Politika

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Podcast on "The Landscape of our Memory"

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Atlantika Collective members Gabriela Bulisova and Mark Isaac are pleased to share a podcast hosted by the Johannesburg Holocaust and Genocide Centre in which they are interviewed about their latest project, the Landscape of Our Memory. You can access the podcast here.

The artists would like to thank the Johannesburg Centre and the four academic leaders who interviewed us, including Andrea Pető, Central European University; Tali Nates, Executive Director and Founder of the Johannesburg Holocaust & Genocide Centre; Steven Carr, Professor of Communication and Director of the Institute for Holocaust and Genocide Studies at Purdue University in Fort Wayne; and Bjorn Krondorfer, Director of the Martin-Springer Institute and Endowed Professor of Religious Studies at Northern Arizona University. A special thanks is due to Bjorn whose work they have admired for a long time and who recommended them for the podcast.

The Landscape of our Memory is a long-term artistic project that addresses the “dispersed Holocaust” or “Holocaust by Bullets” by commemorating the more than 2 million individuals who were killed in or near their hometowns rather than in concentration camps. Inspired by the work of academics studying the Environmental History of the Holocaust (a relatively new sub-field of Holocaust studies), Gabriela and Mark also explore the links between genocide and ecocide and call attention to the environmental crises we currently face, including climate change. You can find more information, including initial imagery from this “work in progress,” here. 

Although this is a difficult topic, the artists consider it an important and necessary one to address, and they plan to continue working in Poland and neighboring countries in the months and years to come. They welcome your comments and suggestions as they move forward.

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My Two Wars

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by Zhanna Ohanesian

I am only 21 years old and I have seen two wars in my life. The first, in my ancestral homeland, in Nagorno-Karabakh, the second – in Ukraine, where I was born and where I live. I tried to write this text to gather my own thoughts and tell you about how I am going through these wars.

The author aided children affected by the war in Nagorno-Karabakh in 2020. The conflict was the first of two she has experienced in her 21 years.

Black Garden or as the Armenians say – Artsakh

The war in Karabakh began in the fall of 2020. I would describe my feelings during the 44 days of the war in one word: agony.

During the war in Artsakh I did not want to live. I said to myself: am I worse than those 17-year-old, 20-year-old boys who are dying there now? I am not better than them. Why do I live and they do not? I said to myself: this is unfair.

It was hard for me. Hard to eat, sleep, study and work, as everyone else next to me in Ukraine did. People did not understand that my soul was in hell and I could not condemn them. I had no idea what others thought when they saw me, but I knew they could not even begin to imagine what was happening inside of me and how deeply terrible I felt. 

You have to volunteer if you do not want to become a complete madman

I volunteered during every single day of the 44-day war in Nagorno-Karabakh. Volunteering is throwing all your strength into a battle, squeezing it to the last drop.

The author, Zhanna Ohanesian, poses with several other children she worked with during the aftermath of the Nagorno-Karabakh war.

I disseminated information, wrote to international organizations. I collected material aid for war victims and refugees.

During the Karabakh war, I was too young and too emotional. Everyday, I watched a lot of negative videos, wrote aggressive comments, entered into negative discussions on social media, and read a lot of news about death. I was killing my nervous system.

In wartime, it is more important than ever to be assembled, to store your energy, to direct it in the right way.

After the bloody war in Karabakh ended, we continued to help. In the spring, I realized I wanted to go to Armenia and work with children who were close to the war zone. My friend-volunteer and I went together.

We helped not only the children, but also ourselves. Such volunteering restored our faith and gave us peace of mind. It was a serious therapy for our soul that changed the way we had   lived.

Ukraine

I was already experienced when the war started in Ukraine. I knew what to do and I knew I would not influence the situation globally. Despite the fact that explosions were heard in my city every day and we were constantly in the bomb shelter – I was not afraid. I did not feel anything.

I knew: I just have to do everything I can. 

The author walks up and down the stairs, to and from the improvised bomb shelter in her hometown of Mykolaiv, Ukraine. A strategic southern port city, Mykolaiv has been shelled extensively and attacked repeatedly by Russian ground forces, but fierce resistance by Ukrainian troops has prevented Russia from capturing the city.

From the first day of the war, I opened my laptop and wrote to my friends, “What are you doing now? I'm joining". And we started working. We translated texts about the situation in Ukraine into other languages, helped in various charitable foundations, collected money for bulletproof vests and looked for humanitarian aid for those who needed it. 

It was not easy to do volunteer work in war conditions. My city of Mykolaiv is also a combat zone – the constant sirens and explosions and bad news distracted me from my work. With each sound of the siren, my family and I descended from the ninth floor to the shelter. Finally, on the 43rd day of the war, my family and I decided to evacuate to a safer city in Ukraine.

I heard explosions constantly. There have always been mixed feelings about this city. I have never been close to the mentality of people, their behavior and habits. Maybe it is because I felt a little overwhelmed. However, at the same time, I have many wonderful memories connected with this city. First of all, these are the memories of friendship, books, studies and work. These are walks under the rain, parties, and photo shoots with a friend. It is a long search for yourself in the world.

During this war, I have a feeling of constant deja vu. Yes, it was something familiar. But now I am not 19 years old. I react calmly when I read death statistics, when I see destroyed infrastructure. It’s strange to say, but this time I came to terms with human pain. However, I do not understand: is it a state of acceptance of the situation or a state of disappointment?

When the war comes, you do not care about material things, you do not care about your own  development. You just want peace. This is the same in any war.

War is a source of endless pain. It is possible to fight the pain if you just start to control the circumstances. Volunteering is perhaps the main way of fighting. 

