Yearly Archives: 2017

Understanding a place “without shortcuts”: exploring the Tim Robinson archive 

This Post Comes from The Hollywood Story : An Eco-Social Art Practice | Co. Carlow Ireland | Authored by Cathy Fitzgerald:

I’m staying near Bearna village, which is on the edge of the ecologically significant Moycullen bog area in the West of Ireland.

On such occasions the basic act of attention that creates a place out of a location would be renewed, enhanced by whatever systems of understanding we can muster, from the mathematical to the mythological, by the passion of poetry, or by simple enjoyment of the play of light on it. Here is a gateway to a land without shortcuts, where each place is bathed in the sunlight of our contemplation and all its particularities brought forth, like those mountainside potato plots gilded by midwinter sunset in the valley of the stone alignment.

Tim Robinson ‘A Land without Shortcuts’, The Dublin Review 46 (Spring 2012), p.43

2017 has seen me spending many months away from Hollywood forest. Now, I find myself exploring a remarkable archive, a body of work created over four decades by Tim Robinson, that celebrates some of the most iconic land and marine areas of the West of Ireland. I thank Dr. Nessa Cronin of the Moore Institute, National University of Ireland, Galway, for inviting me to apply for a month-long Visiting Fellowship that is giving me access to Tim Robinson’s remarkable legacy. Also thanks to Dr Iain Biggs, my PhD supervisor, who encouraged me to take this opportunity.

Since 1972, Tim Robinson with the support of his partner Mairead, has created a nationally acclaimed body of work that celebrated and mapped the Aran Isles, the Burren and Connemara.

Initially, I was a bit unsure how my creative practice and research would connect with the archive. I was thinking how would I relate to the tree-less landscape that is the West of Ireland, but I was soon intrigued how Robinson developed an extraordinary ecology of creative practice.This practice, developed over these decades, embraced map-making, ecological and archaeological studies, local histories and folklore, and writing to deeply map and highlight overlooked values of these areas. Reflecting the significance of Tim’s work to the Irish nation, is that he is a member of Aosdana (an affiliation of artists who have made an outstanding contribution to the arts in Ireland) since 1996, and he  is a fellow of the Royal Irish Academy since 2011.

Robinson, drawing on his background in visual arts, mathematics and physics, and perhaps freshly enthusiastic about Ireland as he was as a visitor to this region (he was born in Yorkshire), created a practice that is far from a simple study of landscape.

An important recent book to understand Robinson’s many faceted practice is  Unfolding Irish Landscapes Tim Robinson, Culture and Environment (2016). A contribution from Irish art and architect researcher Catherine Marshall, indicates that Robinson’s wide-ranging creative practice is less appreciated in the art world than might be expected. She writes that Robinson’s work has been more often examined by literary critics, geographers, historians and other writers (Marshall, 2016, p.191).  Notably, she understands that Robinson’s mapping and collation of histories and place names inevitably led to his writing several acclaimed books, Stones of Aran: Pilgrimage (1986), Stones of Aran: Labyrinth (1995), Connemara: Listening to the Wind (2006), Connemara: The Last Pool of Darkness (2008), Connemara: A Little Gaelic Kingdom (2011) and yet, how his practice was informed ‘by an artist’s eye at all times’ (p.198) (a sense of Robinson’s work can be seen in the video below). She recognises that Robinson’s aim was to find a way to link the particular to the global and the mythic (p.197), and she briefly mentions how his work connects to other’s creative practices as established by Deirdre O’Mahony and Alan Counihan and Gypsy Ray who have created similar wide-ranging and comprehensive eco-social ‘mapping’ projects in Ireland (p.199). However, the final contribution in this book by ecocriticism researcher, Eoin Flannery in his ‘Essayist of Place: Post-Colonialism and Ecology in the Work of Tim Robinson’, signals how Robinson’s constellation of practices are now viewed as contributing significantly to the developing ecological (environmental) humanities discipline, of which ecological art practice is increasingly recognised as a vibrant field of enquiry.

