Artists and Climate Change

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Dancing with the Wind

By Joan Sullivan

A short midsummer night’s post.

Back in 2017, I wrote about three musicians who climbed to the top of a wind turbine in Québec, Canada, to perform a magnificent sunrise concert – a world first. 

Last month, another world first was achieved by the Austrian extreme performance artist Stefanie Millinger, who hand-balanced without security ropes on the blade of a (non-spinning) wind turbine.

Millinger’s electrifying performance was sponsored by the Austrian Wind Energy Association to commemorate Global Wind Day 2020. She was invited by IG Windkraft to Lichtenegg, in eastern Austria, to perform an acrobatic wind dance 70 metres above the ground on an Enercon 1.8 MW turbine.

As a renewable energy photographer, I have climbed dozens of wind turbines over the past decade, and I know how difficult and dangerous it is to work at those heights. It took me several years of training and experience before I became comfortable moving around on top of the nacelle – always attached via my security harness! But I never imagined walking out onto a blade – no way! I am simply in awe of Millinger’s strength, confidence, and grace to perform flawlessly at such dizzying heights without security equipment. Speechless! 

All I can say is “Brava, Stefanie!” I hope that the Cirque du Soleil will be inspired to follow in your footsteps… 

And kudos to photographer Astrid Knie for these beautiful images.

(All images reprinted with permission from IG Windkraft. Photo by: Austrian Wind Energy Association / © Astrid Knie.)

This article is part of the Renewable Energy series.

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Joan Sullivan is a Canadian photographer focused on the energy transition. Her renewable energy photographs have been exhibited in group and solo shows in Canada, the UK and Italy. She is currently working on a long-term, self-assigned photo project about Canada’s energy transition. In her monthly column for Artists and Climate Change, Joan explores the intersection of art and the energy transition. You can find Joan on Twitter, Visura and Ello.

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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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Wild Authors: Sita Brahmachari

By Mary Woodbury

This month we look at Sita Brahmachari’s novel Where the River Runs Gold (Waterstones, July 2019), which takes place in an everyland, according to the author. But Sita told me that Meteore mountain – meaning “between earth and sky” – was inspired by Meteora in Greece, and that the Kairos Lands also take their name from Greek mythology.

ABOUT THE BOOK

Shifa and her brother Themba live in Kairos City with their father Nabil. The few live in luxury, while millions like them crowd together in compounds, surviving on meagre rations, governed by Freedom Fields – the organization that looks after you, as long as you opt in.

The bees have long disappeared; instead, children must labor on farms, pollinating crops so that the nation can eat. But Nabil remembers before, and he knows that the soul needs to be nourished as much as the body so, despite the risk, he teaches his children how to grow flowers on a secret piece of land hidden beneath the train tracks.

The farm Shifa and Themba are sent to is hard and cruel. Themba won’t survive there, and Shifa comes up with a plan to break them out. But they have no idea where they are; their only guide is a map drawn from the ramblings of a stranger.

The journey ahead is fraught with danger, but Shifa is strong and knows to listen to her instincts – to let hope guide them home. The freedom of a nation depends on it.

CHAT WITH THE AUTHOR

Chatting with Sita about this novel (and she writes other children and young adult/teen novels that are environmentally based!) was a pure delight. I thank her so much for her time and in-depth discussion.

You seem to be a prolific children’s and young adult author, and your previous stories include a series following young teen Mira Levenson, as well as a dozen other novels that cover real issues that teenagers face when they grow up. Can you talk about your favorite experiences writing these novels?

Young people inspire me. As part of the process of writing, I always include a research period or time when I share the ideas and a few chapters of whatever I’m writing with potential readers. When talking about the inclusion of a wide range of characters from very different backgrounds in my story Red Leaves, a young woman with cerebral palsy, using a wheelchair, came to me and asked me to include “someone like me” in one of my stories as a central character. The next year was spent holding writing groups with this young woman to find a story she was proud of. The character that emerged from this interaction was Kezia, in Tender Earth. Similarly, consulting with a group of students from Somali Refugee backgrounds allowed me to build the character of Aisha in the same story. It was such a magical moment when that group of young women came to the book launch (set in an ancient wood in North London) and read from the story.

When you immerse yourself in a world, things in the real world are constantly chiming with your stories. When I wrote Kite Spirit, in which owls are featured, I started seeing owls everywhere, even on an early morning run through a city park. It’s as if, in reaching for a story, the real world keeps offering you gems to keep you inspired. For me, writing is like a constant treasure hunt of the imagination. I think if you open yourself to tune into the times you live in, then let your imagination roam, stories grow in you.

Where the River Runs Gold is a story set in the future. Is the location fictional, and if not, where does the story take place? What is the age group of the children in the book?

It’s set in the near future. It’s up to readers to decide how far in the future.

Shifa and Themba are eleven – the age at which children are sent away to farms until they’re sixteen. I tend to write inter-generational stories that can be read on different levels, so I have late teen characters too, who are hardened to the system. The book is also populated by Freedom Fields recruits and adult workers propping up or resisting the system, and an ancient old woman who is hidden away on the farm.

The future I evoke is one I hope never comes to be. Horrifically, though, there is nothing that is happening to the characters in my story that is not happening to children and young people somewhere in the world today. Right at this moment, there are children pollinating crops by hand because of the loss of bee population, or harvesting cotton for the textile industry because it is less “damaged” by small fingers. Devastating storms are hitting countries all over the world. If climate change is “over there,” it is also “over here.” This is why leaders of nations who want to operate unilaterally deny climate change and refuse to accept the benefits of alternative forms of energy, even in the face of unprecedented flooding and disasters in their own countries. I work in a refugee centre in London, and so many of the people from all over the world speak of their lands being devastated by climate change, pollution, or corruption as they are denied access to land to grow food for themselves.

The story is set in an everyland! But Meteore mountain (meaning “between earth and sky”) is inspired by Meteora in Greece – a place that ignited my imagination long ago. The Kairos Lands also take their name from Greek mythology. There are two portals of time in operation: chronological and Kairos Time. In Kairos Time, all possibilities for change, re-wilding, and the regeneration of nature still remain open – and in that time, as in ours, it is the young people who are saying enough is enough and change must come.

In the story, children labor on farms, pollinating crops so that the nation can eat. What has happened to the bees?