Fate is unfair to my nation, to the country in which I was born and raised. I have no other choice but to struggle against injustice using selflessness and a desire to help those I love.

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Post-Communist World: New Artists Add Their Voices in Support of Ukraine

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Many members of Atlantika Collective have close ties to Ukraine and other post-Communist and Socialist states around the world. This week, as part of our response to the invasion of Ukraine by Russia, we issued a Special Statement on Ukraine, condemning the cruel and illegal invasion and urging strong actions to defend the country and to safeguard human lives that are in grave danger.

In addition, we unveiled a new section of our website, The Post-Communist and Socialist World, that highlights the many projects that members have created that originate in Ukraine or other nations of the world that have transitioned away from communism and socialism.

Now, other artists are joining us in support of Ukraine by adding links to their projects to this new section of the website. Today, we’re featuring the voices of two very talented artists, Victoria Crayhon and Matt Mooore, who have created beautiful and insightful projects in this part of the world.

Karl Marx Street I, Irkutsk RF 2018, Archival Pigment Print, 30 X 44 inches, Victoria Crayhon.

Victoria Crayhon has been making photographs in the Russian Federation since 2011. Her work examines the intensity and omnipresence of Russian nationalism as reflected in its architecture, public space, historical sites, holiday rituals, and culture in general, which, like any form of nationalism, is essentially the glorification of one’s own culture and country. Nationalism has historically, at least in the west, led to two world wars and most American wars since 1945. Her two projects, New Empire and Far East, ask the questions: How long can a society hold onto and/or reject ideas from its own history? Which facts and stories are being told? How is history wielded and for whom?

Post-Socialist Landscapes by Matt Moore is an exploration of memory sites in countries that were at one time occupied by the Soviet Union. The photographs in this project fall into two main groups. One set of images depicts the exact location where statues of Lenin and Stalin once stood. A second group of photographs focuses on the fate of the discarded communist monuments that once stood throughout Europe’s Eastern Bloc states. Together, these two groups of photographs speak to the way local governments and municipalities control historical narratives through the manipulation of public and private space. While some societies go to great lengths to eradicate the unwanted reminders of their past, others are willing to let them slowly disintegrate.

Lenin, Vilnius, Lithuania, Matt Moore, 2014.

Moore’s project East/West presents images of the abandoned checkpoints that separate former eastern bloc countries from the West, particularly the Czech Republic from Austria and Germany. As remnants of the Iron Curtain, each checkpoint carries with it its own amount of history and aura. Today, each structure stands vacant and serves only as a hollow reminder that one is moving from one country to another. Moore is interested in them as symbols of the perpetual change that takes place in Europe and beyond. Ultimately, the images in this project function like time capsules. They give us a glimpse of the past, while also hinting at the potential for greater change ahead.

In addition to featuring talented artists from around the world, our new section on the Post-Communist World contains information about how you can do your utmost to assist the people of Ukraine in their historic struggle for democracy and self-determination, including information on Russian war crimes, charities that are assisting Ukrainians in their country and those who have been forced to flee, and suggestions about how to contact government officials in the West who must hear from us about the importance of this crisis for the world.

We all have a stake in the war in Ukraine, since the very future of democracy is at stake. We continue to urge everyone to do all they can to influence the outcome.

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Fighting for Freedom and Democracy in Ukraine

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This image, taken by an artist in Kyiv on February 26, 2022, shows the aftermath of a Russian attack on a civilian apartment building. Amnesty International has already documented the indiscriminate shelling of civilian targets by Russia, actions that likely constitute war crimes under international law.

Many members of Atlantika Collective have a close personal connection to the parts of the world that have transitioned away from Communism and Socialism, including the nation of Ukraine, which is under assault by Russian troops at this moment.

Today Atlantika issued a “Special Statement on the War in Ukraine.” This statement vehemently condemns the Russian invasion of Ukraine and calls on governments and people all over the world to do everything possible to assist the people of Ukraine. Importantly, it includes essential information on Russian war crimes against civilians and information on how people worldwide can send humanitarian assistance to people in Ukraine and to refugees in bordering nations. Finally, Atlantika urges people to contact their own governments to demand the strongest possible sanctions against Russia and their isolation in the world community.

In addition, to highlight the importance of protecting freedom and democracy in Ukraine, we are introducing a new section of our website today called “The Post-Communist and Socialist World.” This new section brings together a diverse collection of artworks by Atlantika Collective members (and soon, other artists who have focused on similar topics). These works offer insights into art and culture, diversity and borderlands, and the environmental problems plaguing these nations, including a number of projects that originate in Ukraine.

The war in Ukraine is one of the most pressing humanitarian crises of our time. It is also one of the most important challenges to the rule of law and the future of democracy and self-determination. For these reasons, we all have a stake in this war, and we all must do what we can to bring an end to this brutal, unwarranted and illegal use of military force.

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Book Launch Discussion: Contemporary Ukrainian and Baltic Art

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by Mark Isaac

On Monday, February 14, the Ukrainian Studies Organization at IU sponsored a book launch discussion featuring a group of international scholars, curators, critics, and artists, including Atlantika Collective member Jessica Zychowicz.

The ambitious book, whose full title is Contemporary Ukrainian and Baltic Art: Political and Social Perspectives, 1991–2021, surveys Ukrainian and Baltic art during the 30 years after the fall of Communism in the region, taking care to understand how the transformations of the last three decades built upon the past and how they might inform the future. The full taped version of the talk is included here.

The taped version of Book Launch: Contemporary Ukrainian and Baltic Art, a discussion sponsored by IU Ukrainian Studies Organization Talks.