Extract from the documentary film Tim Robinson: Connemara (Director, Pat Collins, Harvest Films, 2014), it ‘is a sixty minute film based on Robinson’s three Connemara books and a visual interpretation of his work as a map-maker and writer. An exploration of landscape, history and mythology – this film acts as an intersection between writing, film-making and the natural world.’ (Harvest Films)

To my mind, Robinson’s creative work is an exemplary example of a developed ecological practice.  Ecological art practices are perhaps better described as eco-social art practice (as they bear similarities to social art practices). Such practices involve organising activities and insights from lived (lifeworld) experience and diverse disciplinary knowledge, and are motivated by ethics, learning and action. Practitioners of such practices are not to the fore of such projects, rather they work transversally to encircle an emergent ecosophy, a philosophy of living well in a specific  location (originally described by French therapist, political activist and theorist, Felix Guattari). They foster a reflective, collaborative and comprehensive effort,  “without shortcuts”, as Robinson says, to understand our cultural values, or lack thereof, to our life-supporting environments.

Iain Biggs, who also undertook a Moore Institute visiting fellowship in 2014, has explored such ecosophical projects (looking at the creative practices of Deirdre O’Mahony, Pauline O’Connell and my own) in his research article ‘”Incorrigibly plural”? Rural Lifeworlds between Concept and Experience’ (2014). Biggs details how these creative practitioners develop and share  workings for their audiences as a result of them inhabiting ‘polyverses’: that these multi-constituent practices champion openness and plurality as they welcome and explore many different ways of appreciating often marginalised rural lifeworlds (Biggs, 2014, p.263).

And fostering sensitive, inclusive, region-specific creative practices is important for all our futures given the unprecedented eco-crises we all face (although in Ireland, understanding that culture is 4th pillar of sustainability is still little acknowledged, Fitzgerald, 2017). I can illustrate this further by considering two creative projects detailed in articles sent to me by colleagues this week, one from Ireland and one from Australia. The Irish article, in yesterday’s Irish Times, ‘Connemara village writes its own positive obituary’ (Siggins, 24 August 2017) reveals a local community that feels abandoned by the Irish Minister for Rural Development. However, this community, with the help of creative film-maker and television producer, Sean O Cualain, has set up a bilingual online interactive map and archive of this area’s place-names and rich heritage, that honors it’s ancestors’ livelihoods. Such efforts contrast what the Irish Times writer Siggins identifies as the official, “the land is worthless” narrative, that is often heard by those, like the villagers in Connemara, who are trying to maintain a sustainable relationship to their land. The Connemara village’s Loughaconeera Heritage website highlights Coiste Scoil Loch Con Aortha, their  voluntary organization and their efforts to secure funds to develop an old school as a community facility (you can make a donation here). It’s more than telling  that this article ends with a note that a Fine Gael Councillor resigned in April from the post of chairman of the Western Development Commission in protest over government inaction.

Likewise, Australian sociologist Laura Fisher in ‘Ecologies of Land and Sea and the Rural/Urban Divide in Australia: Sugar vs the Reef? and The Yeomans Project’ (2017) documents similar narrow-minded, city-based agendas that little reflect or consult with rural realities. She argues the potential for embedded eco-social art practices to offer valuable insights to seemingly intractable farming versus environmental debates. Her research reviews the live, ongoing multi-dimensional creative Sugar vs The Reef? Project (begun 2016), in which creative practitioners Ian Milliss, Lucas Ihlein and Kim Williams, listen and gather overlooked diverse local knowledge to map a regenerative farming appropriate for this specific environment, that borders the sensitive and declining Great Barrier Reef. Having followed Lucas Ihleins’ doctoral research (and I met with Lucas last December), I also admire their use of a blog to creatively collate and make this project open and  accessible to local and further afield audiences. Similarly, I recognise blogging as a creative audio-visual discursive practice that has an immediacy  perhaps more readily engaging than Robinson’s preference for detailed literary endeavors, although, of course, both have value (I wondered the other day in the reading room looking at the physical archive how will blogs be archived in the future). Overall, Fisher’s analysis concludes that these ‘projects show that generating compelling, localised, cultural meanings around land use has the potential to be as decisive as scientific intervention or environmental legislation’ (ibid).

Fisher’s research confirms others extensive studies, such a sociologist Sacha Kagan’s Art and Sustainability: Connecting Patterns for a Culture of Complexity (2011) which analyses that ecological art practices are a significant contribution towards developing relevant instances of sustainability. However, I concur with Marshall above, that such wide-ranging practices are less known than they should be. My recent doctoral research and practice has tackled why these practices pose challenges to contemporary art practice. Importantly, I see common aims and strategies in how these projects develop and are maintained. My research has helped to articulate these processes and I hope to apply my theory and methodology framework to understand Robinson’s and others practices more simply.

