Chantal Bilodeau

Portraits of Time

This post comes from the Artists and Climate Change Blog

Beth Moon, Yemen, tree, Dragon's Blood, Socotra

Stunning. Magical. Exquisite. Monumental. Timeless. These are just a few of the adjectives used to describe Beth Moon’s magnificent platinum portraits of ancient and mythical trees, lovingly photographed over a 14 year journey that crossed almost every continent.

From her website: “Many of the trees I have photographed have survived because they are out of reach of civilization; on mountainsides, private estates, or on protected land. Certain species exist only in a few isolated areas of the world.”

“I photograph these trees because they may not be here tomorrow.”

Silent witnesses to time and history, some of these majestic beings are “older than the civilisations that have flourished around them” (Michael Abatemarco, The New Mexican). Others may very well out-survive our own species. They have much to teach us about ourselves and our relationship to our environment.

Sixty of her portraits, along with essays by Todd Forrest and Steven Brown, have been published in a splendid volume titled “Ancient Trees: Portraits of Time“.

In between international book tours and gallery exhibitions, Beth took some time to answer a few questions for us:

What was the inspiration behind this project? Does this project end with the publication of Ancient Trees?

Connecting with the natural world fuels me on many levels. As a child I was outdoors from dawn until bedtime, and playing in trees was a big part of my day. I remember a favorite oak with a comfortable nook in which I spent many afternoons. The world can look different from that vantage point! So trees were a natural subject choice for me, but I wanted to find the oldest ones because I was interested in their age and their strategies for survival.

It’s hard to say that I’ve finished with this project because someone is always telling me about a remarkable tree that rouses my curiosity. Lately, inspired by studies that link tree growth with starlight, I’ve begun to photograph trees under the night sky called Diamond Nights.

Beth Moon, baobab, Botswana

What is your process? How long do you stay in each location? 

I do as much research as possible which makes it easier to deal with unforeseen challenges. I try to allow a day or two minimum to take advantage of light on the best angle. When possible I like to camp nearby the tree, which allows me to be there as the sun comes up and sets.

What do you think is the single most important thing artists can do to address climate change? What gives you hope?

To make change happen on a global level, everyone needs to play their part. It all starts with awareness; a dialogue begins. That is the part of the artist. Channeling great passion into art can only help incite the politician and the law maker into taking action.

I am hopeful and very inspired when I see the reforestation that Sebastian Salgado has done with his homeland property in Brazil and the Big Life Foundation that Nick Brandt has initiated in Africa. I am equally encouraged with the attention that these tree photographs have garnered and find it very encouraging as I continue to explore new paths of awareness.

All images by Beth Moon, taken from her website.

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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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Imagination as muse

This post comes from the Artists and Climate Change Blog

Anaïs Tondeur, Depth Sounders, 2014, mixed rayogram techniques, C-Print, 24 x 11 cm, Image Courtesy of GV Art

This is not a review of Lost in Fathoms, Anaïs Tondeur’s current solo show at London’s GV Art Gallery, through 29 November. Several excellent reviews of this riveting installation have already been published elsewhere by Johanna Kieniewicz, Ruth Garde, Tom Jeffreys and Margaret Harris.

I must live vicariously through their words, for I was not one of the lucky ones to see this show in person. I will use my imagination – as Anaïs would surely appreciate – to visualize walking slowly through the multiple layers of her installation, lost in thought, seduced by the compelling narrative and search for meaning of the mysterious disappearance of the volcanic island of Nuuk. Somewhere in the North Atlantic. Sometime in 2012.

The Anthropocene, which is the inspiration behind Anaïs’s brilliant masterpiece, forces me to re-examine my initial impulse to hop on a plane in order to see this fascinating show. So instead of crossing the big pond, I spent a delightful bilingual hour Skyping with Anaïs in her Paris studio. As a photographer originally trained in the biological sciences, I wanted to understand the source of Anaïs’ fluency across multiple scientific disciplines: she regularly collaborates with geologists, geophysicists, oceanographers, hydro-physicists, even historians and philosophers.

Like shifting tectonic plates, Anaïs’ destiny was shaped by the fusion of art and science. The daughter of an artist and a geophysicist, she initially gravitated toward the sciences, but later decided to “move through the arts.” Her creativity seems to “come naturally from these two worlds. I think I’ve made the right choice, where I’m still really interested by questions and issues tackled by science, but I engage with them through an artistic approach.”

Another profound influence on Anaïs’ spirit of enquiry was the Rudolf Steiner (Waldorf) system in which she was schooled in France. Fostering both creative and analytical modes of understanding, the Waldorf school “opened up the world to me in a very creative way.” Imagination became her muse.

“This was such a beautiful gift, to start my life by,” she explained. “All children are naturally creative, but once structure is imposed onto them, their creativity fades away. Not in the Waldorf system: creativity is emphasized. It’s about giving tools to the child to help him find his way, at his own pace, where he wants to go, who he is. To help him blossom.”

It is clear that Anaïs continues to grow and blossom. Her work is simultaneously strong and delicate, mysterious and thought-provoking. Through her ongoing international collaborations with a wide range of scientists, she straddles the two worlds seamlessly, and in the process has created a new art form: one that organically weaves together science, art and fiction in order to open up new ways of understanding, new possibilities for solving a variety of social and environmental problems – health, education, food, energy – including climate change.

