The Coccolithophores Project

Our latest Members’ Post comes from Julien Masson, a collage, sculpture and video artist who collaborates with other disciplines to expand the notions of what is art and participate in the very dynamic dialogue between digital technology, science and the arts.

This art installation, funded by Arts Council England, for the atrium of the Winchester Science Centre and Planetarium takes the form of a cascade of sculptures representing the micro plankton coccolithophores. This figurative work is constructed from carved opaque recycled milk bottles, a method we have used on previous projects. In interpreting the architecture of these microscopic creatures I hope to stimulate both scientific and artistic enquiry. Approximately 1,000 high density polyethylene (HDP) milk bottles will be used to create a series of scaled up Coccoliths. 

I partnered with local sculptor and recycling artist C. Cudlip on this project and we were very lucky to be able to work with Dr Samantha Gibbs, Royal Society University Research Fellow within Ocean and Earth Science, National Oceanography Centre Southampton at the University of Southampton. Dr Gibbs provided us with invaluable information relating to the science of the coccolithophores, reference images and advice on how these unicellular phytoplankton are formed and worked with us on outreach events to present the subject to the wider public. 

Coccolithophores have an important role in the carbon cycle of our planet. We were very keen on a project that would not only have an artistic dimension but also have scientific and educational connotations.

We proposed to produce a cascade of coccolyths made of recycled milk bottles to recreate the shells of these creatures. In using this throw away material we wanted the public to be aware of the environmental and ecological impact we are submitting our planet to.

Bottle Coccolithophores, installation at The Winchester Science Centre (supported by Arts Council England)
Artists: Julien Masson & C Cudlip © 2016 jfmmasson.com

Coccolithophores are tiny marine lifeforms called micro-plankton. Measuring just a few microns across, they are made up of smaller sections called coccoliths. The living coccolithophores form into layers called blooms, spanning hundreds of miles of ocean.

These photosynthesise and act as one of the planet’s most important sources of oxygen production. The fossilised remains of these creatures create a vital form of carbon capture, locked into the calcium carbonate of their skeletons.

Coccolithophore microscopy images from Nannotax 1 Isochrysidales, 2 Ceratolithus cristatus HET nishidae type 3 Syracosphaera anthos HOL 4 Nanolith Family

Carbon and coccolithophores.

Next to the rainforests, coccolithophores are one of the biggest producers of oxygen on the planet. Coccolithophores also have an effect on the carbon cycle. The production of coccoliths requires the uptake of dissolved inorganic carbon and calcium. Calcium carbonate and carbon dioxide are then produced from calcium and bicarbonate by the following chemical reaction:

Ca2+ + 2HCO3− ←→ CaCO3 + CO2 + H2O [1]

Because coccolithophores are photosynthetic organisms, they are able to use some of the CO2 released in the calcification reaction for photosynthesis [2]. During calcification, two carbon atoms are taken up and one of them becomes trapped as calcium carbonate. This calcium carbonate sinks to the bottom of the ocean in the form of coccoliths and becomes part of the sediment; thus, coccolithophores provide a sink for emitted carbon, mediating the effects of greenhouse gas emissions [3].

Bottle Coccolithophores, installation at The Winchester Science Centre (supported by Arts Council England)
Artists: Julien Masson & C Cudlip © 2016 jfmmasson.com

Plastic pollution

In 2012, it was estimated that there was approximately 165 million tons of plastic pollution in the world’s oceans. Polystyrene pieces and nurdles (manufactured plastic pellets used in the creation of plastic products) are the most common types of plastic pollution in oceans and, combined with plastic bags and food containers, make up the majority of oceanic debris. The Marine Conservancy has predicted the decomposition rates of several plastic products. It is estimated that a foam plastic cup will take 50 years, a plastic beverage holder will take 400 years, disposable diaper will take 450 years, and fishing line will take 600 years to degrade [4]. The decomposition rate of plastic milk bottles is also estimated several hundred years in a landfill [5].