I can’t tell you exactly because it would be a plot spoiler! But there are clues based on what’s happening in our world today. Worldwide, there is a crisis in the decline of bee populations, pollinators, and insect life. It is frightening to see how fast this decline is taking place. Chris Packham and campaigners at the People’s Walk for Wildlife have been highlighting this in their manifesto presented to UK parliament by young people in 2018. Just recently I read that in the UK alone, “Around a third of bee and hoverfly species across the country have experienced population crashes since the 1980s, raising concerns about food production and biodiversity.” (Independent, March 2019)

What’s happened to the bees is that their habitats have shrunk and been destroyed. Farming methods and mass use of pesticides causing infection and hive disruption appear to have caused their extinction. I started to look at food production and the way in which societies are structured, and I asked: What would a future world look like without bees? We would survive, but our diets would be so depleted, the colors of our world dimmed, and the beauty of natural habitats and the wild flowers and trees would all be depleted. In the tradition of dystopian fiction, I have pushed this bleak picture further and asked: How would the world work without bees? A few Paragons in the Kairos Lands have bee drones, but they are a poor substitute for wild bees. Food production and the sharing of food resources is a big theme in the story. It asks: Who is benefiting from clinging on to old methods?  Shifa and Themba are often hungry in the story – and, as is the case with so many children are in our times, they are forced to seek the charity of food banks.

But in our times, the giant Wallace Bee, thought to be extinct, has been discovered in the jungle in Indonesia! Sometimes, as they say, truth really is stranger than fiction.

The class divide in the story is strong, with a few rich people living in luxury and the rest of the population crowded in compounds, just barely surviving. Freedom and escape rest on the children, Shifa and Themba. Do you foresee this story empowering the younger generation, and how so?

I’m sad to say that everything I’ve written in the story is happening to a child somewhere in the world. I wanted to bring home to the reader that the plight of Shifa and Themba in the story is our plights too. Most children in The Kairos Lands work for Freedom Fields Corporation. Only the children of Paragons are spared from being sent away to pollinate the crops at the age of eleven. There is another group of people, too, who are deeply invested in defending the natural world. These people are ones that the state labels Outlanders, but they prefer to be named Foragers. They believe there is another way to live based on sharing resources rather than the few hoarding them all for themselves. When I set out to write the story, the fire twisting in my gut (which is a real spur to all the stories I’ve written) was driven by an outrage about economic inequality and unequal access to opportunity. Subjects I’ve explored before in my stories but never in an environmental context. In my notebook, I was scribbling facts like:

  • 260 million children are in employment around the world. 11% of the world’s children are denied an education because they are working. (UNICEF)
  • 26 humans own the same as 50% of humans on the planet. A 1% tax rise on these 26 humans would be enough to give all children in the world an education.  (Oxfam 2019)

I’m an ambassador for Amnesty International. November of this year marks 30 years of the universal Declaration of the Rights of the Child. In writing Where the River Runs Gold, I wanted to explore how intertwined environmental rights and the universal rights of the child are. So many of Themba and Shifa’s rights are taken from them in the course of the story. They are brave and true and have to fight hard to hold onto them, but they should never have been placed in such extremis and danger.

I hope that the story will empower young people to learn what their universal rights are and to add their voices to human rights organizations, like Amnesty, who is fighting to uphold those rights.

Sobering facts. Do you think that climate and other ecological changes in the world are on youth’s minds now, and what is the best way to address this in storytelling?

I was proud when my own daughter attended the school strikes for action on climate change recently. It’s taken me two years to write this book, and even in that time, I have been so heartened and inspired to see how young campaigners like the Swedish activist Greta Thunberg have stood up to the powers-that-be and engaged in international mobilization, inspiring young people in countries around the world. This, coupled with Sir David Attenborough’s timely intervention at the World Economic Forum – highlighting how small the window of opportunity is before the damage we are doing to our planet becomes irreversible – has spoken loud and clear to young people. The question is: How do young people get their voices heard, and what influence can they have on governments? In my story, there is an emergency government and no opportunity to vote. I wish young people could have the vote younger so they could have their voices heard through governments as well as activism.

I attended The People’s Walk for Wildlife last year with my fellow author and environmental campaigner for #authorsforoceans Gill Lewis. There, I met an inspiring young activist, Mya-Rose Craig (also known as “Birdgirl“), who called for greater involvement of all young people from diverse backgrounds in the protection of our wildlife. She spoke of what can be done personally and how influence can play a role locally, nationally and globally.

I hope that the imagery, characters, and the world I have built will stay with young readers long after they have read the story, and that they will lead them to question further. In living with Shifa and Themba in Where the River Runs Gold, I hope readers will care deeply for them and their struggles, and be outraged by the fact that young people are forced to pay the greatest price as a result of lack of action in protecting our planet. I hope that readers’ deep feelings for the characters and their struggles might lend support to young environmental campaigners so that young people never have to face what Shifa and Themba do.

What stories with ecological/dystopian themes did you read growing up that made you think? And did they help to inspire your novel?

We are living in an increasingly fractured world at a time when our planet, rivers, oceans, woodlands, plants, birds, bees, and insect life are being threatened, and air is being polluted, by the way we live. We are globally connected thanks to the advancement of technology, but its use is as yet unregulated. As we’ve seen in recent global environmental activism by young people, this power can be mobilized for good.

Stories, too, can carry a powerful force; the imagery and characters can lodge in readers’ minds and stay with them for a lifetime, influencing them in myriad ways. Sometimes, when it seems impossible to untangle the complexities of the ways humans behave and organize themselves, it can be enlightening to step outside of our time, as I have in Where The River Runs Gold.

When I was growing up, I read 1984 by George Orwell and it had a profound impact on me; back then, it was a near-future novel for me! Many of the predictions about the Big Brother state and surveillance proved to be true. The surveillance state also features in Where The River Runs Gold in the form of Opticare surveillance. I also read Z for Zachariah by Robert C. O’ Brien, which has recently been made into a film. In that setting, too, ecological disaster has taken place and young people must find a way to survive and create new models of living. I am a huge lover of wildlife poetry and wild landscapes, and lived in the Lake District as a child. One of my favorite times of year was spring, when the grassy banks were covered in primroses, violets, lady’s fingers and soldier’s buttons. It’s no coincidence that Shifa is a collector of wildflowers and determined to re-wild her environment.