A chapter titled “A New Dawn at the Centennial of Suffragism: Artistic Representation in Transeuropean and Transatlantic Kyiv” was penned by Zychowicz. This exceptionally insightful essay skillfully weaves together the evolution of International Women’s Day, the events of the 2014 Maidan Revolution of Dignity, a landmark 2018 feminist exhibition in Kyiv titled “A Space of One’s Own,” and the trial (and acquittal) of a women’s rights banner unfurled at a 2018 march to tell a story of feminist activism and accomplishment that has implications for artists, scholars, and progressive activists well beyond Ukraine’s borders. 

A full review of the book and of Zychowicz’s chapter are beyond the scope of this post, but it is worth a brief mention of two salient themes in Zychowicz’s essay that stood out for this reader. 

The piece begins by acknowledging the socialist origins of the fight for the right to vote (which was won several years earlier in Eastern Europe than it was in the United States), as well as the fight for women’s rights in general. In the post-Communist environment, which embraced a new nationalism and sought to discard anything associated with the previous regimes, feminism was identified as an unwanted relic of the past. Thus, the efforts of feminist artists in Ukraine have in part been oriented toward reintroducing feminism to the public as neither “regressive nor anti-national.” For example, as part of a participatory art project, feminist artist Alina Kopytsa posed nude for a photograph in front of a wall painted the institutional color blue that is associated with all government buildings in Ukraine. This “visual insubordination” undermines the authority associated with state institutions (and their control over women’s bodies) while also calling attention to the unspoken political meanings associated with many public spaces. 

Zychowicz asserts as basic the idea that one of the most important purposes of art is to cast light on what is marginalized or overlooked, and that this act can make what was unseen central to our lives. To elaborate, she calls attention to the 2018 Kyiv art exhibition titled A Space of One’s Own, which included a century’s worth of feminist artworks, including the provocative works of contemporary practitioners. She then interrogates a key question:

Bringing women’s history into greater visibility is the essential work of any author or artist who dares to express herself on the page or canvas. But what if the space of one’s own for self-discovery were transparent?….How does artistic production—the re-contextualization of boundaries between private/public, everyday materials, and multiple framings and perspectives open up new vocabularies, texts, and pathways for constructing ourselves, how we see each other, and the world around us? 

The title of the exhibition, A Space of One’s Own, is an allusion to Virginia Woolf’s famous essay A Room of One’s Own, in which she asserts that “a woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction.” According to Zychowicz, this work is seen by many scholars as “a breakthrough in the search for a language by which to express non-normative gender experience.” In fact, Woolf posited that feminists would need to create an “Outsider Society” to transform society from their position on its margins. 

Although Woolf never specifically created such a society, her writing and publishing efforts moved forcefully in this direction and opened the door for more contemporary artists to initiate a dialogue around such subjects as maternity, fertility and reproduction that is ongoing today. For example, Ukrainian artist Yevgenia Belorusets created photographs of marginalized gay, bisexual and transgender Ukrainians in their domestic settings, blurring the lines between public and private and challenging prevailing views about heteronormativity. 

In her extremely satisfying conclusion, Zychowicz urges us to build on these efforts by reimagining the public/private divide in new ways. She notes that Czech author Milan Kundera has identified “transparency” as one of 65 key words in “The Art of the Novel,” and this concept is closely associated with the nineteenth century philosophical interest in the concept of the glass house. But this utopian vision always involved a core element of paradox, since the glass house can equally be identified as an early vision of surveillance and confinement. For feminist artists, always outsiders, this construct will certainly be helpful as they seek to define a path forward. Freedom, Zychowicz notes, “is both a process of achieving the space of one’s own—but also, the ability to leave it at will.” 

(Please note that Zychowicz’s viewpoints and scholarship are entirely her own and do not necessary reflect the views of Fulbright Ukraine and the Institute of International Education, Kyiv Office, which she directs.)

Speakers in the discussion included: 

  • Jessica Zychowicz is the Director of Fulbright Ukraine & IIE: Institute of International Education, Kyiv Office. She recently published her monograph, Superfluous Women: Art, Feminism, and Revolution in Twenty-First Century Ukraine (University of Toronto Press 2020). In 2017-2018 Dr. Zychowicz was a U.S. Fulbright Scholar to Kyiv-Mohyla Academy, where she taught courses in visual sociology, gender, and conducted interviews and archival research toward her second book. She has authored numerous articles on gender, human rights, revolution and protest in postcommunism. Dr. Zychowicz is a Board Member of the Association for Women in Slavic Studies (AWSS), an Advisory Board member of H-Net H-Ukraine, and is a founding co-editor of the Forum for Race and Postcolonialism at Krytyka.com.  

  • Svitlana Biedarieva is an art historian and curator with a focus on Eastern European and Latin American art. She holds her PhD in History of Art from the Courtauld Institute of Art, University of London.  

  • Kateryna Botanova is a Ukrainian cultural critic, curator, and writer based in Basel. She is a co-curator of CULTURESCAPES, Swiss multidisciplinary biennial, and is an editor of the critical anthologies that accompany each festival, among them On the Edge: Culturescapes 2019 Poland, Archeology of the Future: Culturescapes 2017 Greece, Culturescapes 2021. She has worked extensively with EU Eastern Partnership Culture Program and EUNIC Global as a consultant and expert. A member of PEN Ukraine, she publishes widely on art and culture. 

  • Lia Dostlieva is an artist, cultural anthropologist and essayist. Has a degree in cultural anthropology. Primary areas of her research are trauma, postmemory and agency of vulnerable groups. Works in a wide range of media including photography, installations, textile sculptures, etc. Exhibited her works in Germany, Italy, Ukraine, Poland, Austria, Czech Republic, etc. 