But first, I think I might go out and experience the bog outside my front door. And that’s the first step, gathering experiential knowledge of being in a place, and art has a key role to translate these experiences in new and engaging ways to audiences. I’ll post more on this in my next post from the bog 🙂

Biggs, Iain (2014)’”Incorrigibly plural”? Rural Lifeworlds between Concept and Experience. Canadian Journal of Irish Studies, Special issue, “Text and Beyond Text: New Visual, Material, and Spatial Perspectives in Irish Studies”. Vol. 38, Nos. 1+2, 260-279.

Fisher, Laura (2017) ‘Ecologies of Land and Sea and the Rural/Urban Divide in Australia: Sugar vs the Reef? and The Yeomans Project’. Available at
 [Accessed 23 August 2017]

Fitzgerald, Cathy (2017) ‘Creative Carlow Futures: Art and Sustainability for County Carlow’. A Carlow Arts Act Award study report. In press.

Kagan, Sacha (2011) Art and Sustainability: Connecting Patterns for a Culture of Complexity.

Siggins, Lorna (2017) ‘Connemara village writes its own positive obituary’ 24 August 2017 Irish Times. [Accessed 24 August 2017].

Thanks to digital archivist Aisling Keane and Prof Daniel Carey, Director, of the Moore Institute for welcoming me to the Robinson archive. Thanks to Mary Carty and Lucas Ihlein for sending me the above articles.


An international meeting of CO-CRÉATION for the climate At the Grand Palais in PARIS, October 9-10, 2017

The association Art of Change 21 is organizing, with the support of the UN Environment, a meeting that will bring together artists, entrepreneurs and young eco-leaders from around the globe. The objective of this second conclave is to conceive of another participatory and artistic action for the environment and the climate that will be implemented internationally.

Art of Change 21 has selected distinguished personalities from civil society :

With the aim of encouraging civil society’s commitment to the climate despite the
North American withdrawal from the Paris Agreement, the unique co-creation event
will be held at the Salon Alexandre III at the Grand Palais this autumn. The world’s
most inspiring accelerators of change — artists, social entrepreneurs and youth
environmental leaders — will meet for two days to collectively create an action that
will be developed and carried out by the association Art of Change 21.
For Art of Change 21, the creativity of artists, the driving spirit of entrepreneurs and
the forward thinking of young eco-leaders represent three complementary forces.
The Conclave of Art of Change 21 is the only initiative in the world that brings together
these diverse groups and fosters the spirit of of ‘‘cross-fertilization.’’

The first Conclave of Art of Change 21 was organized in 2014 at the Gaîté Lyrique
in Paris prior to the COP21 held in Paris.It brought together twenty-one exceptional
personalities some of whom were: Kenyan entrepreneur David Kobia (founder of
Ushahidi), French entrepreneur Cédric Carles (founder of the Solar Sound System
and Regen Box), artists Lucy Orta, Wen Fang and Laurent Tixador. Together they
conceived the Maskbook action ( which focuses on air pollution
and it’s effect on the climate. Maskbook, in partnership with the UN Environment,
has organized over 60 events world-wide, mobilizing tens of thousands of active

About Art of Change 21
Art of Change 21 is an association founded in 2014 that combines art,
social entrepreneurship and youth in favor of sustainable development and
the environment, intervening at major events for the climate. The multi
cultural team is based in Paris. The association is strongly supported by
artist Olafur Eliasson (@olafureliasson) and entrepreneur Tristan Lecomte
(@tlecomte). Its main partner is the Schneider Electric Foundation and is also
supported by the UN Environment.

Art of Change 21

Blog: Harry Giles – A provocation for the Edinburgh Fringe

This post comes from Creative Carbon Scotland

Poet Harry Giles presented the Edinburgh Fringe Sustainable Practice Award 2017 on Friday 25 August. Read his provocation to the audience, to the Awards, to the Edinburgh Fringe, below.

I’m going to start with a confession, which is that I haven’t seen a single Fringe show this year. I have a couple of excuses – I moved house this month, and I’ve had a job in Glasgow all this week. But truth be told I didn’t avoid moving in August when we were given the purchase date, and I actively organised to spend a third of the Fringe in Glasgow. Whoops.