Approaches like hers will become increasingly relevant in the Anthropocene: we urgently need new tools to improve our understanding of the Anthropocene and ways to solve climate change. Using art, fiction and storytelling may be one way to do this, as it allows audiences to take some distance from the real world, from our usual patterns of engaging with the world, so that we can reflect back on reality from a new perspective.

“For me, it is quite important to work with fiction,” explained Anaïs. “This fiction gives some space and some freedom to open new potentialities.” According to Tom Jeffreys, fiction is often critical to our ability to access or create truth, and indeed may be actually a fundamental component of it.

Which brings us back to the profound influence that the Waldorf school has had on Anaïs’ unique artistic contribution in this age of rapid climate change:  through art and fiction, Anaïs creates a new space in which her scientific collaborators can question their own methodology, their own research, their own conclusions, imagine new possibilities.

Ruth Garde says it better than I: Science is not about getting answers; it’s about finding questions.

According to Anaïs: “It is so crucial to the future of the planet that all layers of the society (my emphasis) need to be engaged, need to reflect together on what do we want to do.”

At the end of our conversation, when asked what gives her hope, Anaïs hesitated before responding:

“Thinking so much about the Anthropocene, maybe I don’t have much hope… But I am inspired by all these movements where people from so many different disciplines meet to discuss and try to imagine together what to do in the future. I think that is the start of a big change, and I hope that we can continue in that direction.  In fact, it’s quite exciting to be living at such a turning point. It’s from here that we have so much to reinvent.”

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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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Creating a List of Climate Change Plays

This post comes from the Artists and Climate Change Blog

The image above shows how 2010 temperatures compare to average temperatures from a baseline period of 1951-1980, as analyzed by scientists at NASA’s Goddard Institute for Space Studies. Credit: NASA GISS

Where are the climate change plays and who are the playwrights writing them? We are looking to create a comprehensive go-to list so anyone searching for material related to this issue can have this resource available. Below is what we have found so far. What else is out there?

Please note: This list should by not means be considered an endorsement of the individual plays. It is simply a compilation. Also, in some cases, climate change is featured prominently while in others, it is only a backdrop for the story.

2071 – Duncan MacMillan (UK)
3rd Ring Out – Zoe Svendsen (UK)
AD2050 – Gurpreet Kaur Bhatti (UK)
Arvaarluk: An Inuit Tale – Michael Kusugak (Canada) theatre for young audience
Between Two Waves – Ian Meadows (Australia)
Carla and Lewis – Shonni Enelow (USA)
Earthquakes in London –Mike Bartlett (UK)
Extreme Whether – Karen Malpede (USA)
Far Away – Caryl Churchill (UK)
Field Trip: A Climate Cabaret – Superhero Clubhouse (USA)
Fire In The Garden – Ken Weitzman (USA)
Green Dating – Chantal Bilodeau (Canada/USA) one-act
Greenland – Nicolas Billon (Canada)
Greenland – Moira Buffini, Matt Charman, Penelope Skinner and Jack Thorne (UK)
How to Build a Forest – Lisa D’Amour & Katie Pearl (USA) part visual installation and part theatre performance
If There Is I Haven’t Found It Yet – Nick Payne (UK)
Island – Nicky Singer (UK) theatre for young audience
It Just Stopped – Stephen Sewell (Australia)
Kill Climate Deniers – David Finnigan (Australia)
Mr. Burns – Anne Washburn (USA)
Reclamation – Ken Weitzman (USA)
Red Forest – Belarus Free Theatre (UK)
Sea Sick – Alanna Mitchell (Canada)
Sila – Chantal Bilodeau (Canada/USA)
Ten Billion – Stephen Emmett (UK)
Thaw – Aaluk Edwardson (USA)
The Climate Monologues – Sharon Abreu (USA)
The Contingency Plan – Steve Waters (UK)
The Elephant Piece – Darryl Curry (USA)
The Ice Breaker – David Rambo (USA)
The Great Immensity – The Civilians (USA)
The Heretic – Richard Bean (UK)
The Last Polar Bears – adaptation by Joe Douglas (Scotland) theatre for young audience
The Weather – Clare Pollard (UK)
The Weather Project – NACL Theatre (USA)
The Word for Snow – Don DeLillo (USA) one-act
This Clement World – Cynthia Hopkins (USA)
Tomorrow Comes Today – Gordon Dahlquist (USA)
Water – created by Filter Theatre & David Farr (UK)
We Turned On the Light – Caryl Churchill (UK) choral work

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Filed under: Theatre

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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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Telling the Climate Change Story

This post comes from the Artists and Climate Change Blog

There are many ways to tell the climate change story. It can be told in numbers organized in charts or graphs – the tools preferred by scientists. Or it can be told in a myriad of artistic ways as evidenced by the categories on this blog. For painter and photographer Diane Burko, the climate change story is best told in large-scale images that capture both the majesty of the depicted subject, and the poignancy of its potential demise. Inspired by the science of climate change, Burko’s paintings and photographs invite us to revere what we have, and to understand that despite its magnitude and seemingly unlimited resources, our earth is at risk and requires as much nurturing from us as we do from it. The merging of the aesthetic and the rational in a single experience invites us to confront our own understanding of, and response to, climate change.

In the interview below, Burko talks about her two current projects: Politics of Snow and Polar Investigations. For more on these projects, see also this excellent post on the World Policy Institute Blog.

You have had a long and successful career as a landscape painter but recently, you shifted your focus. Can you talk about your Politics of Snow and Polar Investigations projects?