  • Andrii Dostliev is an artist, curator, and photography researcher from Ukraine, currently based in Poland. Has degrees in IT and graphic design. His primary areas of interest are memory, trauma, identity — both personal and collective, and limits of photography as a medium. His art practice works across photography, video, drawing, performance, and installation. Recent solo exhibitions include: ‘Black on Prussian Blue‘, Shcherbenko Art Centre, Kyiv, Ukraine (2021), ‘Black raven sang the water‘, KMBS, Kyiv, Ukraine (2021), and ‘I still feel sorry when I throw away food — Grandma used to tell me stories about the Holodomor‘, Odesa National Art Museum, Odesa, Ukraine (2021–2022). Has published several photobooks.

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The Iridescent Yonder: A New Exhibit by Atlantika Collective Member Sue Wrbican

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Mark Isaac

It is a time of loss, and even as vaccinated people poke their newly maskless faces into the world and think about new beginnings, we all have a need to process the tragedies that have surrounded us for a seeming eternity -- and threaten to pursue us into the future. 

But of course, loss was always with us. And every day and in the course of normal human events, we are faced with the loss of family, friends, acquaintances, those we never knew. We also face the loss of the environment as we once knew it, and the increasing likelihood of epic ecological collapse. We’ve faced a period of endless wars that blended one into another. Each one a tragedy, each a reminder that life can never be immune from death.

Now comes Atlantika member Sue Wrbican, whose latest multi-faceted and highly accomplished exhibit operates as a tool for processing loss. On July 2, her show titled “The Iridescent Yonder” opened in the Riverviews Artspace in Lynchburg, Virginia, a capacious setting that gives ample breathing room to a formidable installation of large-scale sculptures, diverse photographs, and two accompanying paintings by select collaborators. One day later, laptop in hand, she guided us through the show piece by piece during Atlantika’s monthly meeting, elaborating on her inspirations and intentions, and introducing us to some of the people who are central to its themes.

In 2019, within a matter of weeks, Sue lost two close members of her family. First, her brother Matt, an accomplished artist and archivist at the Andy Warhol Museum, succumbed after a lengthy battle with brain cancer. Not long after that, Sue’s mother also passed. The pain of this double loss was searing, but by now it is literally soaring, since Sue seems to have used every available moment of the subsequent lockdown to craft the elements of this show, which include some of the towering cloth sails that have made repeat appearances in her work in recent years. 

Oil Tanker, Matt Wrbican, Phil Rostek, and James Nelson. Discarded plastic objects, paint and tar, 192” x 72”, 1991.

Oil Tanker, Matt Wrbican, Phil Rostek, and James Nelson. Discarded plastic objects, paint and tar, 192” x 72”, 1991.

The nautical theme is especially fitting in this instance. The entire show is ordered around a very unique and prescient painting of an oil tanker created in 1991 by her brother Matt, along with collaborators Phil Rostek and James Nelson. A looming monolith of a black ship, plying a slick of suspiciously foul and spoiled waters, is visible against a backdrop of conflagration and acrid smoke. As Sue introduced us to this work, held in storage for the last 30 years, it first appeared flat, as many a painting often is. But as she moved her laptop closer, the hull of the ship was suddenly revealed to be a veritable constellation of discarded plastic products, rising off the surface as a bas-relief. And the skilled artists have crafted the oil tanker in such a way that its colossal prow seems likely to escape the picture plane and advance right on into the gallery, sloshing its unctuous cargo on our shoes.

Also on hand was Phil Rostek, one of the creators of this piece, who regaled us with tales of how it was created and how it responded specifically to current events. It was the time of the Gulf War, and our powerful republic had decided to defend its access to inexpensive petroleum. The artists not only greeted this moment of combat and colonialism with appropriate alarm, they were farsighted enough to incorporate a commentary about the pervasiveness of plastic waste, a problem that has in the meantime grown to gargantuan proportions. It is a work whose import has been appreciating every moment that it remained in storage, like a finely crafted spirit aging in a remote cellar.

Now all of the artwork gains substance and essence, in proximity to the tanker. The sinuous nautical ropes; the sculptural fish; the dramatic oversize print on silk, laid on the sails like a wardrobe accessory of the gods. The painting of a “Fragile Rainbow” contributed by friend Claire McConaughy in which a reflection of prismatic colors on adulterated water partially vanishes into an ambiguous mire. The photographs that chronicle dystopian assemblages of consumerist waste, yet at the same time point us beyond cataclysm. 

Fragile Rainbow, Claire McConaughy. Oil painting diptych, 120” x 40”, 2021.

Fragile Rainbow, Claire McConaughy. Oil painting diptych, 120” x 40”, 2021.

But let us remember that it is not only the health of our environment that is at risk of loss. The Gulf War was a time of violent loss, as were the many wars that have continued after that time. The battle against COVID remains a time of stunning worldwide bereavement. The many personal losses in all of our lives continue apace through the years, without any cessation. But now, courtesy of “The Iridescent Yonder,” they all come with some valuable tools for processing mortality and moving into a new phase of life. Sue emphasizes that her “quiet, repetitive, meditative process” helped her deal with the pain she was feeling and create a fitting and eloquent tribute to her brother and her mother.

None of us knows in advance precisely how we will react to agonizing loss. But there is something especially eloquent and gripping when human beings do their utmost to overcome adversity, using whatever means is at their disposal. And there is something especially memorable when the tool is gifted and skillful artmaking in which we can all find a glimmer of our sorrow and our yearning to transcend. 

THE CHAIR.png

In the end, we emerge from mourning with the metaphysical challenge of deciding what to do with our remaining allocation of time. What will we prioritize in the wake of personal losses? Will the post-COVID era be a “return to normal” or will it be a time of change? How will we move beyond the era of endless war? Will we succeed in saving the planet?