References:

1. Mejia, R. (2011), “Will Ion Channels Help Coccolithophores Adapt to Ocean Acidification?”, PLoS Biology 9

2. Mackinder; Wheeler, Glen; Schroeder, Declan; Riebesell, Ulf; Brownlee, Colin; et al. (2010), “Molecular Mechanisms Underlying Calcification in Coccolithophores”, Geomicrobiology Journal 27 (6–7): 585–595

3. Marsh, M.E. (2003), “Regulation of CaCO3 formation in coccolithophores”, Comparative Biochemistry and Physiology Part B 136 (4): 743–754,

4. Lytle, Claire Le Guern. “Plastic Pollution”, Coastal Care (see link below).

5. Brian Palmer Monday, February 28, 2011; Washington Post (see link below).

Find out more:

You can explore the sources Julien references in his piece:

Read about the coccolithophore project at Winchester Science Centre.

Visit the Winchester Science Centre and Planetarium near Winchester.

Find more information about the Palaeoceanography and Palaeoclimate Research Group at Ocean and Earth Science, National Oceanography Centre Southampton.

Discover the biodiversity and taxonomy of coccolithophores at the Nannotax site.

Read about plastic pollution of the oceans at the Coastal Care site.

Compare the environmental impacts of different types of milk container in this article by Brian Palmer in the Washington Post.

 

The Ocean as Abject: Between Seduction and Defilement

In a return to ClimateCultures, Mary Eighteen – a Fine Artist working with ocean toxicity – produces our first joint Members’ Post with Julien Masson, a Multimedia Artist working with the Anthropocene. The text, images and video explore their collaboration on a new work.

Collaboration: a visual encounter with abjection and the oceanic dilemma of our time

As well as researching Benthic Communities in the Shelf Sea, as mentioned in my last blog (have started the first painting, which I will include for discussion in another blog), I am working on a collaboration with the UK-based French artist, Julien Masson. Our project is called The Ocean as Abject. This collaboration seeks to explore the space between seduction and defilement in order to present an exhibition that is ‘A Visual Encounter with Abjection’. In essence, this is at the moment a research project and we hope that when an exhibition site is agreed and formulated, there will be an essay and accompanying information for visitors to take away with them. We would also like to hold a symposium, where a mix of backgrounds – from cultural and ecological, to visual and scientific – could ask questions and provoke a debate.

The proposal

The proposed exhibition, The Ocean as Abject, presents a world where meaning has broken down in relation to the ecological protection of our oceans. With rising C02, ocean Dead Zones and ocean suffocation, human existence is under threat; the sad reality is that we have done this to ourselves. The seduction of the ocean has reversed to defilement by our lack of thought and our own self-inflicted banality. The essence of The Ocean as Abject invites viewers to imagine a world where the ocean, as we know it, is on the trajectory to extinction. Both painting and video are presented together, to accentuate this experience.

Abjection and Julia Kristeva

The exhibition will re-evaluate the notion of abjection perpetuated by Julia Kristeva, the French/Bulgarian philosopher, literary critic and psychoanalyst, who is Professor Emeritus at the University of Paris Diderot. In 1980 she published Powers of Horror [1]. In this essay, Kristeva refers to the abject in relation to mankind and the body. This could be migration, the humanitarian disaster that is the present famine in Somalia, or individual human trauma of any nature. However, our exhibition places the ocean as central to the notion of abjection. We take the stance that it is the ocean that is in trauma, and humanity has created this by a lack of human responsibility regarding our seas. In short, we have done this to ourselves and there is a reversal of roles as the abject is transferred from the person to the ecology of the ocean. It is human nature that is at fault and the environment that is in trauma. It could be argued that human nature also causes suffering to other humans. But that is not the argument in question here; it is the oceanic trauma that is central to the debate, and it threatens human existence. An ocean finally depleted of oxygen will survive on the planet in another form, but we as a race cannot.

Abjection 1 (Acrylic, ink and pigment on canvas: 230cm x 190cm) – part of The Ocean as Abject, ongoing.
Artist: Mary Eighteen © 2017
http://www.maryeighteen.com

Painting, video, and the frame

The essence of the frame has always been a commonality between painting, video and film [2]. The construction of composition, light and movement within a frame has fundamental similarities [3]. But of note is the relationship between the artwork and the architectural space within which it is exhibited. Julien Masson has produced a video called The Ocean as Abject, inspired by Acidification. The video is compartmentalised into three sections and, depending on the gallery space provided, can be projected in varied ways. To this end, the projection of the video is determined by the architectural space surrounding it. This clearly brings into force the extended relationship between painting, video and architecture.