That shift happened in 2006 while giving a talk about my exhibition at the Michener Museum. The curator, Amy Schlegel, included a piece from 1976 about the French Alps ice amongst recent paintings of volcanoes and Iceland waterfalls. Seeing that large acrylic painting was my epiphany…

Was the snow was still there, I wondered… This was the same year Al Gore’s movie An Inconvenient Truth and Elizabeth Kolbert’s book Field Notes From A Catastrophe came out. Issues of climate change were in the air. I began seriously learning how the landscape (my lifelong subject) was being impacted by fossil fuels. There was no turning back – I no longer was satisfied with just creating images about the beauty of our environment. The more I researched, the more I realized I had to do something about it.

My project Politics of Snow was the answer. I began developing visual strategies to tell the climate change story. For about the first three years, I made paintings based on geological source material like repeat photography and recessional maps contributed by scientists from around the world. My practice prior to this was always based on personal engagement with an environment. However, with this body of work, my sources were primarily historical as I created large canvases tracking glacial degradation.

Qori Kalis

Qori Kalis, Peru, 1983-2009, after Henry Brecher, 60”x108”, 2009

Polar Investigations began in 2013 when I finally was able to witness first hand the impact of climate change. I have participated in expeditions to both the South and North Poles, thus again engaging personally with the landscape. In January 2013, I traveled to the Antarctic Peninsula, Elephant Island and South Georgia. In September/October, I joined 25 other artists on a residency in the Arctic Circle, sailing around Svalbard, 10 degrees below the North Pole and 400 miles north of Norway. I also joined a team of glaciologists in Ny-Alesund flying to Kronebreen and Kongsvegen Glaciers. This past August, I witnessed the fastest moving glacier in the Northern hemisphere: Ilulissat in Greenland. I plan to be back in Antarctica and Argentina’s southern Patagonia ice field this December through January 2015.

Ilulissat Fjord

At Ilulissat Fjord this August, 2014

How does the world of science inspire your art practice? 

I have always been “science curious.” I love to understand how and why things happen, particularly when it comes to the earth. I have realized in retrospect that most of the monumental landscapes I have sought throughout my career – like the Grand Canyon, volcanoes and now glaciers – are dramatically impacted by some geological phenomena. The stark difference, however, with my Polar Investigations project, is that glaciers like those in Glacier National Park are not naturally receding the way they have for thousands of years. Now the melt is so accelerated that the 150 glaciers counted in 1850 have been reduced to barely 25!

Grinnell Mt. Gould

Grinnell Mt. Gould, 1938, 1981, 1998, 2006, 88” x 200”, 2009

It is no longer Nature but Human Nature impacting our planet. Our use of fossil fuels has altered the balance…. Unprecedented extreme weather, droughts, floods and extinctions are the hallmarks of our Anthropocene era.

I have been fortunate over the years to connect with a number of scientists who appreciate how my work communicates science. Those relationships have led to my participation on panels at the American Geophysical Union, the Geological Society of America, the National Academy of Sciences and an affiliation with the Institute of Arctic and Alpine Research, where I am headed in two weeks to meet with a number of glaciologists, collect more visual data and lead a seminar.

Aside from all the personal conversations and data research, being in the field is the ultimate inspiration. The act of bearing witness to the vastness and magic of the polar regions is so special, but the privilege to observe scientists in the act of actually gathering their data is absolutely priceless!

What do you hope to communicate to viewers who encounter your work?

The alarm I feel about the future of our planet, the urgency to act. But it has to first be communicated through the actual painting and photography about the landscape. I want to seduce the audience with the inherent beauty I am depicting as well as remind them of its possible demise. The challenge is to meld those two goals. I never want the narrative to dominate – I want it implied.

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

They have to find a way to address their concerns in the most honest and authentic voice possible through their practice.

It’s not always an easy task….

Of course, aside from our studio work, I believe it is incumbent upon us to be socially engaged. I was elated to participate with some 400,000 other concerned citizens last month as we joined in the People’s Climate March in Manhattan, New York. I also think, if one is able to, that we should participate in outreach activities, and speak out as concerned artists for the preservation of our planet Earth.

What gives you hope?

The march on September 21 was an incredibly inspiring experience for me. Being there with 400,00 people all saying its time, the debate is over, we need our leaders to finally make concrete policy decisions.

I also find it hopeful that this is a central issue for many artists working in many different mediums – there are increasing numbers of exhibitions, plays, and poems about our environment. I see a growing number of newspaper and magazine articles (I clip them), and a general increase on the topic in all media outlets – including this very active blog you have created. Thank you for that!

FEATURED IMAGE:  Grandes Jorasses, 64” x 108”, 1976

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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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Teresa Posyniak’s Beautiful Losers

This post comes from the Artists and Climate Change Blog

Featured Image: The Deeps Tapestry VI. 3′ x 2′, paper on cradled wood stretchers, wax and mixed media.

Teresa Posyniak is a painter and sculptor best known for her work with encaustic, using hot beeswax to create rich, sensual surfaces that incorporate textures, drippings, splatters and layers of tinted, glowing colors. She is also an artist exploring climate change issues in Calgary, Alberta – a city that boast over 100 energy companies, mostly in the oil and gas industry. One of the fasted growing economy in Canada, with the tar sands literally in its backyard, Calgary does not play well with those who criticize its economy’s main driver. Yet artists still find a way to make their voices heard.