In this regard, The Iridescent Yonder offers a subtle but effective push into the realm of action. Set your sails, it suggests. Protest against the intolerable. Safeguard the environment and cherish our fellow human beings. We could take it all sitting down, Sue seems to say, and there’s even a chair if you want to do that. But helpfully a nearby sign advises patrons to “sit with caution.” 

The Iridescent Yonder was supported in part by the School of Art at George Mason University and a Gillespie Research Fellowship for exhibition assistance from Michelle Smith.







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Social Justice, BLM and Atlantika: SONGS IN THE KEY OF FREE

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Social Justice, BLM, and Atlantika is a series of posts by Atlantika members that focus on the critical issues of race and social justice. The year 2020 has tragically brought together a pandemic with outsized impacts on communities of color and ongoing protests against the murder of George Floyd and the many others who have lost their lives as a result of racist violence. As our mission statement makes clear, Atlantika members have always valued “social responsibility, community, and nurturing a contemporary humanism through art.” However, in the wake of recent events, which are critical to the future of the nation and the world, Atlantika has renewed its commitment to make racial and social justice a lasting focal point -- and to do our part to bring about a powerful movement for change.

Atlantika Collective members Gabriela Bulisova and Mark Isaac have done extensive work on issues related to mass incarceration, the racist policy that inordinately targets people of color, subjecting them to lengthy prison sentences, often for nonviolent crimes. In this project, titled Songs in the Key of Free, the duo focused on an innovative music program at a state prison not far from Philadelphia. The program is an upbeat and positive way for those in prison to express themselves, but a bitter subtext unsettles the narrative: many of the participants are sentenced to life in prison without parole or extremely long sentences, and these sentences are meted out disproportionately to people of color. 

Please be certain to read the other posts in this series thus far:

Gabriela Bulisova & Mark Isaac

Songs in the Key of Free is an innovative music program initiated several years ago at State Correctional Institute-Graterford, a maximum security prison northwest of Philadelphia.* The program restored music instruction for inmates after twenty years without any access to a music program of any kind. It brought together outside musicians and talented men in the prison to create original songs and performances, an album, and podcasts with the personal stories of participants. You can learn more about the program, led by the indomitable August Tarrier, here: https://www.songsinthekeyoffree.com/.

Our short film and still photographs, created in 2017, focus on the creative process that gave birth to outstanding original music in multiple styles -- and rejuvenated lives in the process. But the project was also meant to call attention to the extremely disturbing and unjust situation of many participants, who have already served lengthy sentences, taken responsibility for their actions, and now deserve a new life on the outside. Activists in Pennsylvania and around the country call life imprisonment without the possibility of parole “death by incarceration” and are working to abolish it, along with other disproportionately long sentences. 

The film documents how participants created and performed original music dealing with the urgent need for criminal justice reform. One of these songs, titled “I Can’t Breathe,” offers a trenchant reminder of the fact that George Floyd, stopped by Minneapolis police responding to reports of a counterfeit twenty dollar bill, was not the first person to be asphyxiated by police officers. Many of us recall that widespread use of the phrase “I Can’t Breathe,” which has now become a rallying cry for the Black Lives Matter movement, originated with the case of Eric Garner, the Black man in New York City who was choked to death when stopped for suspicion of selling untaxed cigarettes. But the tragic and very real fact is that, behind these two cases, are dozens more known cases and likely many others that have yet to be publicized. A recent investigation by the New York Times found at least 70 cases in the last decade in which men died in custody after mouthing those same words. You can find the documentation here.

Out of all of the projects that we’ve created on incarceration, this one was simultaneously the most uplifting and the most unsettling. It was incredibly inspirational because of the beaming, warm and giving attitude of the participants, and their phenomenal display of talent and creativity in a situation of extreme duress. At the same time, it was deeply tragic to understand that many of the men at Graterford were aging, reformed, very harmless, and could only be of benefit to the community on the outside, yet a large number of them are stuck in prison for the rest of their lives.

It is important to say that neither the men, nor us, are apologists for serious crime. The residents who we encountered took full responsibility for their crimes and believed in the principle of paying for what they did. Some, in keeping with the principles of restorative justice (an alternative theory of justice in which offenders, victims, and the community work together to do everything possible to repair the harm caused by the offense), took the initiative to try to alleviate the pain they had caused. They wanted desperately to give back to their communities on the outside. After witnessing this dynamic firsthand, we became even more convinced that our legal system is off course and must be radically reformed to bring about greater fairness and justice for all, including both victims and offenders. 

Much of prison life in America is designed to deprive residents of their humanity, so it was not very surprising that prison authorities demanded, as a condition of our work inside, that we obscure the men’s faces at all times. We had to adopt novel visual strategies to comply with this meanspirited and unnecessary requirement, but we did our best to allow their humanity and their individuality be on proud display in every other way possible. 

We hope that this small glimpse into the kind heartedness and generosity of men serving extremely punitive sentences will provide insights into the severe harm caused by mass incarceration -- and the moral rot that lies at the heart of America’s system of justice. We must all do our part to ensure we correct course, by choosing wisely in the upcoming election -- and beyond. 

* In 2018, State Correctional Institute-Graterford was replaced by a new prison, State Correctional Institute-Phoenix, built at a nearby site.

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Visual Catalysts Exhibition Showcases Artwork on Environmental Transformation

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Mark Isaac

Visual Catalysts is an exhibition focused on the worldwide climate crisis and other forms of environmental degradation. It seeks to promote new ways of visual representation that will move artists beyond the task of '“raising awareness” and more firmly into the realm of spurring action.