Poetry has continued to be an inspiration;  two poems were pasted to my wall as I wrote this novel. One was Gerard Manley Hopkin’s “Binsey Poplars,” where he laments the felling and loss of his favorite trees. To think of living in a city with no trees is too awful, and the idea of it led me to create a movement among Foragers, who painted Graffitrees on the walls of the city in protest. The second poem was “Shut Out” by Christina Rossetti, in which great tall walls were built to stop the children having access to a garden and all the beauty that it contained. The narrator of the poem is sitting on the outside of the gates, longing to be allowed in. Shifa and Themba, in my story, know that waiting is not an option.

Something that Margaret Atwood said resonated with me when I was writing: “There’s a difference between describing and evoking something. You can describe something and be quite clinical about it. To evoke it, you call it up in the reader.”

What else are you working on now?

I’m working on my second stand-alone book for Orion Children’s Books. I’ve started scribbling and doodling in my notebook. It shares a watery theme. But instead of tracking forward in time, my contemporary characters will be led back into history to discover hidden stories and characters whose voices I feel really need to be heard today.

You do such incredible work and have offered our readers a lot of good information. Thanks so much, Sita!

Quote from Amnesty Secretary General, Kumi Naidoo:

Climate change is a human rights issue precisely because of the impact it’s having on people. It compounds and magnifies existing inequalities, and it is children who will grow up to see its increasingly frightening effects. The fact that most governments have barely lifted a finger in response to our mutually assured destruction amounts to one of the greatest inter-generational human rights violations in history. Children are often told they are “tomorrow’s leaders.” But if they wait until “tomorrow” there may not be a future in which to lead.

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

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

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

Go to the Artists and Climate Change Blog

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Tiny Coronavirus Stories: ‘Moist earth cascading through nimble fingers’

By Barbara Bryn Klare, Geof Keys, Imara-rose Glymph, Surina Venkat

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

THE ELEVENTH HOUR

Beyond the last post
a virgin pathway bisects
an empty golf course
see blue, grey and gold
where waters meet and dusk falls
birdsong fills the air
witness the sunset
through silhouetted branches
defying the dark
time to hit the pause button >>>
supermarket maze
becomes a one-way system
for the contactless
overtaking with care
an old man in reverse gear
afraid to turn round
I curse two women
blocking with idle chatter
the aisle of my dreams
habits die hard in the void

— Geof Keys (Hexham, Northumberland, United Kingdom)

(Top photo: Dusk in Hexham.)

* * *

TOWARD A CAR-LESS WORLD

Next to my downtown condo is a large parking lot for the city workers. Overnight, when COVID hit and the workers started working from home, the lot went from being filled with cars to nearly empty. Instead of seeing drivers circling to find a space to park, I looked out one morning to see a lone roller skater circling the concrete lot: each round a graceful arc toward a car-less world.

— Barbara Bryn Klare (Athens, Ohio)

Out of my window.

* * *

EMPATHY, OUR DOWNFALL

“My body, my choice.” A rallying cry for the pro-choice movement, repurposed to fight against the oppressiveness of masks. I wonder where we in the United States would be if our government had told us to wear masks not to protect others, but rather our own selves. Our own families. Would we still find the piece of cloth, this simple solution, this near-infallible immunity for those in our vicinity the object of so much controversy?
And if we didn’t, what would that say about us?

— Surina Venkat (West Melbourne, Florida)

The object of dispute.

* * *

IN THE REFUGE WE BUILT

Moist earth cascading through nimble fingers. 
A melody enhanced by the spicy fragrance of lemongrass and turmeric remnants lingering on dew-kissed skin.
Content joy radiates from the pair of us, eager to absorb the intimate sun
nestled in Green mountains.
We are the lucky few.
Fortunate to not have been uprooted in disarray.
Spring blossomed and we never lost trust.
We never learned not to touch or to inhale through masked fabric.
Isolation symbolized our boundless expansion of being still, intertwined, close.
Cloaked now in misty fog cityscape, I remember the freedom of our lungs in the refuge we built.

— Imara-rose Glymph (San Francisco, California)

Vessels of friendship runneth over – dusk setting on hot Vermont streets.

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

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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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Stories of Climate Courage: ‘Selecting “offset your flights” always felt too easy’

By Adam Sébire, Bethia Sheean-Wallace, C.C. Manstrom, Zahra Rafeeq Bardai

Reader-submitted stories of courage in the face of the climate crisis, in no more than 100 words. Read past stories hereSubmit your own here.

CREATING CHANGE CAPSTONE

I recently graduated from North Dakota State University, and this entire spring was devoted to my senior capstone project. I had chosen to write a research paper about how artists can influence and make environmentally friendly decisions while creating art. It was incredibly discouraging to work on the project while campus was shut down for COVID-19 and while the media was relentlessly throwing new and terrifying information at me through my TV, phone, and laptop. Nevertheless, I completed a twenty-page paper all about artists and green production ideas and created a YouTube video about my thesis that many peers and professionals viewed!

— C.C. Manstrom (Fargo, North Dakota)

(Top photo: The Earth and Askanase Hall, my homes.)

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FEED THE BIRDS

I’m obsessive about keeping the backyard bird bath filled, year ‘round. Are we seeing more birds because of the necessitated decrease in human activity during COVID-19, or because we are home 24/7 now, and able to observe the birds? Our native plant-landscaped yard sees a lot of hummingbird and bee activity, as well as the lively routines of mockingbirds, house sparrows, mourning doves, and crows. Now the bird population is so spirited and varied that even a red-tailed hawk stopped in to watch the action. As our yard grows, so does the wildlife.

— Bethia Sheean-Wallace (Fullerton, California)

Water for the wildlife.

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ASPIRATION FOR CLIMATE COURAGE

Being a local volunteer and the founder of the Art and Sea Initiative sometimes feels like being Cassandra of Greek mythology: she is cursed to see the future, but no one will believe her. This is perhaps the most daunting aspect of climate change. We know the frightful impacts and we know what we need to do to avoid global calamity; however, we have failed to make the necessary efforts to create systemic global change. But I do not fear for the future, because I know that most now believe in the need for climate action.

— Zahra Rafeeq Bardai (Hoover, Alabama)

The beauties of the world – the beaches, forests, preserves, and Mother Earth herself – are becoming the victims of our pollution and global warming.