Note: The photos included in this post are studio shots of works in progress that will become part of Beautiful Losers: My Carbon Sink Muses. Each photo is a detail of a much larger installation. There will be at least 9 columns in total. Tree forms will number about a dozen. Bleached Forest will be one much larger piece with many more elements.

You’ve provided this blog with a few details of works in progress for your series Beautiful Losers: My Carbon Sink Muses. Can you describe these paintings, sculptures and installations?

In this series, I explore the beauty and function of plankton, the smallest photo-synthesizer and supplier of half the earth’s oxygen, and trees, the largest, through paintings, sculpture and installations. Fascinated by the ornate shells and lace-like appearance of plankton and the striations and other marks on trees, I’ve created many paintings of these subjects individually (see Inhale and Birch Poems series). More recently, I’ve begun combining these subjects to create new forms. The plankton paintings are shaped irregularly, like pieces of a large puzzle, and the sculptural elements are evolving into installations which are designed to adapt to myriad gallery spaces. The materials I use vary widely: painting media, canvas, paper, cast paper and concrete, wax, felt, wood, lace and industrial steel connectors. Once completed, I hope to exhibit this work in a public gallery in the near future.

Creature Columns: 8' x 18", cast paper over sono tube, cast concrete base, lace, wax, oil.  Creature Columns: 8′ x 18″, cast paper over sono tube, cast concrete base, lace, wax, oil.

How does an artist dealing with climate change survive in the heart of Canada’s oil country? Does the proximity of the tar sands influence how you approach your work?

I can’t help but approach the issue of climate change with some trepidation because many of my friends, family, neighbours, acquaintances, collectors and clients work in the oil industry or business related to oil. As a social activist, I’m aware that many of the social justice organizations and charities I’ve supported have been funded by the oil and gas companies. Like most of us anywhere in the world, I am dependent on oil and gas for my energy needs. In Alberta and Canada, oil is a key driver in our economy. But, as I like to point out, it doesn’t mean we can’t question it or lobby for alternatives to this non-renewable resource.

I’ve had many private studio viewings of this series in progress and had several images published in the 2012 Paris exhibition Carbon 12. Reactions vary wildly from fascination, curiousity, appreciation for the aesthetics of the works but doubt about my stance on climate change, defensiveness and occasionally open hostility towards the perceived “attack” on oil. Because I’m not a scientist but an artist who loves science in general and reads voraciously about climate change, I always emphasize the importance of paying attention to the science. When I do have an exhibition, I’ll definitely promote the invitation of scientists and others to lecture on this subject.

You mentioned being inspired by the work of science journalist Alanna Mitchell [featured in a previous blogpost] for your Inhale and Beautiful Losers series. Can you talk a little bit about this?

Alanna Mitchell, my close friend since the late 70’s, introduced me to plankton about 8 years ago while she was researching and writing Seasick: The Hidden Ecological Crisis of the Global Ocean. Our frequent conversations about her experiences with ocean scientists on their expeditions inspired me to look deeply into the function of plankton and the effects of ocean acidification as a result of increasing carbon emissions. About 3 years ago when Alanna walked into my studio, she pointed out that I was working on both the largest absorber of carbon emissions, trees, and the tiniest, plankton. Prior to that, I considered trees (a long-time subject) and plankton as separate series in spite of their common function. Alanna’s observations inspired me to integrate these distinctive forms ever since, leading me back into sculpture and installations after many years of painting. Her influence on the direction of my work and ideas has been no less than profound.

Tree Form I:  5' x 2', felt, paper, wax, oil, lace, wood. Tree Form I: 5′ x 2′, felt, paper, wax, oil, lace, wood.

Beautiful Losers: My Carbon Sink Muses is a convergence of interests (trees and plankton) and disciplines (painting and sculpture). Do you feel this intersectional quality speaks to the nature of climate change in some way?

It feels very natural for me to explore the imagery of trees and plankton through painting and sculpture, both major disciplines in my art education and studio practice over 35 years. Blending art with reality has always been a major focus of mine as well, and when a work strikes a nerve with the public, it’s a hugely rich experience. In 1991 I built Lest We Forget: A Memorial to 135 Canadian Murdered Women which was later permanently installed in the University of Calgary’s Law School in 1994. It was one of Canada’s first such memorials and a catalyst even now for more discussion and action to address domestic violence. It now seems fitting that the cast paper and concrete columns I used in that sculpture are now being resurrected for Beautiful Losers where they are covered in lace and wax, appearing like strange trees crawling with plankton. The hugely all-encompassing nature of climate change lends itself to the convergence of ideas, imagery and the creation of new forms.

What gives you hope?

Without hope, we lack the motivation to discover solutions to this crisis that we face. Individual initiatives give me hope. Major climate change deniers and others that refuse to acknowledge the crisis make me lose hope. Unless governments provide leadership to impose controls on carbon emissions and the coal, oil and gas industries, what real impact do our efforts to recycle, use public transit, limit our energy consumption have?   Hope is life-affirming, the only way forward.

The Deeps Tapestry VII. 3' x 2', paper on cradled wood stretchers, wax and mixed media.The Deeps Tapestry VII.

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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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Connecting Earth and Art

This post comes from the Artists and Climate Change Blog

spring-earthwork

Spring Earthwork (courtyard installation) Brockton Museum, Brockton, MA.