Similarly, I have produced a large painting, Abjection 1, which is 230cm high by 190cm wide. Supporting this painting are three further paintings which are narrow (70 cm wide), and are in two vertical sections. With a nod towards installation, the paintings will each sit on a set of steps that will be in line with the canvas and flush with the wall. A gallery space will again determine how these are presented alongside the video. This further examines future possibilities wherein the steps are installed on the wall space and the canvas is on the floor. The steps alluded to are the steps we as a race are taking to our own ecological annihilation. But equally it could be video projected onto the floor! The possibilities are in profusion. Video’s transference qualities are endless. A video can be projected onto the outside of a building, or used as a light installation. The subject of ‘process’ is present in both video and painting. The end product of painting is static, although the process has much movement, while a video is a moving image that involves a different kind of process.

In summary, The Ocean as Abject is an installation of painting and video destined to be curated in relation to the architectural space provided. The collaboration brings together a multimedia artist with an interest in the Anthropocene, and a painter with ecological interests who would also like to extend painting into installation work. Central to The Ocean as Abject is the need to accelerate public awareness of the seriousness of the problem regarding our oceans. To support this notion, the writings of Julia Kristeva’s abjection have been explored and appropriated, placing the abject firmly within the realms of the oceanic cultural dilemma of our time. Our planned exhibition directly confronts the problem, and we want talks and discussions to bring the debate to as many of the public as possible.

References

1. Kristeva, Julia: Powers of Horror, Columbia University Press 1982

2. Elwes, Catherine: Worrying the Edges of the Frame, in Installation and the Moving Image, Columbia University Press 2015

3. Elwes, Catherine: Architectural Space, in Installation and the Moving Image, Columbia University Press 2015

 

Find out more:

Mary Eighteen

Julien Masson

Julia Kristeva

Julia Kristeva – “Jackson Pollock’s Milky Way”, Journal of Philosophy and the Visual Arts, Academy Group 1989

 

A Razor-Sharp Fragility

In our latest Members’ Post, composer pianist Lola Perrin, in the first of three blogs for ClimateCultures, shares some musings on isolation.

Last September I started touring my latest piano suite; ‘Significantus’, a keyboard conversation about climate change. The idea was that I would perform specially composed solo piano music, a guest speaker would talk and then facilitate a conversation with the audience about positive response to climate change. My aim was to stimulate audience members to carry the conversation into their communities after the concert.

It was during a post-performance debrief, at the request of post-graduate composer Kate Honey who had invited me to perform the ninth date on this tour at Conservatorium van Amsterdam, that I admitted to a lack of satisfaction from performing this work. I wished none of it was necessary, that I wouldn’t have to look into the eyes of twenty-something year old research students studying Significantus and think how they, along with my sons of similar ages, would be facing unimaginable challenges in their later lives. During our debrief I realised how much I craved a return to my old simple ways where ambition lay in the same space as the notes, where satisfaction naturally followed from simply completing the work and the act of sharing my music was the point of my concerts.

For many of us, to create we need to be alone, if not physically, then at least mentally. We have to cut ourselves off and live in our heads. It’s generally an unpleasant process for me and may well be for you too; insecurity, doubt, lack of self-understanding, worry that it’s a repeat of your previous work or a copy of someone else’s, or just that it’s not very good …. the list goes on. Yet we carry on creating because we don’t know any other way of being, and suppressing that creativity is even more unpleasant; without our work processes we’ve lost so much of our identity and meaning.

Whiteread was in the Arctic at the time, on a trip with Cape Farewell

I found my real identity with my first piano suite. I’d been up all night at the window, watching a south London road gradually transform and as the dawn arrived, it began to morph into a favourite Hopper painting of an empty street at dawn. I decided to compose a set of pieces about the people behind the windows in that painting; people we can sense but not see. I made up their lives and dreams and found a compositional sound I hadn’t heard before. Inspired, I was soon onto my second suite, this time working from memories of how Ansel Adams photographs had made me feel. Later, after witnessing children set free at the piano, I copied their abandonment to write my third suite.