* * *

THE CARBON FOREST

Selecting “offset your flights” always felt too easy. How could I ever comprehend my carbon emissions, flying Canberra-Singapore-New York, premium economy return, for a business trip?

That’s 9.9 tonnes of CO₂e.
15 Eucalyptus viminalis seedlings to sequester one tonne.
149 trees. Two full days’ planting: the land’s degraded and drought’s made it dry. 

Now they’ve just got to be looked after – for the next hundred years. If there are no more really bad bushfires. Which there almost certainly will be.
Just for one traveller… one trip… that next time I’ll insist it be done via videoconference.

— Adam Sébire (Craigie, Australia)

Part of the Greater CBR-SIN-NYC-FRA-SIN-CBR Forest.

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

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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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Non-Fiction Writer Elizabeth Rush on Seeing Herself and Her Work Dramatized

By Peterson Toscano

Writer Elizabeth Rush returns with good news. Her book Rising: Dispatches from the New American Shore has garnered awards. It was also chosen as the Read Across Rhode Island pick. At the kick-off event, Elizabeth watched an excerpt of a play based on her book.

Seeing herself portrayed on stage gave her a chance to realize something about her own grief process she had not noticed before. She talks about what she learned and reads selections from her book.

Hailed as “deeply felt” (New York Times), “a revelation” (Pacific Standard), and “the book on climate change and sea levels that was missing” (Chicago Tribune), Rising is both a highly original work of lyric reportage and a haunting meditation on how to let go of the places we love.

Coming up next month,  Nigerian podcaster Olivia Oquadinma shares how storytelling has become central to her environmental and community building work.

If you like what you hear, you can listen to full episodes of Citizens’ Climate Radio on iTunesStitcher Radio, Spotify, SoundCloudPodbeanNorthern Spirit RadioGoogle PlayPlayerFM, and TuneIn Radio. Also, feel free to connect with other listeners, suggest program ideas, and respond to programs in the Citizens’ Climate Radio Facebook group or on Twitter at @CitizensCRadio.

Elizabeth Rush was previously featured on The Art House in April 2019.

This article is part of The Art House series.

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

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

Go to the Artists and Climate Change Blog

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An Interview with Artist Colin Foord

By Amy Brady

This month I have the great pleasure of speaking with Colin Foord, a marine biologist and artist in Miami who, among other projects, installed a Coral City Camera that allows viewers to witness the day-to-day life of Miami’s living coral. As the co-founder of the art duo Coral Morphologic, he also developed the world’s first multimedia coral aquaculture studio. In the interview below, we discuss his artwork, what he sees as the commonalities between science and art, and what draws him to studying coral reefs. 

Your background is in marine biology. What inspired you to create art?

When I got to the University of Miami I was already into growing corals as a bedroom hobby. I naively expected my classmates and professors to share similar interests, but when asked why they study marine science the answer was usually along the lines of: “I like dolphins,” “I like sharks,” “I like sea turtles,” “I like whales.” No one said “I like corals and reef fish.” This was a couple years before Finding Nemo came out, so the coral reef hadn’t really reached into pop culture yet. It was a bit disappointing to not find classmates with similar interests, so instead I started hanging out with the music and art majors who were a lot more creative and fun. I had grown up listening to punk rock, so the DIY ethos that was behind a lot of that really spoke with me.

Colin Foord. Photo by Karli Evans.

Seeing my friends’ bands play in small warehouse gallery spaces in the then nascent Wynwood district of Miami turned me on to a really exciting subculture that was evolving here. At some point I realized that the corals I was interested in studying were just as aesthetically pleasing to look at as the art I saw on gallery walls, and that there was a lack of coral representation in Miami’s iconography. People outside of Miami didn’t really seem to take the creativity coming out of Miami at that time very seriously, but I was finding all kinds of inspiration.

Coral Morphologic was an attempt to showcase a different facet of Miami that wasn’t being shown or even considered. It started with the fact that corals are like living alien art forms that I felt people needed to better appreciate. Because how can you be expected to try and save something that you don’t understand or have no personal connection with? Miami has long been seen as a neon, nightlife city whose fluorescent nature was considered completely artificial. By giving the corals a platform, we wanted to show that Miami has always been home to fluorescent life in the most natural way possible.  

For Miami Art Week 2017, Coral Morphologic was commissioned by Faena Art to create an audiovisual work (2317) to wrap the Faena Forum in projection-mapped corals with a soundtrack accompaniment.

What else do you hope viewers take away from your art?

More than anything I want people to be able to relate to the coral and marine life in a humanistic fashion. It is a lot easier to generate empathy between humans and a creature with a cuddly, adorable face like a panda. How do you generate empathy between humans and brainless, faceless creatures that many people aren’t even aware are animals? That has been our challenge. Fortunately coral can be beautifully geometric and vibrantly fluorescent. These aesthetic qualities can attract people on a superficial level of beauty and wonder. Once we have their attention, then we can start showcasing other metaphors that we share in common with them that will hopefully put our human lives in a more universal perspective.

By growing these corals in our laboratory we have become intimately familiar with just how delicate they are, and how interconnected everything is. When you step back from our planet and look at it from Carl Sagan’s pale-blue-dot perspective, you realize that Earth is but a tiny droplet of liquid water floating in space. We, and all living things, are protected by the thinnest layer of breathable gas. Just as it is possible to overstock and overfeed a goldfish bowl, we want people to recognize that humans, along with all other life on Earth, are all essentially living in the same aquarium together. If we poison the air and water for the birds and the fish, we also poison ourselves. So rather than assuming that we are somehow above nature, we try to convey through our art lessons the importance of symbiosis, adaptability, and long-term thinking. 

All of your artwork is in Miami. Why is this, and what might we learn about Miami’s marine life in particular through your artwork? 

While we could do a lot of our studio/lab work just about anywhere in the world, it really wouldn’t have the same impact. Everything is about time and space. Miami is the only major mainland US city on a coral reef, and it is literally built atop an ancient coral reef using marine-made limestone quarried out of the Everglades that was turned into cement. The buildings here are quite literally made of coral fossils, while also serving as colonies for humans to live and work in, much the way a coral colony provides homes for 25% of all marine species at some point in their lives. With sea-level rise an existential threat here, the idea of the city slowly submerging again and becoming recolonized by living corals is a very poetic concept of the ouroboros at play. This is why we have dubbed it the Coral City. Which is also an homage to the Emerald City of Oz, as well as Miami’s other pop cultural nicknames, the Magic City and Vice City. It is a good place to Be Here Now. Enjoy it for today, because who knows what tomorrow may bring. All it takes is one big hurricane to reset everything.