Susan Hoenig is a painter and sculptor whose work is deeply connected to the spiritual aspect of nature – the mysterious and intangible part of the physical world we  experience when we take time to simply watch and listen. Her bird paintings and relief paintings of birds, butterflies and sea animals invite us to pay attention to the diversity of the natural world, beckoning us to commune with it and appreciate its resilience and vulnerability. They are a celebration of  life, and a warning about the harmful effects of climate change. Her ecological sculptures look through a wider lens at the land that sustains us all – animals and humans – and shape it as if to make apparent its hidden purposes.

You define yourself as an ecological sculptor and painter. Has your work always been inspired by the environment or did it evolve in that direction?

My paintings reveal the beauty of nature and the devastating effects of climate collapse. I depict the symbiotic relationship between habitat, plant and animal life, making visible an evolving landscape of color and distinct geometric form. These forms are connected to a history of Constructivist Art. My paintings re-invent this tradition, as constructions, new symbols for social change. They express an underlying reality, a presence of growth and beauty; that the earth be holdfast to a wavering, mesmerizing world of living diversity and enrichment; that salt marshes and deep forest thrive.

My ecological sculptures echo land formations in urban and rural environments. Earthworks are sculptural pathways – lines of stone winding through the contours of the land. The stones are embedded in the earth’s energy. They become the basis of a design, connecting earth and art, building and land. The structure and geometrical design of the earthwork is constructed upon contemplation of natural landmarks, in view of the historical and sociological particularities of the region.

In the summer of 1979, I worked with Paolo Soleri in the Desert Mesa of Arizona. Soleri is known for his “Arcosanti”– a place of “arcology”, a combination of archeology and ecology. I watched him making huge molds from the earth. Soleri dug out large forms, poured in homemade concrete, waited for them to dry, and then inverted the forms to create living spaces. I saw first hand how he was creating an ecological environment.

After this experience, my art gradually moved off the picture frame, off the canvas, into real space. It was really then that I began exploring the parks and the beauty of trees and their different forms. I began to work with what I found in nature. I ventured to more remote places where I created works of art, to create a focus echoing the land formations. While spending a summer in Oaxaca, Mexico, I became interested in the indigenous people and how they collected material to define their living spaces by outlining it with stones. I walked up into the mountains each day, watching people, usually women go off on their burros to collect firewood, taking the same pathways up into the mountains.

 

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Black-capped Chikadee

I decided to create lines, little borders, somewhat similar to the lines around their houses, to echo the landscape. I created “Stone Crossing”, my first large-scale earthwork. “Stone Crossing” was a place where I could observe the changes in nature, the changes in light at different times of the day, connecting myself to the earth.

Since 2006, I have been working with a bird bander/biologist in the Sourland Mountains of New Jersey. I see first hand the life cycle of birds and the conditions and habitat in which they live. In my Songbird Paintings, I explore the union of my inner self with the birds that I observe. I become one with the bird, then I paint their portrait. The body encompasses the circle; at the center a luminous quality of color interplays with the form. The designs create a self-reflective movement. On some of the bird’s backs I have painted their migratory routes. This very personal experience integrates a sad truth of a life interrupted.

 

In my Owl Paintings I have discovered a connection between bird and landscape, between feathers and trees. The growth and structure of feathers on a bird is as complex as the growth and habitat of the life cycle of a tree. Each is interdependent upon the other. In these paintings, landscape and feather markings merge as one. It is almost as though the bird is the land and the land is the bird. The beauty and sacred nature of land and animal are expressions and affirmations in my art.

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I am the Earth and the Earth is me. The Arctic Tundra.

Some of your recent paintings deal with the Arctic and the Antarctic. Is this a new direction for you?

I must understand the raw beauty of the coldest, most severe weather on earth. Antarctic ice is melting. How will this affect the most basic forms of life? The natural forces on the earth encompass an enormous web inseparably intertwined to form a balanced whole. At a young age, I carried within what going extinct meant, for my parents were survivors of the Holocaust. As an artist, I am determined to make Art for Conservation, Ecology and Anthropology. I hope that my art inspires people to see how art and nature can be interwoven in an ecological way. For, if we were able to understand diversity through feeling then all life would be connected.

 

 

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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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Crossing a Line

This post comes from Chantal Bilodeau’s Artists and Climate Change Blog.

Alanna Mitchell is not an actor. It’s one of the first things she tells you in Sea Sick, The Play, which she recently performed at The Theatre Centre in Toronto. In fact, Alanna Mitchell is a science journalist and author. She has written for the New York Times and The Globe & Mail, has done TV and radio documentaries for CBC, and has published two books about the dire state of our oceans: Invisible Plastic: What Happens When Your Garbage Ends Up in the Ocean and Sea Sick: The Global Ocean in Crisis. Then what is Alanna Mitchell doing on a theatre stage, presenting a one-woman show?

A compelling speaker – watch her Ted talk here – Mitchell grew up in the Canadian prairies listening to her father’s stories about Darwin. Then some years ago, after spending much of her career trying to understand what was happening on land, she embarked on a journey to discover what was going on in the ocean. The real story, as she puts it. What she uncovered became her book Sea Sick, a sobering look at the chemical changes taking place in the liquid part of our world. Sea Sick was awarded the Grantham Prize for Excellence in Reporting on the Environment in 2010. Now four years later, Mitchell has brought it to the stage.

