Art in a Time of Climate Crisis: Part I
From their production processes, to the themes they discuss; artists are turning to the environment and raising crucial awareness.
The following is the first in an ongoing series of group articles. We’ve gathered together insights and tips from a range of makers: from students, to emerging and professional artists, on how we might navigate what is – to a great many of us – new territory.
Our Earth is changing and each of us must adapt in both our personal and professional lives. Deciphering the environmental impact of an art project or action can be challenging. The artists featured here are deeply attuned to the world around them; considerate in their processes and often illustrating themes of climate change through their projects.
Through collective thinking and co-operation, we might plot a route forward; building a bank of shared knowledge so that we can produce artwork without cost to the Earth. In the spirit of collaboration, we’ll invite guest contributors to curate a set of artists too. Our first guest contributor will be The Auction Collective, who we’ll hear from on Thursday 26th.
Dusk Barn, Snow (detail) 2019 | Charcoal, soft pastel, gouache | 50 x 65.5 cm
Let’s open this series out walking in the countryside with Scottish artist Andrew Mackenzie. Let’s imagine our walk is over a snow-covered moorland, ringed by forest. Perhaps it’s the landscape behind the artist’s home and studio in the Scottish Borders village of Stow.
Andrew tells us, “all my work starts with an experience of a place encountered. Walking is a key part of generating ideas, and I will explore and record through notes, small drawings and photography. Sometimes getting excited because I’m reminded of something that I know from art history or film, or I’ve made associations with something I’m reading or thinking about already – perhaps an issue about how the land is being used.”
“We live in the world and are part of it”, Andrew tells us. “I show aspects of the traces we leave – the endless and complex relationship we have with the non-human world. It is a useful framework for understanding our place in things now – it’s my way of figuring out what’s happening. Landscape (which you can never really pin down) is a good vehicle for these things – land use, forestry, water, agriculture, energy production, climate change, and politics – can all be touched on.”
One of the enduring themes in Andrew’s work is the separation between humans and what we call ‘nature’. “The problem with normal ideas about nature is that in many people’s minds, it’s seen as something out there – somewhere you visit, the ‘natural world’. Everyone in fact, whether they care or are even thinking about it, is ecological. This is an idea taken from the writer Tim Morton in Being Ecological. I am interested in Object Oriented Ontology, which says (among other things) that we are not separate from the non-human world, a form of phenomenology derived from Heidegger, and against the anthropocentrism which has caused so much damage. This clear separation has led us to view the world as ours for the taking, without realising that we are damaging ourselves (possibly fatally) as we damage and strip out other forms of life.
The climate crisis has arisen because of this attitude, and the fact that we in the west use GDP to measure success. Looking at what Iceland has just done – focusing on well-being rather than GDP in the budget – is inspiring and progressive. Everyone should follow their lead, but – sadly – won’t. E.F. Schumacher wrote about this back in the early 70s in Small is Beautiful, thinking about economics as if people mattered. It has only got worse since then with the toxic dominance of neo-liberalism.”
Bracklinn Falls 2016 | Oil on Panel | 180 x 107 cm
Over several years, Andrew’s artwork has come together to form a bigger picture, in which human and non-human is entangled, overlapping, inextricably linked. Sensitive reforesting – through rewilding – is a huge theme in his work, creating a sense in the paintings that you might simultaneously be looking back in time, and forward.
“I grew up loving trees, and the loss of real woodland is now one of the most pressing things facing us and many other species. We need to allow reforestation now on a massive scale, but sensitively, simply by giving land back to nature, and paying farmers to control ruminators.
It really struck me recently when I was walking through my local wood that the mass of every tree is made from carbon from the air – this solid material is made from the air we breathe. This was touched on in Richard Powers recent book, The Overstory. The UK lost its rain forest centuries ago – we need to replace it, and leave it alone to flourish and rewild, while finding sustainable and sympathetic ways to manage commercial forestry.”
In this vein, Andrew has been looking at relationships between human culture, trees and rivers in a recent public art project – part of a flood protection scheme – in Hawick in the Scottish Borders, collaborating with artists Alec Finlay and Gill Russell. We’ll share more on that in a future post.
Service Station I 2016 | Goache, soft pastel | 150 x 115 cm
Edge of Wood (Snow Poles) 2019 | Charcoal, pastel, gouache | 39 x 28 cm
“I use things and places as signifiers for certain topics. For example, drawings of an abandoned service stations touch upon our dependence on fossil fuels. The forecourt becomes gradually wild. I’ve also made work about how we generate power and where our water comes from.