Your artwork is informed by your scientific background. Have you learned – or been surprised by – anything scientific as a result of your art? 

Absolutely! In 2009 I discovered an undescribed species of Zoanthus soft coral, living along manmade shorelines near the Port, that came in a whole palette of fluorescent color morphs. The most beautiful of these (in my opinion) is a blue and pink morph we dubbed the “Miami Vice” Zoanthus. As a licensed aquaculture facility, we’ve been growing these soft corals at our lab for almost a decade and selling clonal fragments to aquarists around the world. That was our primary business up until 2015 when we were finally able to pivot towards photography, videography, and multimedia projects as our main source of income. The “Miami Vice” Zoanthus enabled us to be vertically integrated in order to build Coral Morphologic into the independent platform it is today. You can see all the different color morphs of the “Miami Vice” Zoanthus vinyl wrapping the parking booths at PortMiami.

Speaking more broadly, coral reefs are – and have been – imperiled by global warming all over the world. Is there anything about coral reefs that you’d like my readers to know, especially something that might surprise them? 

I think that corals can be really useful in helping us understand our perspective in time and space. They are the original timekeepers of planet Earth. The first astronomers. They are literally cosmic organisms because their sex lives are dependent upon knowing the cosmic synchronicity of the movements of the Earth and Moon around the Sun. Because coral is cemented in place, the only way they can mate with each other is to follow the seasonal and lunar cycles in order to know when to release their gametes into the water column at the exact moment in time (most corals are simultaneous hermaphrodites that release bundles of both sperm and eggs). Most corals are asexual for 99% of the days of the year, but then engage in a reef-wide orgy under moonlight when they can best maximize their reproductive success by combining their genes with as many member of their species (and hybridize with related species) as possible.

To see more photos from Coral Morphologic, visit their Instagram account.

From an evolutionary perspective, this is very intelligent behavior. Corals themselves have been on this planet for almost half a billion years. But because of the natural fluctuations in sea level over long periods of time, there aren’t any current coral reefs older than about 10,000 years. Thus, today’s reefs are on average about 5,000 years old – about the same amount of time that humans have been building cities. Therefore, Coral Morphologic takes the position that rather than treating corals like the poor helpless canaries in the coal mine in need of human heroes, humans should instead be paying closer attention to them, and asking ourselves, “what can we learn about life from a coral?” so that we might save ourselves (and the planet). Perhaps it is they who will save us! 

After years of studying and living symbiotically with coral, it turns out they have a lot of things to teach! If corals had a motto, I think it would be “adapt or die.” Recall that a coral is cemented in place; it cannot just swim away to someplace nicer if the going gets rough. Their survival skills are all based on having to adapt to their environment. We are now living in a time when not only is the environment changing, but so is technology and society. The world we are born into is significantly different than the one we die in. Unfortunately, humans have accelerated the rate of change on our planet so much so that it is becoming difficult for many ecosystems to remain stable and functional. But I remain hopeful that when paradigms shift, change can occur much faster than ever imagined.

In this age of COVID-19, I think we are seeing a lot of paradigms starting to change. Capitalism wasn’t designed to have any brakes, only to accelerate, and we are now being reminded that something as microscopic as a non-living bundle of proteins can totally reshape our society almost overnight. As inconvenient as this has all been, and as sad as it is to see people succumbing to illness, I think the pandemic might represent our best opportunity to reassess our human priorities to better align with those of the planet. At the end of the day, all life on Earth is comprised of the same types of protein and DNA. We are all part of the same tree of life, and we should be thinking of ourselves as not above nature, but a part of it. 

“Miami Vice” Zoanthus on a PortMiami Terminal.

What’s next for you? 

I encourage everyone to spend some time each day with the Coral City Camera (CCC). It is simultaneously relaxing and engaging. We have a TV screen on the wall here at Coral Morphologic that is dedicated to streaming it all day long. It’s kind of like our “yule log” or a Windows95 screensaver that’s come to life. The CCC feels like a public aquarium of the future where the fish are free to come and go as they please, and there is always an element of surprise not knowing what might just swim into frame. From manatees, to sea turtles, sharks, and moray eels, along with the reef’s most colorful fish like angelfish, butterflyfish, parrotfish, and lots of charismatic pufferfish, you never know who might swim by next. Our favorite fish in Coral City is a tail-less surgeonfish we’ve dubbed “Oval” who is always swimming around the neighborhood.

We really hope the CCC can become a powerful tool for education, scientific research, and building civic pride through our appreciation for Miami’s underwater biodiversity. We are so appreciative of the support we have gotten from Bridge Initiative and BFI. They believe in the project and made this dream we first had in 2013 a reality. Eventually we’d love to see the Coral City Camera concept duplicated elsewhere, and help develop a global network of underwater livestreaming cameras from reefs across the globe. Be sure to follow both @coralcitycamera and @coralmorphologic on all social media channels to stay up to date on the day’s undersea highlights. 

(Top image: “Miami Vice”Zoanthus.)

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

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

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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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Wild Authors: Helon Habila

By Mary Woodbury

This month we travel to the Niger Delta, and I am thrilled to talk with Helon Habila, the mind behind the novels Oil on Water, Travelers, and other great reads.

ABOUT OIL ON WATER

Set in the Niger Delta, this story has journalists uncovering a kidnapping as well as exposing the two worlds of oil: rich barons taking what they want while contaminating waters, destroying villages, and killing animals and plants versus those who are on the other side of the equation, living in fear, without clean water and healthy fish and livestock. Arisen from the latter side is an animist cult with a militant leader. Habila’s novel seems to also look into the ability of journalism to effect change. The author’s descriptions bring the reader into the story. Reading from Canada, I felt I walked into the sad streets of Niger’s Delta region, and my heart broke.