Documentary theatre is not a new form. Companies like Nature Theatre of Oklahoma, Tectonic Theater Project and The Civilians often create pieces based on interviews that are presented verbatim. Along the same line, artists like Anna Deavere Smith (Fires In the Mirror), Jessica Blank and Erik Jensen (The Exonerated), and Nilaja Sun (No Child) have created iconic plays based on documentary material. But what these plays have in common is that they all sprung from theatre artists’ imagination and were performed by trained actors. They are very much of the theatre. Sea Sick, The Play, however, sprung from a journalist’s passion for the environment and is performed by an untrained actor. At its core, it lives in a different place; it just happened to have made its way to the stage.

Does it matter? Yes. Not because of the quality of the script (it’s great). Not because of the quality of Mitchell’s performance (she’s great). But because a line  was crossed. We are very much a society of “experts” and while there are advantages to that, there are also drawbacks; we tend to live isolated in our knowledge silos and have a fragmented view of the world. The health system is a good example of that phenomenon. You can find a specialist for the most obscure disease, but finding a doctor who can look at the big picture and see you as a complete system is another story. The same is true for universities; they are incredible repositories of knowledge but the people who work in those universities often have no idea of what is happening next door. And although the arts have new hybrid categories such as multidisciplinary arts and interdisciplinary arts that encourage cross-over, for the most part, artists stick to their areas of expertise.

Yet as a cultural norm, knowledge fragmentation is no longer viable. The scope and complexity of climate change, and the interconnectedness of all its different manifestations, call for a coming together of skills, brains and hearts. We have to learn to work together – across disciplines, across geographic boundaries, across ideologies. And in order to do that, we have to be willing to listen and meet people where they are. Even if that means crossing a line we normally wouldn’t cross.

I saw a workshop of Sea Sick this past February as part of York University’s Staging Sustainability conference. For about an hour, I listened to a journalist tell me stories about red tides, spawning corals, blobs, Australian biologists, and submersible dives. I reflected, I laughed, I cried. And in the process I learned about ocean warming and acidification, the consequences of fertilizer runoff, climate change science, and mass extinctions. I learned about the power of forgiveness, about the fact that the pieces of the future are still in motion, and about having the courage, as Mitchell did, to cross a line. Here’s a woman who, even before she wrote the book, uncovered something so big that it totally overwhelmed her: “I feel like I’m just this little kid from the prairies, who dreamed too big, hit a story she couldn’t handle. I feel like I’m never gonna be worthy to tell this story.”

Yet not only did Mitchell write the book but she climbed on a stage to tell us the story. She showed, on a small scale, that it’s possible to transcend one’s own fears and self-imposed limitations. She showed that you can stretch yourself to meet people where they are – in this case, in a theatre – and still be who you are. “Science gives us knowledge, but not necessarily meaning. Art gives us meaning. And it’s meaning that we respond to. It’s meaning that I care about.” Sea Sick is the story of an ocean in crisis, but it’s also the story of a woman who bravely stepped out of her knowledge silo to tell us about it.

Filed under: Theatre

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Artists and Climate Change is a blog by playwright Chantal Bilodeau 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 Chantal Bilodeau’s Artists and Climate Change Blog

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Kinetic Sculpture

This post comes from Chantal Bilodeau’s Artists and Climate Change Blog

Kinetic sculptor Anthony Howe probably doesn’t consider himself a “climate change artist”. But as of today, I have officially added his name to the growing list of international artists showcased on this blog whose work inspires others to take action on climate change. Or, perhaps more importantly, whose work inspires others to have hope for the future.

Howe’s psychedelic wind sculptures do exactly that, at least for me.

Disclaimer: I am hopelessly passionate about the wind. As the daughter of an architect who collected wind chimes, I make a living photographing wind energy construction projects. Must have been a bird or a kite in my previous life.

It was this video of Howe’s magnificent 7,100 pound (3,200 kg) stainless steel sculpture called Octo 3 – built to sustain winds of 90+ mph – that first caught my eye.

You could say I’ve been seduced, hypnotized: I find myself returning almost daily for my fix, witnessing again and again that fluid, fleeting moment when the tips of the 16 blades almost kiss in the center before the wind gently pulls them apart, only to repeat itself… forever.

Apparently I am not the only one who feels this way. Among the 10,000+ YouTube viewers, someone left this remark: “I swear it is so mesmerizing I could sit and watch it all day.”

To create such delicate, rhythmic, harmonious sculptures, Howe must also be an expert mechanic, welder, sheet metal worker, engineer, and electrician (to repair his many electric tools). Just take a look at his studio on Orkas Island near the Canadian-American border in northwest Washington State: my father would have been so happy there.

I too am surrounded by mechanics, welders, sheet metal workers, engineers and electricians on the many construction sites where I photograph wind turbines. I search for beauty in these mechanical and industrial landscapes, inspired by the photographer Margaret Bourke-White. My goal is to try to create a sense of awe about wind energy, to inspire others with the beauty and majesty of wind energy in order that some may embrace renewables as one of the many solutions to climate change.

I am quite sure that Howe’s artistic goals are different than mine. However, even though his kinetic sculptures do not generate electricity like wind turbines, they all take advantage of the wind’s mechanical energy. So from my perspective, you will allow me the luxury of imagining a day when one of Howe’s kinetic sculptures will inspire a young engineer to design a different kind of wind turbine – like this wind tree – that everyone will want to install right in their own front yards. Should that day ever come, well then, we would be one step closer to reducing our addiction to fossil fuels.

That’s why I’d like to call Anthony Howe a “climate change artist”. Perhaps it’s time to enlarge the definition of “climate change artist”, to focus less on objectives of the artist, and more on the impact of his or her art on global audiences in terms of inspiring creative solutions to climate change.