Then came an idea to follow Rachel Whiteread’s casting of physical spaces (such as in  Untitled (Black Bed) 1991 where she captured the shape of the space beneath a bed). I wanted to see if I could do something similar in music. Whiteread was in the Arctic at the time on a trip with Cape Farewell, so I decided to imagine the changing shapes within icebergs and allow the peaks and troughs of those imagined shapes to dictate the musical lines.

Untitled (Black Bed), 1991
Urethane, 30 x 213 x 137 cm
Artist: Rachel Whiteread © 1991 Image credit: Rachel Whiteread & Luhring Augustine
http://www.luhringaugustine.com/artists/rachel-whiteread/artworks/series#34

Writing this fourth piano suite was difficult. The three beforehand weren’t easy but I hadn’t become stuck the way I was stuck writing this one. It was 2005 and I was not yet clued up on climate change. That I was composing directly from Whiteread while she was in the Arctic cast a shadow over me. I was uncomfortable and resistant to learning much about the terrible reason for her journey. The feelings of Whiteread visiting ice because the ice was melting had the effect of blocking me. I tried hard, but for six months I couldn’t make the music work and felt disturbed. Finally, I turned to photographic sources also preoccupied with the depiction of spaces; six light drawings by Nazarin Montag revealing a hidden world, and cloud stories travelling the world by Roberto Battista. During a few short days the ideas finally joined up and ‘Music from Fragile Light Spaces’ was rapidly completed.

There’s a different challenge, a razor-sharp fragility

That first experience of engaging in climate change, albeit inadvertently, was like a warning for my subsequent climate-engaged compositions. There’s a different challenge, a razor-sharp fragility when you’re creating work in response to the climate emergency. Each time I’ve become greatly blocked during, and often after, the externalising process of giving artistic expression to the inner world of dealing with climate change.

Inside of an iceberg: image from Brown Bluff, Antarctica
Photographer Boris Kester © 2011 www.traveladventures.org

While touring Significantus, I’m learning about the extent to which we are living the climate change story in our heads. During one performance, a close relative contributed to the audience conversation and this moved me in a way I didn’t recognise. How could it be that we had not ever spoken together about anything to do with climate change? Yet there he was, in the public space of a performance venue, sharing with the strangers around him his carefully thought-through ideas for how to how to make things better. But in our walks around Dovestone Reservoir and on trips to the Moors we had never thought to delve into the climate change story permeating our internal lives, no matter how much each of us might be swallowed up by it.

Two extremes in a story of extremes

For my forthcoming initiative, ClimateKeys, due to take place around COP23 (more about that in the next blog), I’m reaching out to people all over the world and encountering a myriad of responses; from a call centre worker in the Philippines who speaks of how the crops have recently and unseasonably frozen, to a Chinese geologist who speaks of his jaw-dropping invention to clean up toxic water by utilising carbon dioxide. Two extremes in a story of extremes which we cannot afford to see in any other way but as the Number One Global Emergency if we are to rescue our civilisation from the consequences of our dwindling carbon budget. That’s what needs much more talking about and of course, much more acting upon. And soon, I will be returning for another walk around Dovestone Reservoir with my relative and will try to remember to break my own silence and really talk with him about what matters.

 

Find out more:

Listen to Lola Perrin’s Music for Fragile Light Spaces on SoundCloud.

Read more about Significantus and ClimateKeys at Lola’s websites.

Read a Guardian profile of Rachel Whiteread: A Life in Art

Explore Nazarin Montag’s six light drawings at her website.

Explore Roberto Battista’s cloud photography on Flickr.

 

On Sullied Seas

Our third Members’ Post is from Mary Eighteen, a fine artist with a deep concern for how humanity is destroying the future of our oceans and in turn ourselves. She introduces her ongoing collection of works on the Sullied Atlantic and Acidification.