ABOUT THE NIGER DELTA

The Niger Delta comprises nine states in southern Nigeria. It is fed by the Niger River and sits on the banks of the Gulf of Guinea and the Atlantic Ocean. Divided into three sub-regions (Western, Central, and Eastern Niger Delta), it is home to one of the highest-density populations in the world: around thirty million people. Nigeria is not only West Africa’s largest producer of petroleum but is sometimes called “Oil Rivers” due to the fact that it was once a major producer of palm oil.

According to Stakeholder Democracy, some of the largest problems in the area are energy poverty and access to energy, poor democratic practices, oil spills and gas flaring, poor governance and service, land clearances and displacements, and subjugation of women. It is a place where big oil revenues do not benefit residents. According to Commonwealth.org:

Before, the Niger-Delta ecosystem contained one of the highest concentrations of biodiversity on the planet in addition to supporting abundant flora and fauna, arable terrain that could sustain a wide variety of crops and trees, and more species of fresh water fish than any ecosystem in West Africa. But the adverse effect of oil exploration and exploitation has destroyed the glowing pride of nature in the region. The contaminated ecosystem has crippled the livelihood of the local people who take pride in fishing and depend on land for survival.

Fiction writers often write about what they’ve observed and are concerned about, sometimes not even on purpose. I’ve found that authors who tackle environmental subjects in fiction naturally write by impulse. Fiction speculates about and mirrors the world around us, and when ecological/social systems fail, writing about these things comes organically.

CHAT WITH THE AUTHOR

Thanks for the time, Helon. My first question is one you may have been asked before: What compelled you to write this novel, and how have you experienced the tragedy of “oil and water,” which, as they say, do not mix?

The novel came about not really by design. I had just moved to America from the UK in 2007 when I was approached by a film company to write a script for a movie about the Niger Delta uprisings. 2007 was the peak of the kidnappings and militant protests against oil companies’ pollution of the environment and the government’s collaboration in it. Ken Saro-Wiwa had been hanged because of his outspoken environmental activism about a decade prior. And so, I wrote the draft film script for them, but during my research I came to realize how important the subject of environmental pollution was, and I knew the script hadn’t done the subject justice. Besides, the novel is my primary medium and I felt I could say more with fiction than I could with my film script which, at the end of the day, wasn’t really under my control. The script was the director’s to change and modify as he wanted, and I knew that his primary focus was not the Niger Delta environment; it was more about the kidnappings and the conflict.

The novel is a page-turning mystery, but it’s also wild with descriptions of the natural landscape, both its beauty and horror, as so many aspects of the Niger Delta have been destroyed. I couldn’t get over the many references to death of fish, polluted rivers, and blood running into the water from death. Two questions really: Do you think it’s important for authors to consider our natural world, and do you often write about this, whether in fiction or nonfiction?

I had written about the environment in poems and in other less extended forms before, but Oil on Water was my first extended work on the subject. Of course, authors and all writers should write about the environment if they have the opportunity and also the inspiration. Right now we are engaged in a sort of attritional war with the fossil fuel industries, their propaganda machines, and their paid politicians. Climate change is all around us; the science is indisputable. The ice caps are melting, the glaciers are melting, and in ten to twenty years, some countries will become uninhabitable because of severe weather conditions. Most of these countries will be in the underdeveloped world, meaning in Africa and Asia. 

Most of the increase in migration and refugee movement is because of climate change and loss of livelihood resulting from that. In Nigeria, we are already experiencing severe floods and desertification at unprecedented levels. The incessant clashes between nomadic herdsmen, who are being pushed further and further south because of loss of grazing grounds for their cattle, is proof of this. Even the Boko Haram conflict in the northeast can be linked to the shrinking of Lake Chad, which used to be a source of fishing, irrigation, and transportation for people around the lake, but has shrunk by about 90 percent since the 1960s. And yet, the Nigerian government still doesn’t have any coherent policies in place to address these emergent crises. That’s why writers and anyone, really, with any sort of platform, should be talking about the imminent dangers of climate change. We must never let those who run the extractive industries and their propaganda machines tell us what to think.

Thank you for this. I totally agree with everything you said. Your novel seems to represent, in part, what is really going on in the oil industry in the Niger Delta, but also perhaps in many regions around the world. Has this area changed since the publication of the novel almost a decade ago, and are there any groups besides militants working on restoring the area?

The problems of environmental pollution and extraction are pretty much the same everywhere in the world: they are driven by the greed of a few at the expense of the majority. It is the same in America, Russia, Venezuela, and Saudi Arabia. The change I see in Nigeria is more incremental than dramatic – perhaps the biggest change is that there is less open violence and conflict like you had ten years ago. The government and the oil companies have managed to reach a sort of accommodation with the rebels and the communities, one of them being the government paying the militants – most of them unemployed youths – some sort of stipend so they can lay down their arms. I think activists are relying now more on the courts and the international legal system rather than on violence, and that is the way to go. The companies can now be sued in their home countries rather than in Nigerian courts, which cannot always be relied upon. The activists are learning how to engage the multinationals and to beat them at their own game.

Good to hear. Journalism plays a part in the story, as the main character Rufus (and his boss Zaq) are both not only reporting on the kidnapping of an oil baron’s wife but also investigating the crime in the sense that they are hired to ensure that she, Isabel, is still alive. Do you think that journalism can effect change? I would imagine that any sort of creative storytelling, especially investigative pieces, often inspires empathy in the reader.

Yes, structurally I was using the form of the detective novel. A kidnapping, a ransom demand, an investigation, and finally a release of the victim – or not. In this case, the journalist is my detective. But really the focus of the novel is more on the journey the journalists take in search of the kidnappers, and what they experience on the way. In that sense, this is more of a road novel, with a loose and deliberately episodic plot structure. My aim is to show the reader, through the eyes of Zaq, and especially Rufus, the devastation wreaked upon these communities by the activities of the extractive industries – the polluted rivers, the gas flares, but especially the violence and insecurity and the sheer injustice of it all. I want to reach the reader indirectly, to subtly work on his or her emotions and sympathies before they know what is happening.

Just a short note about dengue. I have both written and read about this disease as sort of a trope/indication of climate change literature. This is coming from me, in Canada, and what I’ve read about how vector-borne diseases may move north in future years due to warming climates and mosquitoes moving north. But in Niger, are you yet seeing more dengue or new strains of it?