To finish, I share with you a wonderful quote by the poet-economist Joseph Robertson: “The amount of energy trapped in hydrocarbon molecules deep underground is miniscule in comparison to the amount of solar energy that lands on the surface of the Earth and the resulting kinetic energy that moves around our planet all day, every day.”

Thanks Mr. Howe, for your wonderful kinetic gift.

For renewable energy construction photography, visit Joan’s website

Follow Joan on Twitter @CleanNergyPhoto 

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Artists and Climate Change is a blog by playwright Chantal Bilodeau 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 Chantal Bilodeau’s Artists and Climate Change Blog

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Climate change photography: a call to arms

This post comes from Chantal Bilodeau’s Artists and Climate Change Blog

When someone asked me recently what kind of photography I do, my response “climate change photography” elicited this comment: “Oh, you mean chasing glaciers?” He was referring, of course, to the documentary film Chasing Ice about still photographer James Balog’s Extreme Ice Survey, which provides hauntingly beautiful visual proof of one of the (many) impacts of climate change.

I found myself explaining to this dinner party acquaintance that climate change photography is not limited to melting glaciers or stranded polar bears. Ideally, climate change photography should focus on all aspects of climate change – causes, impacts, mitigation and adaptation. Then he asked me what mitigation was…

That’s when I realized I had some homework to do. I needed a simple definition of climate change photography, one that would resonate with the masses. In short, I needed to develop a 30-second elevator pitch to describe what I do and why I do it.

I spent the next several weeks clicking around the Internet, only to discover that there is no official definition of “climate change photography” (nor, for that matter, “climate change art” – although that is quickly changing). Moreover, my Google search results for “climate change photography” were dominated by the name of one photographer – James Balog. This may give some people (like my dinner party acquaintance) the mistaken impression that if you are not documenting melting glaciers or stranded polar bears, then you are not a climate change photographer.

There are, for example, several photographers focusing on the human face of climate change, such as American photographers Benjamin Drummond and Sara Joy Steele, and Swiss photographers Mathias Braschler and Monika Fischer. Both couples explore the loss of livelihood and culture due to climate change.

There are other photographers focusing on the humanitarian consequences of climate change, such as members of the photo cooperative NOOR, whose diverse images collectively point to the same conclusion: that most social disruption – conflict, food riots, drought, forced migration, refugees, sickness and hunger – can be attributed either directly or indirectly to climate change.

If we wanted to stretch the definition of climate change photography even further, we could include those daredevil “storm chaser” photographers such as Mick Hollingshead whose breathtaking images of supercells and tornadoes provide additional evidence of the increased frequency and intensity of violent storms related to warmer temperatures and more humid air.

Or the growing number of photographers drawn to document the environmental and human impact from unconventional drilling – also known as fracking – of so-called “clean” and “ethical” fossil fuels (both of which require vast amounts of fresh water…), such as Garth Lenz, Eugene Richards, and the collaborative Marcellus Shale Documentary Project.

I could go on and on… you get the point:  climate change photography is as broad as the subject of climate change is complex. Difficult to define.

But the longer I thought about it, the more I realized that climate change photographers fall into two loosely defined camps:

1)   Those who primarily focus on the “negative” impacts/consequences of climate change; and

2)   Those who primarily focus on what I would like to call the “silver lining” of the dark climate change cloud. (And there are probably many photographers doing both, e.g., Gary Braasch.)

The vast majority of self-described climate change photographers fall into the “negative impact” camp, i.e., they provide stunning imagery of the most visible and disturbing impacts of climate change: extreme weather, historic droughts, temperature records, ice-free Arctic summers, rising seas, melting glaciers, coastal erosion, storm surges, forest fires, ruined crops, food riots, dried river beds, forced migration and refugees; etc.

In contrast, only a handful of photographers fall into the “silver lining” camp, i.e., using their cameras to shift the global climate change conversation from despair to optimism, from apathy to action. To celebrate the many opportunities – economic, environmental and health – to be gained from transitioning to a clean energy economy.

Why is this distinction important? Because I believe climate change photographers have a critical role to play in constructively influencing the debate about the way forward. As I posted earlier, GEO Magazine’s Peter-Matthias Gaede noted way back in 2007 that “People will turn away from environmental issues if the media reports only on disasters and problems.”  Duke’s Dean Bill Chameides came to the same conclusion earlier this year in his #mustread post “The dark side of environmental art” citing research called:  Fear won’t do it.

The writer Marion Davis says the same thing in a different way: “It’s one of the first lessons you learn in journalism: People care about people. If your readers can’t relate to what you’re telling them, if it’s not tangible, they’re not going to pay attention. So if you want to make a difference, you can’t just provide information – you have to frame it in human terms.”

This is where the future of climate change photography comes in. We can provide real-life portraits of individuals, companies, cities and now entire U.S. states already moving forward, ignoring the noise, focusing on solutions and the inevitable transition to a clean energy economy.

For inspiration, take a look at this beautiful video produced by Sir Richard Branson’s Carbon War Room to get a sense of what I mean: it provides excellent examples of the kinds of upbeat, positive photo/video essays we photographers need to produce in order to drown out the gloom-and-doom that dominates both traditional and social media. To change the mood music, as Jonathon Porritt coined.

The Carbon War Room video states clearly that climate change is humanity’s biggest challenge. Ever. But it can also unlock a world of opportunities as we transition to a low carbon economy. There are dozens of cool ideas described on 100% renewable energy-inspired The Solutions Project website, which climate change photographers could spend literally the rest of their lifetimes documenting.