August in Edinburgh is the month of break-ups and breakdowns. Every year at least one of my friends has a major life crisis and needs looking after – sometimes it’s me. It’s something in the air, or in the market. I’m an artist, and have a number of different roles in the arts, so in August the city is full of my friends from across the country – and the world – but I don’t usually get to see them until they start to crack. You can see it in the Facebook status updates and midnight texts: as the month proceeds more and more of us get more and more broken. Bits of us fall of, and we hope there’s enough of us to last to the end of the month. We hibernate and regenerate for most of September.

We all know that the Fringe is unsustainable, and increasingly folk are willing to say it. The physical and emotional unsustainability that’s clear to anyone working or living here in August – the atmosphere of constant activity, the expectation of constant work, the late nights, the unending obligations, the crowds, the noise, the failures, the debt – is a direct and systemic product of the economic, social and environmental unsustainability. Focus on that jargon for a moment and think about what it means: activity that cannot be sustained. It literally can’t keep going forever.

A little background on me before I keep going. My undergraduate degree was in that glorious oxymoron, Sustainable Development, the latest in a long line of self-contradictory political terms, like Free Market, Democratic Election, or Pursuit of Happiness. After a theatre masters, I worked as the Environment Officer across all the Edinburgh Festivals, including the Fringe. Now I’m an independent writer and performer, just about making a living from it, making work that focusses in one way or another on radical social change. It might seem a bit odd, given all those optimistic pursuits, that I’m now being so profoundly negative, but I’ll come back to that. First, I want to have a hard look at the problem.

First, the economic and social unsustainability. The Fringe is a festival of the rentier: artists struggle to make money, most pay to perform and many lose money; venue staff and volunteers frequently suffer highly exploitative and often illegal working conditions; a very few venues make money and that trickles up to the top; the only real profit is in owning a pub, or a hotel, or an AirBnB room – or a University. On top of that, the gravitational pull of the Fringe means there’s three months of the year where performing artists can’t really find paying work, and the huge August revenue hasn’t stopped year-round independent venues from closing year on year, with music in Edinburgh suffering the most. This is a completely unworkable economic, financial and cultural model: it cannot keep going.

Then, the environmental unsustainability. We’ve built the economy of a whole city on a system of international air travel that literally cannot be sustained: it’s just a question of whether the oil runs out or the planet floods first. The city is a blaze of light 24 hours a day – so many lights it doesn’t seem to matter whether they’re energy-saving lamps or not – for the month of the year with the most sun. A festival is always a heterotopia, a space of alterity where normal rules don’t apply, a space of excess and celebration and consumption – which is wonderful! – but a month-long conglomeration of festivals means a month where extraordinary levels of production and consumption are expected to be sustained and can’t be sustained. You can’t live that way for that long. It’s psychologically, spiritually, financially and environmentally exhausting: it drains you til there’s nothing left.

And just to dwell in the negativity for a bit longer: let’s admit the extent of the crisis. We know we’re burning up. We’re shooting past emissions reductions targets. Forests are still being chopped down, rare earth metal and fossil fuel supplies are still being exhausted, sea levels are rising along with climate refugee numbers, coral is bleaching, ice is melting: every alarm bell is ringing and most of us, myself included, only make it through the day by stopping our ear s. I spent summers in my 20s camping in fields plotting how to shut down power stations and banks, and I’ve stopped doing that not because I don’t believe in it but because I’m struggling to see how those actions can halt a crisis of this scale, and ignoring the problem seems more liveable than engaging it.

So why my work, and why this Award? If everything’s so bad, why am I supporting engaging with it? If the Fringe is so bad, why celebrate it?

The truth is, I’m not remotely interested in labelling things as bad. I think that social movements – and the environmental movement in particular – is overly invested in a destructively puritan ethics of individual guilt and culpability, in prescribing and proscribing actions that will clean up your personal moral slate so you can feel better about yourself. The boycott has moved from being an insurgent tactic of economic transformation to an individual decision about what product choices best reflect your self-identity. The dominant message the environmental movement has succeeded in getting across is not “Oil companies and banks and airlines are literally destroying the earth, let’s rise together to get rid of them” but rather “Change your lightbulbs and separate your rubbish or you’re a bad person”. (I haven’t done the maths, but I’d bet at least a tenner that if everyone household in the world switched to energy-saving lightbulbs we still wouldn’t stay below a two degree temperature rise.) So I have no interest in condemning artists and audiences who participate in the Fringe, or indeed Fringe Festival Society staff, many of whom I know well and have worked with, many of whom see exactly the same problems and feel the same level of powerlessness in fixing it. (Landlords, on the other hand…) I’ve avoided the Fringe this year because I’m tired, not because I think it’s bad.