If I use, say, snow poles in my work – I am thinking about what snow poles are for, what they remind me of. They are often painted in contrasting colours to the landscape, there to mark where the road is. Usually you see them when there is no snow. I find them very evocative, and directly suggest the weather, and the fact that more extreme weather is becoming more common due to global warming. I move them about, take them from the roadside and ‘plant’ them inside woodland, where their function is changed.”
Getting the public involved | An important way of spreading environmental information
In 2018, Andrew sourced a locally produced common-or-garden shed and erected it in centre of Hawick (Scottish Borders). The aim was to allow for input and feedback on proposals for a programme of public art exploring the flood risk to the town and the constructuon of a flood-wall. Andrew manned the shed for six days, gaining a great deal of feedback and talking to hundreds of local people. He developed proposals around the theme of the river, which were presented by the artist at a public meeting in the town. They were then voted on, and the chosen designs were developed. The shed itself was donated afterwards to a local gardening charity. The artworks are in production phase now and estimated to be due for completion in 2021/22. We’ll discuss more about this in a future post on Andrew’s work.
Let’s stay outdoors, this time moving to the Södermanland countryside, on the south eastern coast of Sweden. Here we meet Sarita, a Franco-Swedish artist creating organic sculptures and birch bark compositions, whose main raw material comes from the very forest where her studio is located.
Examples of Sarita’s Light Sculptures
Sarita describes to us the discovery of her medium, asking “did you know that birch bark is considered a waste material in the wood industry?”
For Sarita, it quickly became the medium at the centre of her artistic process. “In our times of deepening divide between man and nature, making art in a sustainable way is a statement.”
After working on the visual team for the official ceremony of the Winter Olympics in Sochi in 2014 – with the collective Cadmium Scénique – the artist found herself turning to more sustainable materials within her own solo projects; striving to adopt a practice closer to nature.
“The considerable use of toxic products within the framework of such a high-scale project was certainly the first seed planted, which has grown over the years to become a conviction. In 2020, artists have a duty to reflect on new ways of creating with less impact on our environment.
Moving to the Sörmland countryside helped fortify that commitment. Surrounded by majestic birch trees, I gradually exchanged my canvas for slices of wood that I would cover with paint, following the natural cut of the wood. Even though I was using wood solely from already felled birch trees – that otherwise would have been used for heating – I turned to other elements of the birch tree with an increasingly holistic perspective, seeking to leave none of its components behind.
This is how I came up with the idea of using the tree’s skin: the bark. Becoming more and more fascinated, I learned about the harvesting period and the most adapted birch species to sample this unique resource without damaging the tree. The colours, the textures, the rawness... I fell in love with the breathtaking versatility of this new medium, not to mention the beautiful connection to nature felt in those immersive walks in the forest in sun or in snow to pick up this precious material naturally peeling from the trees.
Seeking to highlight this intuitive aesthetic connection that we have as human beings with nature through my series of bark collages and organic sculptures brings me interesting challenges every day. Challenges that I wouldn't trade now for the comfort of working with more common and often polluting materials.”
From Södermanland forest, we move to the wide-open Orkney archipelago to meet artist Louise Barrington.
“The landscape of Orkney is central to my work, the underlying energy prevalent in open spaces and the quality of light, especially at ‘in-between’ times – twilight, dawn, dusk – has greatly influenced my output.”
Over the last few years Louise has worked both with and in the landscape, inspired by walking, foraging and gathering natural materials to dye fabrics; creating organic structures inspired by the principles of Ikebana compositions. This use of found and harvested materials influenced by seasonal patterns provides a subtle colour palette specific to her local environment. Thus, the landscape is held within the unique structures she builds.
Into the Night / Grimlings (Orkney dialect for twilight) 2019
“Sustainability within my studio practice comes primarily from my research into natural dyeing processes, with an awareness of how my work impacts the environment. Therefore, developing a sustainable practice within my studio, all textiles are made with the highest consideration. As the worldwide campaign to halt the pace of global warming intensifies, artists are well placed to play a key role in highlighting and alerting others to both the precious and precarious nature of our planet.
In some small way I hope to contribute to the message of how vulnerable the landscape is and that we are responsible for its stewardship for future generations.”
Tips | Maintaining a sustainable practice is crucial to Louise
Below, the artist lists key insights into her approach:
When out walking collecting flora and fauna, leaves and plant-roots to produce natural colours, I am mindful of how much I take, so as not to impact the ecosystem it's from.
I use throwaway waste from the kitchen and vegetable garden such as onion skins, avocado skins & beetroot to make dyes.
