA from Columbia University. She was also an instructor at RISD. She is represented by Galatea Gallery in Boston, and has exhibited extensively in NY, California, Mexico and Europe.

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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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The Making of “Concert Climat:” A Tale of Words and Music

This post comes from the Artists and Climate Change Blog

By Guest Blogger Joseph Makholm

Revelations don’t come very often, but when they do your head is never quite the same.

In the fall of 2014, a revelation came to me in the form of Naomi Klein’s book This Changes Everything. It confirmed what I suspected to be true about climate change, which is that no attempt to deal with it can succeed without challenging the economic system that created the problem and brought us to where we are today. Science, politics, economics, culture all had to be considered at once if there were any hope of confronting this potential apocalyse.

Her thesis is logically and brilliantly argued, and a pleasure to read. It reminded me of two other books, among many I’ve read over the past decade, which are revelations in their own right. Whereas Ms Klein’s book considers climate change through an economic and political lens, Bill McKibben’s Eaarth examines it from a cultural orientation, and Dr James Hansen’s Storms of My Grandchildren from a scientific perspective. Taken together, they’re an impressive trio.

I’m not a scientist, not a journalist. I’m a musician – composer, pianist and trombonist, specializing primarily in jazz. There are lots of trios in music, and, for a composer, just the idea of something in three parts can be an inspiration. I noticed an interesting three-part structure in Eaarth/This Changes Everything/Storms of My Grandchildren, with the middle section a sort of fast movement vis-à-vis the other two. Medium? Symphony, or sonata, or song cycle? That would work itself out. The real dilemma was how to adapt a book on current affairs into a piece of music.

What I did have was a potential deadline. The international climate conference COP21 was taking place here in Paris in November/December 2015. It would be great to premiere a piece during the conference, but by the time I got down to really thinking about it, it was only six months away. With that time frame the simplest option would be my own jazz ensemble, the Paris Jazz Repertory Quintet (PJRQ), whose repertoire is oriented toward classic compositions from the hard bop era.

I made a few phone calls to people whom I thought might have some influence, some useful suggestions. Nothing came of it, and the summer was spent on other projects.

Then, in late September I happened to be at the Sunside, one of Paris’ major jazz clubs – the PJRQ has played there often – and I asked the owner, in an offhand remark, what he thought of a climate concert during COP. His response: “Sound’s great. Send me a proposal by email.”

Oh, shit! Now I’ve got to do it, and I only have two months.

The first thing was I knew we’d have to expand the ensemble. The quintet already had excellent soloists and a fine rhythm section, but this sort of project would need a broader orchestral pallette. Two additional horns would do it, and fortunately my first choices – trombonist and second saxophonist – were both available. We were now the Paris Jazz Repertory Septet.

But I still had to tackle this book adaptation thing. I knew I wouldn’t have to reread the books in full, but I would have to dig in to find ideas, phrases, images that were evocative musically.

First in line was Eaarth, and the book’s central premise – and it’s title – was a workable point of departure. McKibben argues that the planet we now inhabit is not the same as the one we knew during millenia of human development. The stable, welcoming, nurturing world that brought about the flourishing of human culture has already become a harder and less accommodating planet, the result of a relentless exploitation of natural resources, industrialization, and the like. For us as a species, our earth is now a different place, i. e. “Eaarth.”

The dichotomy could become the basis of a balanced musical narrative: the reality of the new planet/memories of our former world. I couldn’t resist the double-A in McKibben’s title. The opening uses those two notes as a bowed ostinato in the contrabass beneath a procession of stark, dense chords in the brass. An anguished melody in the alto saxophone – improvised – emerges from the other horns in response to threatening gestures from the percussion.

The piano, absent in the opening, is the vehicle for an over-the-shoulder glance at what used to be. The dark A-minor harmony suddenly becomes a bright, colorful E-major – again from the title – with a warm, Ellingtonian richness. But it’s only a momentary reverie that can’t reverse the inevitability of the inhospitable new planet Eaarth.

This became the first section of “Eaarth.” I could continue with a detailed account of the words to music process, but there isn’t the space here. Suffice it to say that the full program of “Eaarth” would ultimately follow a three-section narrative:

1.  The New Planet, and Memories of Our Former World

2.  Nature Pushes Back
Melting Ice Caps—Rising Oceans
Drought—Crop Failure
Migration—Resource Wars

3.  Surviving, Not Thriving
Memories of Our Former World (reprise)
A Durable, Stable, Robust Future
The New Planet (reprise).

To give a sense of scale, each of the subsections in the text is a separate jazz theme – six in all – which are connected with transitional passages. The entire suite is 45-55 minutes in length without a break.

The second suite, “This Changes Everything,” came together in much the same way, and was finished only ten days before the premiere. It had become clear a couple of weeks earlier that I’d never get around to composing the third suite, but that was fine. The music had grown into something much bigger than originally planned, and we already had enough material for a full concert.

The unfinished “Concert Climat” was premiered at the Sunside/Sunset on 1 December, shortly after COP21 opened in Paris. The house was full, and the reaction from the audience was, to say the least, positive. Next step was to complete the third suite, “Storms of My Grandchildren,” and arrange for a performance of the full trilogy. That took place in Paris on a rainy Sunday afternoon in late May. The concert lasted four hours, and the room was full from start to finish. (Video clips from the May concert are available via this link.)

The piece is scheduled to be played again by the PJR7 at the Sunside in three separate concerts this season beginning on 13 November, each concert focusing on one of the three suites. Full details are available at the club’s website as well as our own Concert Climat website.

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Jazz pianist/trombonist and composer Joseph Makholm has been active in Paris since 1982.  He currently teaches composition at the Bill Evans Piano Academy. Much of Makholm’s music draws on the rhythmic and harmonic character of modern jazz.  His “Three Impressions for Solo Piano” is listed on the syllabus of the Associated Board of the Royal Schools of Music in the United Kingdom. In the spring of 2013 “Five In One (Monk’s Moods),” a symphonic portrait of Thelonious Monk was premiered by the Turning Point Ensemble in Vancouver, Canada. He performs regularly in small groups and with the Paris Jazz Repertory Quintet.

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Filed under: Guest Blog Series, Music

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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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