In fact, trying to do sustainable practice at the Fringe is emblematic of trying to sustain life on this planet: it’s a struggle against huge economic and political forces it seems impossible to influence, it’s a struggle participating in which makes you feel dirty and compromised and often hopeless, and it’s also the only choice we have, because there isn’t another planet. It is worth participating in this struggle. There is no outside. There is no escape. There is no being pure. There is only working with the conditions you’ve got now, trying to make something better. The challenge of sustainability in any context is not how to make yourself the most pure, the most blessed by the green beard in the sky, the most enthusiastic about telling people how to change lightbulbs, but how to stick a spanner in the works of a death machine without getting crushed yourself.

So what’s the kind of art that I’m looking for? I’m looking for art that stares directly at the problem, even with the risk of irreperable eye damage, and speaks a truth about it that people don’t want to hear and can’t help but hear. I’m looking for art that doesn’t just advocate for change, but is an act of change: a transitional demand that changes society in its demanding. I’m looking for art that doesn’t think it’s any better than the rest of us, but somehow makes us all better through its making. I’m looking for art that’s willing to get dirty. I’m looking for art that understands and admits to its present conditions, and creates a space to change them. I prefer peasants and labourers to prophets and messiahs: I’m looking for art with decent working conditions, that knows what work is, that’s working with us. I’m looking for art that shows us the other world which is not possible but actual, now. I’m looking for art that is a howl of pain and rage loud enough to clear a space for something else to happen.

Before announcing the award, and congratulating the people who’ve risen that challenge, I’m going to finish with a poem. I’m already feeling that these words are clumsy and don’t quite say what I wanted them to say. Prose is too literal, too easily excerpted and quoted and misquoted, at least the way I write it. This poem is a story I wrote for my friend, the theate critic Maddy Costa, and it’s about everything I’ve just been talking about.


There was a world where tokens were exchanged

for food, and when a token met your hand

a spur extended blandly into your palm

to take a sip of blood. This payment kept

the tokens bright enough to check your hair in,

cool enough to glide from purse to purse.


And in this world there were two friends who made

assemblages of wood and steel: stairways,

sunshades, simple things to see through, things

to pause on, things to touch. They worked apart,

and then from time to time they met to look

and say, “This works”, and say, “This doesn’t work.”


One day one friend came with a gift, a question.

They bought some time discussing techniques, and then

they said, “I heard your purse was light. I saw

your building shed was empty and your tools

were sore for oil.” And they held out their hand

with sixteen hungry tokens free to take.


Now, both these friends were just the kind of folk

to argue far too hard about the way

things are on other worlds, or could be, or were,

and how to cross between them without snapping

painful laws of space and time. At times,

they held that wood and steel could build a bridge


to where a body could eat without blood.

And so they laughed as they watched the sixteen tokens

pass from palm to palm and felt the prick

and wiped the reddish smears on the handkerchiefs

that all folk carry tucked in their back pocket,

the depth of dye declaring the force of the flag.

The post Blog: Harry Giles – A provocation for the Edinburgh Fringe appeared first on Creative Carbon Scotland.


About Creative Carbon Scotland:

Creative Carbon Scotland is a partnership of arts organisations working to put culture at the heart of a sustainable Scotland. We believe cultural and creative organisations have a significant influencing power to help shape a sustainable Scotland for the 21st century.

In 2011 we worked with partners Festivals Edinburgh, the Federation of Scottish Threatre and Scottish Contemporary Art Network to support over thirty arts organisations to operate more sustainably.

We are now building on these achievements and working with over 70 cultural organisations across Scotland in various key areas including carbon management, behavioural change and advocacy for sustainable practice in the arts.

Our work with cultural organisations is the first step towards a wider change. Cultural organisations can influence public behaviour and attitudes about climate change through:

Changing their own behaviour;
Communicating with their audiences;
Engaging the public’s emotions, values and ideas.