Ghost ships

One day I was sitting on a train commuting home. Opposite me a man was reading a newspaper, the front page of which was facing me. On that page was a large muted image of a fleet of obsolete naval ships. They were the Mothball Fleet, soon to be known as the James River Ghost Ships because in America, under the Bush administration, these ships were left to rot and decay on the James River in Virginia. As their plight unfolded, it became national news and when thirteen of the ships were destined to be destroyed in Hartlepool Greenpeace got involved. The ships were so toxic it was feared, given their toxic state, they would break up at sea, causing an environmental disaster. Eventually four ships came to Hartlepool. Although I wanted to travel to photograph them, it was not allowed due to their toxic state. While at first I saw these ships as lost souls destined for a ships’ graveyard, I became seduced by their rusted surfaces and eventually the toxins that lead to their destruction.

The toxins within these ships made me realise only too clearly the demise of our oceans in relation to ocean toxicity and its threat to the future of our oceans and subsequently mankind.

Climate change and ocean toxicity are inextricably linked, and this scenario has become the cultural phenomenon of our time. Our oceans are sick. They are slowly suffocating under the plethora of carbon dioxide entering its surface and depth.

An Atlantic story

Sullied Atlantic 14 (work on canvas 102cm x190cm)
Artist: Mary Eighteen © 2016
Further info: http://www.maryeighteen.com

And so, the ships’ story, evoking the problems concerning ocean toxicity, has become my story, a story that has taken me to the mystical island of Skye, Pembrokeshire, Cornwall and hopefully soon, the West of Ireland, to document and research the Atlantic. The Sullied Atlantic series of paintings started as a response to a visit to Skye In the Hebrides. I wanted to see and experience the purity of the Atlantic in the Hebrides and then ‘Sully’ it on canvas, to show how humanity is destroying the future of our oceans and in turn ourselves. I work in a series of collections that are constantly being updated and developed. I work between them in accordance with that development and add new collections when inspired to do so.

My paintings are a metaphor for change. They allude to an opposition to ecological purity and human endeavour, by presenting an oceanic world devoid of tenacity and social concern. The paintings are the opposite of purity. They present a sullied ecology, sucked into an anoxic environment. They acknowledge an indulgence in nature’s richness while at the same time destroying that possibility through thoughtlessness and banality. That banality underpins the depth of the problem concerning the relationship between humanity and the ocean. Thoughtlessness has become a contemporary subterfuge that lends itself to misguided human activity, resulting in the pollution now affecting the ocean. Ocean ‘dead zones’ are becoming more common, acidification accelerating, with unprecedented speed, and it is only our human race that can halt this progress.

Sullied Atlantic 8 (work on canvas 140cm x 125 cm)
Artist: Mary Eighteen © 2015
Further info: http://www.maryeighteen.com

The paintings included in this blog respond directly to various facets of ocean pollution. While a collection box is not open yet, I am at this moment researching the plight of our Benthic Communities: the small organisms that live within the sediment of the ocean floor or the sediment in the shelf sea. Larger Benthic community members might be clams or crabs. The smaller organisms such as the Brittle Star that live in the shelf sea sediment are vulnerable to trawlers that scrape and dig into the sediment. The most vulnerable are the microscopic organisms that are so small they cannot be seen. These communities intrigue me, because they form a whole ecosystem that is vital to our survival. Apart from trawlers, these organisms – including crustaceans – are increasingly the victim of ocean acidification. The depletion of these communities would eventually affect human life. Sadly, because many people are not aware of these small organisms so vital to our survival, the problem is now serious. This means that people need to be made aware of that problem.

Invisible threat

Recently I was in a solo exhibition at ONCA Gallery in Brighton. It gave an opportunity to exhibit work in a gallery committed to the environment, but also a chance, through talks that were juxtaposed with the exhibition, to raise how serious this problem is. We can see the devastation caused by oil slicks, we can see the rubbish left by humans on the beach and in the sea, but we cannot see many of the microscopic organisms that are so under threat.

At the moment, I am hoping that my own research into Benthic Communities will help raise such awareness. The paintings once again will be a metaphor for change. They will be created and presented with this need for change in mind.

Acidification 5 (work on canvas 190cm x 210cm)
Artist: Mary Eighteen © 2016
Further info: http://www.maryeighteen.com

As I always work between varied collections of work, the acidification paintings I have been working on will also be in progress. In the acidification collection, the work is more monochrome in terms of limited colour. This is because acidification is about bleaching of the healthy colour of a crustacean or other sea life. Communities will be sucked away under the toxic suffocation of carbon dioxide as it enters the sea in unprecedented amounts. I have used varied shades of green white and creams to respond to this subject. I am enjoying the process and am pleased to be invited to be part of ClimateCultures.