As the curators noted, “We are living in a slow-motion climate crisis. Old ways of seeing got us here. Our way as consumers needs to be seen from fresh perspectives in order to move towards sustainability. Visual representations are a powerful global language and through a process of international co-creation, artists can be future change makers, creating new visual catalysts that can speak across cultures.”

I’m pleased that several of my images from the series “Like Water Through Plastic” have been included in the exhibition, which opens today at the gallery Laikku in Tampere, Finland, and runs through October 18. The work will also be included in an upcoming book that is being produced as an outcome of the Backlight 2020 Triennale. All of this work is part of larger projects that I’ve created in recent years with close collaborator (and life partner) Gabriela Bulisova.

Plastic pollution of our waterways is a critical issue facing the entire world. Approximately 300 million tons of plastic is produced yearly, and less than 10 percent is recycled. As many as 8 million tons per year ends in our oceans and waterways, where it entangles marine mammals, birds and fish and lodges in their stomachs, causing death. As plastic starts breaking into smaller particles, it is consumed by humans and may cause cancer and fertility problems. A recent study by the World Wildlife Fund found that most people consume the equivalent of one credit card of plastic per week. Plastic refuse is found in almost all waterways and has formed massive floating islands in our oceans.

After encountering numerous plastic and glass objects on land and in water, I chose to begin incorporating these found objects directly into our work as a sort of "supplemental lens." The distorted view of the landscape created by these objects is emblematic of the negative impact they have on the environment. At the same time, the subtle beauty of the images reminds us of the resilience of nature and the capacity of humans to solve this problem if there is enough will.

Examples of the types of “supplemental lenses” employed in the Like Water Through Plastic series. These objects were found in the immediate vicinity of Lake Baikal in Eastern Siberia, the world’s oldest, deepest, most voluminous, and most biologically diverse lake.

In years gone by, I used to think it was sufficient, as an artist pursuing socially conscious projects, to suggest that “raising awareness” was my primary goal. In the last several years, as the worldwide climate crisis worsens and makes its early effects known, we know that raising awareness is not sufficient. Not only artists, but all those who are aware of the significance of the challenge, must at least do their small part to contribute to advancing change.

Today, the task is even larger. In the face of obstinate opposition to change that enhances the chances of a cataclysm, we must do our part to link our efforts together with environmental activists, scientists, students, and other allies around the world. The goal must be to create a motivated, powerful and committed movement that can prevail over time. Only through worldwide cooperation and concerted action can we hope to prevail.

The Visual Catalysts exhibition is a good step in this direction. It suggests that all of us must be catalysts for meaningful action. Now it is up to us to persevere in the long-term and turn that initiative into accomplishment.

Social Justice, BLM, and Atlantika: Who Speaks for Me?

“Before I learned to speak the grown-ups in my world stole my language, my right to speak. My mind has always been jumbled with images of Satan and God and my first memory is of fog and images no one else could see. I stopped looking in the mirror when I was 11, until I went into foster care in high school, because my mother told me I had 'seven plus one demons' in me and I could see them so I stopped looking at myself. Can you see that demon to the right? Mocking me. When I turned 13 I started having migraines that felt like if I opened my eyes someone, one of those demons, was stabbing me in my skull all the way down to my eyes. I had no words; just fear, pain and demons reminding me I was damaged. Not even God could love me.” — Taylar Nuevelle

Social Justice, BLM, and Atlantika is a series of posts by Atlantika members that focus on the critical issues of race and social justice. The year 2020 has tragically brought together a pandemic with outsized impacts on communities of color and ongoing protests against the murder of George Floyd and the many others who have lost their lives as a result of racist violence. As our mission statement makes clear, Atlantika members have always valued “social responsibility, community, and nurturing a contemporary humanism through art.” However, in the wake of recent events, which are critical to the future of the nation and the world, Atlantika has renewed its commitment to make racial and social justice a lasting focal point -- and to do our part to bring about a powerful movement for change.

Atlantika Collective members Gabriela Bulisova and Mark Isaac have done extensive work on issues related to mass incarceration, the racist policy that inordinately targets people of color, subjecting them to lengthy prison sentences, often for nonviolent crimes. Their work has included in-depth and intimate accounts of people’s encounters with the criminal justice system, the difficulties faced by returning citizens trying to reintegrate into society, and a special focus on the impact of mass incarceration on children. In this project, titled Who Speaks for Me, the duo collaborated with Taylar Nuevelle, a Black activist who served four-and-a-half years in prison and now advocates to end the “trauma to prison pipeline” for justice-involved women with mental illness.

Please be certain to read the other posts in this series thus far:

Gabriela Bulisova, Mark Isaac and Taylar Nuevelle

One of the most shocking injustices associated with mass incarceration is the fact that our prisons have become a dumping ground for people who have experienced severe trauma, resulting in mental health issues. Instead of receiving the needed treatment, they are subjected to additional abuse and mistreatment. This project is a collaboration with Taylar Nuevelle, who served four-and-a-half years after she was charged with breaking and entering the house of a former girlfriend and attempting to commit suicide. Taylar was diagnosed with PTSD, trauma, and severe anxiety disorder, and a pre-sentence report recommended that she be treated rather than sent to prison, but the judge overruled this recommendation. In prison, rather than receiving treatment, she was raped, locked in solitary confinement and placed on suicide watch.

We adopted a novel visual and storytelling strategy that allowed Taylar to personally represent her experiences. First, we photographed her and created digital negatives. Taylar then took the negatives and distressed them to represent her abuse. For example, she used bleach as a means of depicting the times her mother scrubbed her skin with a metal brush and bleach. We passed the images back and forth, working on them until we fully represented her pain. Some of the photographs also incorporate text from her writings and diaries. The final images expose the manner in which our criminal justice system has dehumanized those with mental health issues. By sharing her deeply traumatic and painful experiences with us, Taylar is opening the door for others to find their voices, challenge societal stigma and bring about much-needed reforms. She now leads a non-profit named Who Speaks for Me? that is devoted to ending the “trauma to prison pipeline” for women with mental health issues.