I can’t say much about dengue – I am not an expert on disease. But take it as a metaphor, or a trope like you mentioned, for all the changes and catastrophes climate change will unleash on us in the near future. No community is safe. Even though the poorer countries will be first to be impacted, in the end, everywhere and everyone will be affected.

Finally, are you working on anything else right now?

Well, my fourth novel, Travelers, just came out. Interestingly, and I didn’t plan it that way, I think it is a sort of continuation of the theme in Oil on Water. Travelers is about African migrants leaving their countries for Europe. We all know some of the reasons driving these migrants out of their countries – wars and conflicts and loss of habitat, and most of it caused by the activities of multinational corporations who specialize in destabilizing governments and starting conflicts so they can more easily exploit local resources, just like in the Niger Delta.

Right now I am working on a novel I have been working on, on and off, for the past fifteen years. Some novels you have to wait till you are ready. I feel I am ready now.

Thanks so much sharing so much with our readers. I will read Travelers next! Looking forward to your next novel.

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

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

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

Go to the Artists and Climate Change Blog

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Tiny Coronavirus Stories: ‘Our breaths more dearly counted’

Maggie McAndrews, Robert Landy, Sandra Weintraub, Sherilyn Wolter

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

GOING OUT WHILST STAYING IN

Lockdown happened. Then going out whilst staying in became a new reality. I started work, started using public transport like never before whilst being careful, like everyone, not to catch the virus, ever vigilant not to touch anything, to clean and wash as the government said. The rules and regulations became the mantra and my norm. Going to work has given a new view, looking out of the window of the bus, the train, the taxis. Learning a new role, feeling out of my depth, nervous, scared, how can I do a job and keep COVID-19 at bay?

— Maggie McAndrews (Plymouth, Devon, UK)

(Top photo: Juggling whilst staying sane and safe.)

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NOTHING

Two years ago I retired after a fifty-year career as a pioneering drama therapist. I let go of most possessions, fears, and antipathies, settling into a small apartment with carefully chosen books and images. My girlfriend visited from China but could not return. A few paces behind, coronavirus appeared, compelling me to retreat to old fears and antipathies. And so, I give it shape in my imagination and interrogate it daily: ‘What more do I need to let go of? What do I need to retain?’ It is silent, but in my mind’s eye, I hear it saying: ‘Nothing.’

— Robert Landy (New York, New York)

Letting go/holding on.

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STILL ALIVE

The fear, the questions, no answers. Will I get it from the groceries delivered? Will I get it walking on the street wearing a mask? Will it come through an open window? Trapped in the invisible death trap.

I am old, elderly, over the hill sliding down on slick black ice. Just in case, I write letters to my children hoping they will keep the letters after I’m gone. I shall not send the letters. Not yet. After all, what if I don’t die? What then? What will I do with the letters?

— Sandra Weintraub (Newtonville, Massachusetts)

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WONDER

All of us connected in our not-knowing, in our common, drastically uncommon plight. Our questions are many, many more than our answers, our breaths more dearly counted. The bright lights of my friends and family are further off, yet closer to my heart. Nature is my most constant familiar, my salvation.

Will we emerge from these strange days of disease joyfully opening our wings of freedom or will they be bound tightly to our bodies by fear or ordinance? Many of us will be much older then and many of us will have grown much younger. Merlins and baby butterflies.

— Sherilyn Wolter (Princeville, Hawaiʻi)

Filling my heart with beauty.

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

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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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Survival Tale

By Joan Sullivan

Ignorance is the parent of fear.

Herman Melville

More than a whale tale, Moby-Dick is an epic allegory about survival in times of upheaval. Written 170 years ago, on the brink of the racially charged American Civil War, this murky multilayered masterpiece is uncannily relevant today.

I decided to re-read Moby-Dick in early 2020, pre-COVID, back when the news cycle was dominated by haunting images of Australia’s apocalyptic bushfires, blood-red skies, and more than a billion dead animals. Remember that? 

How quickly we lost interest in that existential climate catastrophe. As Australia’s rains finally arrived in late January, COVID-19 had already begun its inexorable tour du monde. From February to May, the pandemic and its consequent lockdown dominated global headlines and upended our lives and livelihoods. Starting late May, COVID-19 was superseded by massive and sustained global protests against police brutality and systemic racism. All three – climate catastrophe, pandemic and systemic racism – are inter-related.

The first six months of 2020 remind me of the violence and rioting of 1968, the year that both Martin Luther King and Robert F. Kennedy were assassinated. 1968 was also the year of the horrific My Lai massacre by US soldiers against unarmed civilians during the Vietnam War. I was 10 years old; the violence of 1968 marked me for life. I am sure that 2020 will do the same for many.

Photo by Diana Jamieson

Growing up, I remember a paperback version of Moby-Dick in my parent’s library, with its distinctive linocut lettering on the front cover. I tried to binge read it in high school – not recommended! – but I never got past Chapter 32, where Melville switches abruptly to a non-narrative description of his unfounded, unscientific taxonomy of whales as fish, based upon size. Although I did not realize it at the time, several scholars have suggested that Melville was deliberately using pseudo-science as code for questioning the justification of race, class and slavery as the United States slipped ever-closer to civil war. One author hypothesized that Melville was questioning “the human need to rank and classify itself, and the false science that is often used in the service of base prejudice.” Another describes Moby-Dick as “a metaphor for a new republic falling apart, with the pursuit of the white whale as a bitter analogy for the slave-owning states.”

I tried to read Moby-Dick again in my 30s and managed to finish nearly two-thirds of the novel while on vacation. But it wasn’t until this year, in my 60s, that I fell in love with Moby-Dick and was totally engrossed, from cover to cover. I am indebted to Nathaniel Philbrick, who recommends in his excellent Why Read Moby-Dick to take it slow, one or two chapters at a time. This was fortuitous, because as the chaos of 2020 unfolded, I began looking forward to my daily fix of Ishmael’s quest for meaning – like an anchor that kept me afloat throughout the turbulent first six months of this year.

Novelist Amitav Ghosh has described Moby-Dick as “such a transcendent piece of writing […] perhaps the greatest novel of the 19th century, if not of all time.” In a 2017 interview, Ghosh suggests that “One reason why Moby-Dick really is such an extraordinary novel is because it doesn’t make the separation between the human and the nonhuman.” Ghosh also makes the link between Moby-Dick and climate change: “I would say climate change really dissolves this completely false distinction between the human and the natural.” 