Find out more:

www.maryeighteen.com

Festival of the Dark – Dark February

Our second Members’ Post comes from artist and event maker Jennifer Leach of Outrider Anthems. She introduces The Night Breathes Us In, the next event in Reading’s year long Festival of the Dark.

‘Cut the wire!

Some months ago, I had a very graphic dream involving barbed wire, entanglement and injury. In my dream, as I was trying to ameliorate the situation and minimise pain, the message came through loud and clear, ‘Cut the wire!’. What exactly this wire is, I have since been seeking to understand. It kept presenting itself to me as a subversive notion, an act of daring sabotage.

The question has proved seminal to the progress of Reading’s Festival of the Dark. The seed for the festival was sown at the TippingPoint Doing Nothing is Not an Option conference, and the endeavour initially moved with great flow. Its purpose is to gently lead people into the darkness — a place of stillness, mystery, contemplation, locus of the unknowing and the unknown. To face and embrace the ultimate fear that is fuelling our electrically-lit lemming stampede over the cliffs of ecological destruction. Since the launch, and once the Arts Council funding came through, there has been, at best, a general indifference towards the festival; at worst, there has been a clear closing of the official ranks towards it – business, church and media. Surely not because they sense something of a challenge in its message? Grin! A message that was possibly not so apparent when they first pledged their support. The churches – with their great venue potential in a town with few suitable spaces – have been particularly disappointing (see the notable exception below). The response from one church in Reading, whose hall we wished to use for a general meeting of arts organisations: ‘As an evangelical Christian church we believe passionately that Jesus came into this world to bring light into the darkness.  As this belief is the foundation on which the Church is built it would be inappropriate for us to be involved in such an event [Festival of the Dark].’ Badgers, night-scented stocks, stars and moonlight? – that naughty co-creating Devil!

Monkey
Photographer: Jennifer Leach © 2017

Vision

It has been a painful journey for myself and the small band seeking to realise the Festival’s vision. I have been bemused, wounded, short-tempered with my family, deep-soul exhausted. And yet…

From the moment of the Festival’s inception, there has been a supportive network holding the vision and the importance of the work. I marvel at it – quite literally spread across the whole of the UK. Actively rooting for us. Travelling down to create thoughtful, thrilling events for us. Bringing their fire, love and magic. To Reading! There are visionary businesses in Reading who are supporting us, Reading Buses being the most extraordinary. There are beautiful individuals making madcap ideas reality. With humour. There is one church so far – the Catholic church of St James, with Father John – who is open to working with us, most particularly in the light of Pope Francis’ encyclical on the environment, ‘Laudato Si’.

So much to sing about; what we need to do is change tack. A friend I have worked with and whom I greatly admire shared with me yesterday what she asks for with her work: Take me to the hungry. For me it was a conversation that has unlocked the mystery. I realized that the metaphysical cutting of the wire was not a subversive act of sabotage, but an empowering act of liberation. There is no point in trying to convert patriarchy to a more meaningful system, or to try and engender a new spirit in people who are sated, if not content. Working with those who, with us, are spiritually hungry, eager for new ways – this is the way forward. The wire that needed cutting belonged to the imprisoning fence holding us all within ‘the system’, the critical and the non-critical alike. And so I ‘cut’ the wire, crawled through the fence, and lay face down on the earth, studiously avoiding the cowpats, breathing in the fresh rich energy of the Earth and the Universe.

Festival of the Dark
Photographer: Jennifer Leach © 2017

The Night Breathes Us In

The personal feeling of liberation is calmly satisfying, and the way forward for the Festival – although as unknown as ever – feels right. I suspect the Festival events will be small, and different to our initial conception. Yet embracing this is now effortless. Exciting. And who knows, hundreds of Reading-ites may yet surprise us and turn out in force for our next event, The Night Breathes Us In with the wonderful Dark Mountain Project, on 25th March. It would be lovely if you joined us.

Find out more:

Festival of the Dark at Outrider Anthems