“I’m not afraid to stare down the demons. I’m getting ready. The head is born first then the rest comes. The fog will lift and one day I will walk free and clear. I am giving life to myself and will bury that child born into demon-laced fog and pain…

“I’m not afraid to stare down the demons. I’m getting ready. The head is born first then the rest comes. The fog will lift and one day I will walk free and clear. I am giving life to myself and will bury that child born into demon-laced fog and pain.” — Taylar Nuevelle“

“There is not one day that goes by that I do not look at my neck and those small specks of discoloration from birth and not remember. I stand in the mirror fixing my hair, brushing my teeth and saving the jewelry for last because then I have to look and remember. Ajax, S.O.S. steel wool pads and my siblings watching as my mother scrubbed my neck raw down to the white meat. Blood and white and no pain, because she saw dirt where there was just a skin discoloration. 'You always filthy. Now this tha color your neck ‘sposed ta be.' Blood, white meat and no tears--a mother who scrubbed me clean.” — Taylar Nuevelle

See my eye? How many times did Ma make my eyes swell shut? I lost count by age 10. Life for black women and girls is very hard. I can see, not clearly, but I can see I never stood a chance. And I cannot make anyone love me or hurt me.”—Taylar Nuevelle

“I laugh because I am lost and I see the fog demons. Look closer, I am not laughing I am grinding my teeth something I started doing at age two. The grinding focuses my mind and so I am not lost completely to the demons that grow from the fog of violence I was created by and hatred I was born in to.” — Taylar Nuevelle

“I love butterflies. Always, but especially after my son Kalil was born and ‘The Very Hungry Caterpillar’ was our favorite book. See the butterflies above me? I am becoming that beautiful butterfly because I am learning to nourish myself and transform.” — Taylar Nuevelle

“Sepia creeps in because my mind and body were bruised beyond their actual years. I have lived many lives and the aged me is inside of my cracked mind and soul that will never know youth. Sepia creeps in so you can see where I’ve been — never young;…

“Sepia creeps in because my mind and body were bruised beyond their actual years. I have lived many lives and the aged me is inside of my cracked mind and soul that will never know youth. Sepia creeps in so you can see where I’ve been — never young; never a child. Made a woman before I knew what being a child was all about.” — Taylar Nuevelle

"This is my chest and it bleeds from the inside out. My disability is not apparent, yet it has been present and acute since childhood. As a child I remember when I first started self-harming—I was in the second grade. I used to take straight pins and stick them through the flesh in my chest, cover myself in a shirt and go about my day as the pins tore into my skin. This was nothing compared to the physical violence I endured almost every day from my mother and/or stepfather. The straight pins turned to razors and scissors, and I found release from slicing and cutting other parts of my body. Sometimes life is too painful to carry, and I feel like I might explode and slice here and cut there, and the pain inside will be transformed. I don’t use pins, knives, razors or scissors on myself anymore. I had to stop because I take a blood thinner for a hereditary clotting disorder. My ability to self-harm has been snatched from me, but not the desire. The ache of life’s traumas is etched in my memory and carved in my skin—there will never be relief." — Taylar Nuevelle

"Mug shot of what would be seen of my trauma-to-prison pipeline. Outside the nurse’s office, when I was in elementary school, was a poster titled, ‘Children Learn What They Live.’ I saw this poster often from kindergarten until fourth grade because I became nauseous and vomited often as a child. As I waited outside the office I would read the poster and stop after line seven. Then I would think, ‘There are no good things in my life.’ I knew this by age five. Over the years I have thought about that poster often and then I was given a copy one day while in prison. If mug shots could speak mine would tell you how much I understood as a child about being abused and how often people looked away at the obvious signs that I was living a nightmare. I believed I did not deserve goodness, kindness or gentle touches—Love." — Taylar Nuevelle

"Most scars are easily hidden, but not from the mind—not from my memory. My mother used to burn me with hot combs. These are iron combs placed in fire to straighten the hair and sometimes she burned me with curling irons. Then I went to prison, and there was a woman that worked in the hair salon and one day she burned me on purpose with a flat iron right next to the spot my mother had burned me as a child. This woman in prison laughed and told the other inmates she did it because she did not like my voice and all the hair I had on my head. My mother used to burn me saying, 'All this hair‘n you got a nerve ta be tenda headed. Didn’t git all this hair from my family it’s from yo’ fatha’s side.' Abusers despise me for things I cannot control. I can hide many of my scars, but not from my mind, and it cracks over and over because my memory burns." — Taylar Nuevelle

"The abuse in my family is generational. My great- nephew was born, while I was incarcerated, to my niece who is my older sister’s daughter. When my niece was born, I was in foster care, but I went to the hospital the day she was born and I whispere…

"The abuse in my family is generational. My great- nephew was born, while I was incarcerated, to my niece who is my older sister’s daughter. When my niece was born, I was in foster care, but I went to the hospital the day she was born and I whispered in her ear, “I will never let anyone hurt you." — Taylar Nuevelle

"After prison, people who you have loved a lifetime have no idea of how trauma before prison merges with prison trauma, and they act and do things accordingly. Twenty-two years of friendship and love. Goodbyes hurt but are also freeing. My beautiful lips (yes, they are beautiful to me) show I’m determined. I can let go. I deserve people in my life as lovely as my lips that ask, 'Who Speaks for Me?'" — Taylar Nuevelle

"I am just learning that it doesn’t get any better just because the sun shines and the rainbows appear. Rainbows and sunshine are not love if they come after you’ve been raped, beaten and told you are worthless—unlovable. Rainbows can be deceitful l…

"I am just learning that it doesn’t get any better just because the sun shines and the rainbows appear. Rainbows and sunshine are not love if they come after you’ve been raped, beaten and told you are worthless—unlovable. Rainbows can be deceitful like abusers." — Taylar Nuevelle


Social Justice, BLM, and Atlantika: Billy Friebele and Yam Chew Oh

“Random Access Remix of ‘The Three Dimension of a Complete Life’ by Martin Luther King, Jr.,” Billy Friebele, 3D PLA Print from 3D scan of a bust of Martin Luther King, Jr., arduino, thermal printer, hardwood, hardware, 2016.