Soya milk can become a mordant for the textiles instead of alum: this process allows for the dye to attach to the textiles. You can make it yourself, but supermarket-bought can be used as well, preferably organic.
I am mindful of how much water is used within the dying process.
I tend to look out for textiles from charity shops or donations; I like that the fabric is getting a second life and is also telling a story.
We continue the theme of re-purposing with London-based artist Camilla Brendon. Camilla describes herself as “an installation artist from a painting background”. She’s known for her use of found materials, which has been a core element of her art practice since studying.
“I began focussing on salvaged materials to make art more accessible, especially for participants of workshops that I facilitate as part of my practice. I am currently working towards using 100% found and donated materials in my work. I’ve got to this place organically over time, as I’ve learned more it’s become apparent how much waste there is and how important it is to use what we already have, instead of continuing to consume.
Plastic Inlay II 2019 | Wood salvaged from Limehouse Marina + canal plastic | 112 x 34 x 9 cm | Photo credit: Georgia Metaxas
As a colourist my main challenge in this is moving away from synthetic paints. I am always investigating and experimenting with found and natural colours. I’ve been collecting plastic packaging like dog food bags; cut into strips to use for my signature streamers; to harder plastics crushed up to make dust, used for my gem-inlay pieces. I’m beginning to experiment with natural pigments and I’m currently looking for a course on natural pigments.”
Camilla enjoys working in public spaces and with audiences who might not usually encounter contemporary art. She strongly believes that “a picture says a thousand words and that education shapes the future”, she tells us.
Left: Coast – Hertford Union Canal 2019 | Camilla at Chisenhale Studios | Right: Living Canal Mobiles 2019 | Salvaged fenders, rope, freshwater plants | 120 cm – 70 cm long | Photo credit: Georgia Metaxas
Collaboration | Reaching beyond the studio
In an effort to push the boundaries of her chosen area of focus, Camilla has worked with the water charity Thames21 on how to clean waterways, and is active with groups that help to maintain the London canal system, including the Lower Regents Coalition. These collaborations have given her skills to lead art + environment and art + science workshops, such as Living Canal Mobiles and Tiny Ocean Plants. She was the invited artist at EurOCEAN2019 and Ocean Action in February. Attending and participating in these kinds of events has been “a truly informative experience” for her – “this is because scientists and policy makers inform my practice and by meeting them in person we can discuss how their policy and research is received by people who don’t work in the field.”
Later this year Camilla will run Phytoplankton in the City at Meanwhile Gardens in North Kensington, London. This will be a series of free intergenerational workshops and an exhibition open to all (June 27th, TBC) as part of Kensington and Chelsea Art Week.
“The project is exploring the importance of phytoplankton in mitigating climate change because they produce more oxygen than the Amazon rainforest and are capable of sinking carbon. They are dying off in huge numbers for various reasons, some of which are warming sea temperatures, ocean acidification and chemicals that reach the water system. In the workshop participants will make natural cleaners, so that less chemicals have a chance of reaching the ocean and they will learn about sustainable sculpture making, using recycled materials.”
Holding our focus underwater, art student Katherine Taylor introduces her practice of deciphering of the sea. Katherine is soon to graduate from Lews Castle College (UHI) on the isle of North Uist.
“The sea, although connected by the shoreline is a territory far removed from the terrestrial. Whilst living on the Outer Hebridean Island of North Uist, I have become accustomed to the sea’s ever-changing surface, yet my perception of what lies beneath is informed by an amalgamation of the imagination and the scientific. I am fascinated by the role the imagination plays in the scientific. For it is the imagination which is able to delve further into the mysteries of the marine.
The term marine snow prompted my investigation into how the imagination infiltrates our scientific outlook of the sea. This is when organic material sinks to the bottom of the sea’s bed, the effect resembles snow falling as the debris appears bleached of colour, however this shower never ceases. ‘The sediments are a sort of epic poem of the earth’ (Carson, 1951); each layer a page telling of the sea’s past and the metamorphosis of the landscape above. The term relies on the imagination to depict a marvel which mirrors our own experience of snowfall. It is an illustration of how science relies on the imagination when it comes to envisioning an environment far removed from our own.
Using sea salt which I have harvested from the shore I scatter the sediment across paper (often hand-made) coated with a cyanotype solution. The salts absorb the cyanotype creating dots across the surface, imitating the white particles which drift to the ocean floor. The photosensitive qualities of the cyanotype result in the image mutating; transforming from a green tone to a darker blue hue over the course of a few days before eventually turning to a browner hue. To prevent the cyanotype reaching an entirely brown tone I have experimented by mixing the cyanotype with watercolours, therefore opening a new metamorphic stage in my artistic process. It is important that the image changes over time to imitate the constantly altering scene at the bottom of the sea. I frame an aspect of the ocean which goes unnoticed by us, although a continual and fundamental element of life in the marine. The imagination enables us to reach beneath the surface of the sea and visualise a world separate from our existence.”