I recognize the important historical value of documenting vanishing coastlines, glaciers, species, ways of life, even whole island nations. This will remain an important role for some climate change photographers for decades to come. However, since the majority of people already connect the dots between the melting glaciers, rising seas, extreme weather and climate change, I think it is important to encourage the next generation of climate change photographers to move beyond the “negative impact” stories of climate change and concentrate more on the “silver lining” stories that will inspire people and politicians to take concrete action. Only a tiny minority of people refuses to “see” the undeniable evidence of climate change – 2% in Canada and 12% in the US – and no amount of stunning visual imagery of melting glaciers will convince them otherwise.

So let’s turn our cameras to the future. Let’s help make renewables mainstream. Let’s produce compelling photo essays of some of the already existing mitigation and adaptation activities at various stages of experimentation or commercialization:  green architecture; smart windows; cryogenics; micro-windmills, EVs, solar orbs, even the humble rhubarb. Let’s focus on the positive, on making the science of climate change empowering rather than disempowering. Because there’s still hope for the future: the end of fossil fuels is no longer just a crazy dream:  the shift to a low-carbon economy has already started, even without the Holy Grail of a “legally binding” post-Kyoto global agreement.

The speed at which renewable energy technologies are changing is breathtaking. If the next generation of climate change photographers would keep their eyes on the prize – a 100% clean energy economy in our lifetimes – they can collectively contribute to what Paul Guilding has described as one of the most transformational economic changes the world has ever seen. I can’t think of a better career choice.  Bonne chance!

For positive images of renewable energy construction, visit Joan’s website.

Follow Joan on Twitter @CleanNergyPhoto.

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Artists and Climate Change is a blog by playwright Chantal Bilodeau 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 Chantal Bilodeau’s Artists and Climate Change Blog

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Waiting for Climate Change

This post comes from Chantal Bilodeau’s Artists and Climate Change Blog

We, the collective we, seem to be waiting passively for someone else to “do something” about climate change. Someone else to think. Someone else to act. Someone else to lead. Not me. Not now. No way.

“Waiting for climate change” is Cordal’s 2012 masterpiece. Described as a “Lilliputian army which attests to the end of an era” by David Moinard, Cordal’s miniature clay figurines – no larger than 25 cm – stand passively on Flemish beaches, some up to their necks in sand, as if waiting for the inevitable rising seas to swallow them whole.

Isaac Cordal, climate change, Belgium, waitingIn addition, Cordal perched 10 small figurines atop wooden pedestals, wearing scuba goggles or flotation devices, gazing impassively at the horizon. Still others occupy empty rooms in a dilapidated 1930’s-era beachfront villa.

Painted in drab business suits, most of Cordal’s anonymous clay figurines clutch vestiges of their uniform existence: briefcases and cell phones. Many also wear life preservers around their waists and arms, ready for the flood. Tiny, almost invisible, they speak volumes about the absurdity of our collective inertia regarding climate change.

Cordal’s docile figures remind me of Huxley’s soma-induced Brave New World, where everyone (except the emotional Shakespeare-inspired Savage) is submissive, obedient, and acquiescent.

These and other temporary installations – which Cordal prefers to call interventions – are part of a larger, ongoing street art project entitled “Cement Eclipses.” This unique body of work meticulously, precariously positions tiny statuettes in the most unexpected places – on gutters, in puddles, the edges of buildings, telephone lines, fences, bus stops, even cracks in the road – in abandoned corners of urban environments. To date, Cordal has created 60 miniature environmental interventions in cities as diverse as Riga, Chiapas, Zagreb, London, Bogatá, Amsterdam, Barcelona, Málaga, Milan, Nantes, Vienna, Berlin, Brussels, San José, San Francisco, Orebro, Murcia.

Not all of Cordal’s interventions address climate change directly. But every one forces critical reflection upon the ecological impact of our irresponsible consumer behaviour, which is directly responsible for the exploitation of finite natural resources. As an existential artist, Cordal is obsessed with the question: What are we doing to our world?

For example, one of Cordal’s 2013 sculptures as part of a larger installation called “Follow The Leaders” was meant to draw attention to the faceless businessmen who run our capitalist global order. However, after going viral online, a photograph of this sculpture was baptized “Politicians talking about climate change” by social media users.

Isaac Cordal, climate change, Berlin, waiting

I’m willing to bet that Cordal’s photo of a group of his clay businessmen submerged in a Berlin puddle will re-appear and re-appear on Twitter for years if not decades to come. It is a perfect example of the subversive nature of art: how artists must first create friction in order to generate new ways of seeing, understanding. To me, this is climate change art at its finest.

By “celebrating the small” Cordal includes a subliminal message in each tiny figurine, either solo or in groups. An interview in the Global Post quotes Cordal in Phaidon, “Cement Eclipses is a critique of our behaviour as a social mass. It refers to this collective inertia that leads us to think that our small actions cannot change anything. But I believe that every small act can contribute to a big change. Many small changes can bring back social attitudes that manipulate the global inertia and turn it into something more positive.”

All photos posted here were taken by the artist, Isaac Cordal.

Follow Joan Sullivan her photo website and on Twitter @CleanNergyPhoto

Filed under: Sculpture, Visual Arts

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Artists and Climate Change is a blog by playwright Chantal Bilodeau 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 Chantal Bilodeau’s Artists and Climate Change Blog

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