Go to Creative Carbon Scotland

Biophilia and Beauty

This post comes from the Artists and Climate Change Blog

Over the last three years, I have sought to develop work in new ways in order to offer an alternative discourse to the overwhelming pessimism of climate change debates. Taking my artwork out of the frame, and then off the wall, into three dimensional installations, and ultimately short films, has allowed me to explore original and diverse forms of artistic expression.

My journey started in 2009, following a year as Artist in Residence at the Royal Botanic Garden Sydney, where I exhibited a series of 27 mixed media drawings featuring extinct and endangered plants. Since then, I have continued to explore ways of communicating the escalating impact of climate change, while trying to reinforce that appreciating the beauty of nature – biophilia – is a necessary need for all people.

I was able to integrate a lifelong passion for meditation and mindfulness into my work as it evolved, and this has presented an opportunity to draw not just from the knowledge of the scientists I worked with at the Royal Botanic Garden, but from recent studies in neuroscience and ecopsychology, about how the brain constructs emotional responses which flow through the body.

Living Fossils: The Shape of Loss (series), Drawn Thread, Australian National University, Canberra, 2017. Drawings of cross sections of fossil wood on cut paper backgrounds symbolizing urban environments and maps.

I sought not only to represent the plants’ precious beauty, but to explore how plants can heighten our abilities to feel and connect with nature. My work seeks to bring this sensibility into galleries and other spaces in less conventional ways. It aims to enhance our ability to reconnect with our own nature, and to reflect on potential loss, explored through the incidental and concomitant beauty found in Herbarium collections, and in the wild.

The first of these new experiments was selected in 2016 for the “Future Stratigraphy” exhibition at the Sydney College of the Arts, Sydney University. The Archaeology of Absence featured drawings of endangered plants in free floating circles and cut paper pieces, across the length of a three meter-long wall.

As a passionate educator, I also wanted to be involved with the community in Sydney. This led me to take part in The Big Anxiety Festival, where I will present a large scale solo exhibition, Art + Nature: Antidotes to Anxiety, and conduct two drawing workshops, hosted at the Fisher Library and the Royal Botanic Garden.

Recent surveys and statistics suggest that an increasing number of people are disengaged from the issue of global warming, and actively avoid thinking about it. Yet the human species needs to be integrated with nature more than ever before. Research in biophilia and ecopsychology continues to provide us with evidence of the positive impacts that being connected with nature – and seeing images of nature – can bring, to both our physical and mental health.

Requiem (Red) showing details of one of three large glass vitrines. The exhibition was distributed across three floors of the Fisher Library, Sydney University, 2017. Red sections relate to The Red List summary of endangered species, and the pressed branches in the foreground are from the critically endangered Eucalyptus Copulans tree.

The first series of works in “Future Stratigraphy” featured free floating circles, the second an installation in the Fisher Library, and the third series used scanned images of my drawings to create a visual meditation and narrative in two short films co-created with Margaret McHugh. The first film was called “Micrographia” and the second, “Deposition Lines.” Both films used soundscapes and combined real images of endangered plants with the drawings. They integrated cut paper layers, changing focal points, alternating light sources, and other visual devices to evoke a calm, meditative experience.

Recent studies have shown that looking at images of nature for as little as five minutes provides health benefits such as reduced blood pressure, increased immune response, and lower depression and anxiety. We are not separate from nature; we are nature. Exploring plant images through artwork, and extending their reach, can provide a way of creating emotional empathy, as a type of touchstone to bring us back to ourselves.

We need antidotes to the negativity of climate change – and nature is ready, and waiting for us.

(Top image: Micrographia, still, at 0.09 in video. The layering in this drawing was inspired by the writing and research of Rachel Carson, in the 1962 book Silent Spring.)


Emma Robertson researches developments in creative thinking processes, exploring the relationships between words, objects and memory in mixed media drawings, installations and bookworks. She is an Associate Professor at UNSWAD and a Fellow of the Royal Society of Arts, London. Emma has exhibited in eight countries, and her prize-winning artwork is held in seven international public collections. For her current PhD practice-based research at Sydney University, she has extended her previous Artist in Residence work with scientists at the Royal Botanic Garden Sydney, to explore new ways of communicating about the impact of climate change on rare and endangered Australian flora.

About Artists and Climate Change:

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

Go to the Artists and Climate Change Blog