Artist Gray Jordan is on a mission: to transform her working processes. Through the following intimate text, the artist describes how she arrived at a turning point.
“As a small child, I lived a very free life, running in the woods and shores of Florida”, Gray tells us. But after moving to the city aged eleven, she was truly converted to urban living. Fast-forward twenty years and she had been in London for over a decade. “I was working long hours, shopping, decorating my flat and generally consuming left, right and centre. I was busy and reasonably happy which left little time or reason for contemplation. The park provided some greenery at weekends but, apart from a general environmental awareness at the back of my mind, I focussed little on environmental action.
My wake-up call wasn't political, but personal. Becoming a parent in 2012 completely shattered my sense of self. That it came bundled up with a move out of the city and away from friends and created the need to find a new job just meant even more upheaval. I was left with very few touch points. So, I started again from the beginning. I asked myself questions like how did I get here? What do I want to achieve, and why?
I had gone to art school but found it was not useful for me and had simply squashed my creativity. But now I was going back to asking what the little outlets of creativity I had kept meant to me and noting that the observation of beauty and communicating the joy it created were two of the things that brought me the most pleasure.
They had also been the topics that concerned my practice at art school, although the beauty that I saw there was manmade and consumable and the communication that I observed involved identity building through consumption on top of that. I had been very interested in comparing ancient ritual to the modern rituals of consumption and the role of storytelling in both, but it was only with a more distant perspective that that comparison really became more useful and more obviously connected to humankind’s relationship to the natural world.
Once my point of view started to slide in this direction, the questions about why we were doing any of the things we were doing as a society just became louder and louder.
Why was I supposed to measure my success by everything except my relationship with my child? Why was I supposed to keep buying things? Who benefited from all this? And finally, why couldn't art be intellectual but still beautiful and full of joy as I had been strictly told at art school was impossible. Who got to decide that the final word on art's relationship to the landscape had already been uttered?
I gained more confidence that it was time to throw out everything I thought I knew and start again.
As I began to realise that my most valuable interactions really were with my family, my home, and the beautiful natural world around me; I knew that if my art was going to be a conversation with those things it couldn't be harmful in any way.
I set myself a task of finding materials that are similar to those used in a conventional painting practice, but which were non-toxic. I worked with linen canvases and replaced solvents with lavender oil; sourced materials which could be found within walking distance of my house so that their transport wasn't part of the problem. It was also crucial that they did no harm in their harvesting or disposal. I have found a surprising amount: tree gums; eggs; many types of wild plants suitable for making paper and pigments; rocks and soils for pigments; willow for charcoal; clay; wax; fallen wood; and, of course, rainwater.
With these I am experimenting to find a suitable painting surface made from either paper, wood or clay which is then coated to not be too absorbent. Tree gum works very well for this, but it is difficult to source unless you are lucky enough to have access to many gum producing trees which I don't or haven't found yet. Egg and chalk tempera works reasonably well. Making colours from plants and rocks has been a wonderful adventure and is, by far, the easiest and most playful part of the journey.
In the end, we need to be looking at how every aspect of our lives can move from poisoning and taking without giving back to the environment, to nourishing and being regenerative as other living creatures do. But trying to change every aspect at once would just lead to overwhelm and changing one thing can be surprisingly helpful in changing perspectives. Hopefully I will soon be able to offer confident advice to any artist who wanted to make a more toward an environmentally nurturing practice.” Watch this space…
We’ll end our first group article with words from designer Carolina Härdh.
Carolina suggests that designers must break the norms too, “to search for solutions focussed on respecting nature rather than ruining it.” Her artistic approach “cares for what is ‘leftover’ – giving new meaning to what has already been produced.” She believes in a circular design process, “that our curiosity has the potential to be the driving force in re-designing our future. This time, however, in collaboration with nature.” Carolina will be the subject of a full feature in the coming months. In the meantime, a perfect example of her work can be seen below – Besitt – built to display at Stockholm Furniture Fair in February 2020 from recycled materials.
A La Luz thanks all who contributed:
Sarita (Sarah Wallengren)
To those of you who got in touch and aren’t featured here – fear not! New group articles will come soon. Want to share your work with us? Read more here.
Text & images © each artist | Banner image features a detail of Andrew Mackenzie's 'Bracklinn Falls' (2016)