“To Melville the whale is very much a creature with intention and perhaps with even greater agency than the human beings that it’s dealing with,” explains Ghosh. “For [Melville], every part of the world of man and nature was animated by forces that were divine.” And this, according to Ghosh, is where contemporary artists and writers have failed miserably. He is especially critical of fiction writers, including himself: “the nonhuman has no place within novels, a genre that really grew out of this whole process of separating the human from the nonhuman.” (NB: This interview with Ghosh took place one year before the publication of Richard Powers’ brilliant novel The Overstory, a paean to trees and a hymn to collective action that won the Pulitzer Prize in Fiction in 2019.)

And while we’re on the subject of trees as sentient beings… 

In her 2018 essay, “When It Comes to Climate Change We Are All Captain Ahab,” author Kirsten Ellen Johnsen is even more provocative than Ghosh. She goes straight for the jugular: 

Melville’s description of the whaling industry epitomizes the cannibalism of mankind upon nature. […] If we, as Ishmael, are to survive to tell the tale, we will all have to take a deep dive to confront the fearsome depth of what it means to destroy our very selves as we destroy nature, all for the ephemeral sense of power it may briefly afford.

In the paragraph copied below, Johnsen has written what I consider to be the most perfect and prescient summary of Moby-Dick, a cri de cÅ“ur for the Anthropocene: 

Ahab’s swift, silent disappearance into the deep, forever fastened to his foe, beckons a modern audience to ponder our own brink. As the fury of climate change begins to lash the waves, to ram the vessel of civilization with its “wrinkled brow,” humanity now stands poised before the foam with our own vengeful spear upraised. What of our topmost greatness do we glory in, as a civilization supremely proud of our “manhood and our godhood,” having transformed “raw natural energies” into power for our use and pleasure? Doing so requires cannibalization of “living acts and undoubted deeds” of the “unknown, still reasoning” thing that forever lies behind our pasteboard symbols of Divine Nature. Shall we stand like Ahab in the bow of our puny whaleboat, ready to harpoon the last extreme energy from the bowels of Earth, and so, still chasing and forever tied, be immolated into our topmost grief?

It goes without saying that Melville was more than a century ahead of his time – “a modernist before modernism was invented.” If mid-19th century readers were bewildered by Moby-Dick’s allusive style, 21st century readers should take heed. Moby-Dick is truly a novel for the Anthropocene, an allegory about a collective predicamentthat does not end well. 

“The climate crisis is also a crisis of culture, and thus of imagination,” Ghosh wrote in his 2016 nonfiction book The Great Derangement: Climate Change and the Unthinkable. Calling for radically new ways of thinking about how the climate crisis is already (not just in the distant future) transforming our lives, he asks “And who’s best equipped to show us this reimagined landscape? Artists, of course.”

One of these artists is the playwright Chantal Bilodeau, whose play Sila is about the interconnectedness of human and nonhuman lives in the Arctic. Of the eight characters in Sila, three are nonhuman: two polar bears and a wild-haired Inuit goddess of the ocean and underworld. As the story unfolds, the distance between these three worlds – human, nonhuman, gods – collapses and the very scientific worldview of the main character (a climate scientist) is fundamentally changed, now encompassing the same kind of complexity he encounters in his work.

Sila presented at Underground Railway Theatre. Photo by A.R. Sinclair Photography.

My prayer for 2020 is that artists and writers of all types will find the courage and inspiration to ensure that 2020 will go down in history as a watershed moment, and not – like 1968 – as another year of senseless violence to both the human and nonhuman world.

(Top image, Trembling Aspens, by Joan Sullivan.)

This article is part of the Renewable Energy series.

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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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Tiny Coronavirus Stories: ‘Living somewhere in the machine’

By Bebejabets Sophie Lapointe, Glenn Alterman, Molly McAndrews, Tianhai (Tony) Zhou

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

A FADING SOUL

The woods have always been a sacred place in my mind. But when I traverse the muddy trail, the faint reek covers the surroundings with an ominous veil. Taking a more brisk pace, I hope that the muddy ground won’t suck me into the earth. Would I go through the center of the globe and appear at the other side of the world? Life is an endless loop, with ups and downs. Indifferent people catch up from behind and fade away. The verdant May leaves shed their colors like dried up paint.

— Tianhai (Tony) Zhou (Haining, Zhejiang, China)

This photo was taken in the White Mountains in New Hampshire, USA.

* * *

THE TRUTH

So many people reevaluating, revisiting old memories, better times. But why? And why now? So many stories in the news of life and death every day. Suddenly it seems like the line separating life from death is getting closer and closer. What’s going on? It’s a pandemic, they say, a virus. But no, that’s not all that’s going on, that’s just what’s happening. Open your eyes. Keep your distance so you can get closer. Cover up, cover up – so that you can go inside! There… yeah, that’s what’s happening… see? Now… learn.

— Glenn Alterman (New York, New York)

When the light finally shines.

* * *

DEER PANDEMIC

In the past four months, global citizens have learned new habits: social distancing, washing hands, and wearing a mask. For me, this last protective habit turned out to be rewarding and exciting. During a pandemic, animals are sometimes abandoned or forgotten. Indeed, a local animal shelter needed money. Solution? The owner decided to make cute face masks for sale. So I bought one. By wearing this mask, a wounded deer is cared for and fed, making me proud to be part of something bigger. The mask was so successful, my whole family has one.

— Bebejabets Sophie Lapointe (Mascouche, Québec, Canada)

(Top photo: What pandemic? Acrylic paper, 10.5 cm x 13.5 cm. Bebejabets Sophie Lapointe, 2020.)

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BECOMING GRADUALLY “OTHER”

I’m depriving my skin of material correspondence and withdrawing the ability to contact other bodies. My skin feels the loss. I envy the machine who can survive without touch. I video-call constantly: uploading myself, my eyes present, moving mouth and megapixel skin. I see other bodies, but not like I know them. Flickering, stuttering, fading. I’m becoming gradually “other.” I’m getting to know my computational personality. I’m feeding my electronic body. It exists without feeling, without pain, grief, or humor. I’m living somewhere in the machine, both here and there, existing in between multiple borders, staring at the unknown.

— Molly McAndrews (Plymouth, Devon, UK)

Living somewhere in the machine.

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

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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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