The year 2020 made us breathless. It unexpectedly brought together a deadly respiratory pandemic with George Floyd’s plaintive cry, “I can’t breathe.” We are witnesses to an ongoing catastrophe in which more than 805,000 people have already lost their lives around the world, including more than 176,000 in the US, with a special concentration of loss in communities of color. We also witnessed worldwide protests against the murder of George Floyd and the many others who have lost their lives as a result of racist violence.

Now there’s a question everyone should be asking themselves. The pandemic continues to threaten the entire world but especially poor and minority communities. The protests, although they continue, have died down a bit. What will each of us do to help the world breathe? To end racism, to safeguard Black lives, and to create a lasting movement toward social justice? After all, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. himself believed that the fight against racism is inextricably connected to one for social justice.

Atlantika Collective was formed not only as a means to engage collaboratively with artists, writers, curators, educators and thinkers, but to take a stand on “social responsibility, community, and nurturing a contemporary humanism through art.” Of course, none of Atlantika’s members is laboring under the illusion that our contributions will in and of themselves turn the tide on racism or social justice. However, we do perceive that, if each and every one of us who cares about the future finds a way to make a meaningful contribution, the results can be transformative. 

That’s why, in the weeks ahead, we’ll be sharing projects that Atlantika members have already created that focus on fighting racism or agitating for social justice. This new series, Social Justice, BLM, and Atlantika, is an effort to assert that these issues matter so much to our common future that they must continue to be a focal point for the foreseeable future, beyond the current round of protests and beyond the 2020 election. It signals a renewed commitment on the part of the entire Collective to make this subject a lasting focal point -- and to do our part to bring about a powerful worldwide movement for change.

In this first post, we explore the common ground between socially conscious works created by two Atlantika members whose work is often expressed through sculpture: Billy Friebele and Yam Chew Oh. 

Artwork by Billy Friebele and Yam Chew Oh, text by Mark Isaac

When Atlantika members recently began to discuss racial and social justice as a group, we quickly found an unexpected harmony and dialogue between two sculptural works created by members Billy Friebele and Yam Chew Oh. Both works are focused on issues of racial harmony, both involve the use of sculptural busts, both are based heavily on a prominent written text, and both were created in 2016. 

Billy Friebele’s piece, created during a residency at the Martin Luther King, Jr. Memorial Library in Washington, DC, in 2016 combines a 3D print of a bust of King with a machine that allows viewers to press a button and receive a printout of a random portion of his sermon, The Three Dimensions of a Complete Life, delivered at New Covenant Baptist Church, Chicago, Illinois, on April 9, 1967. In an interactive experience, viewers can tear off a random part of the speech and take it away with them as a reminder of what King had to say about creating balance in one’s life between self-interest, the welfare of others, and attention to the spiritual. In this speech, King eloquently suggests that a life lived only to advance the self is woefully incomplete, and that humans find their full expression only in reaching out to others and to God.

Installation views of “Random Access Remix of ‘The Three Dimension of a Complete Life’ by Martin Luther King, Jr.,” Billy Friebele, 3D PLA Print from 3D scan of a bust of Martin Luther King, Jr., arduino, thermal printer, hardwood, hardware, 2016.

Yam Chew Oh’s work is similarly based on a famous text -- in this case W.H. Auden’s poem titled, September 1, 1939, composed during the first few days of World War II. The poem was disavowed by Auden, who both altered and removed its most famous phrase, “We must love one another or die.” But it gained an ardent following despite Auden’s misgivings and has become a popular favorite, and one of the most famous poems dealing with the subject of war. It’s lasting impact was evident when it was often invoked in response to the attacks of September 11, 2001.

We must love each other or die, Yam Chew Oh, mixed media, 16 x 18 x 20 inches, 2016.

In Oh’s sculpture titled “We must love each other or die,” two busts, one black and one white, face each other from less than an inch apart. Placed on a common platform split in the middle, they resemble giant opposing chess pieces confronting each other with heads tilted back in an eternal standoff. And yet, linked with thin strings in a rainbow of hues that inextricably bind them together, they are also drawn to each other and appear on the brink of a kiss.

King’s 1967 sermon focuses extensively on the importance of providing aid and sustenance to others. “Somewhere along the way,” he admonishes, “we must learn that there is nothing greater than to do something for others.” 

We must love each other or die (detail), Yam Chew Oh, mixed media, 16 x 18 x 20 inches, 2016.

We must love each other or die (detail), Yam Chew Oh, mixed media, 16 x 18 x 20 inches, 2016.

Auden’s poem is mostly filled with a lament concerning the pathologies that have led to the advent of World War II, but it ends with a plea that he, among those who yearn for “the Just,” may fulfill some higher purpose: 

May I, composed like them

Of Eros and of dust,

Beleaguered by the same

Negation and despair,

Show an affirming flame. 

So both of the works by Friebele and Oh, finding inspiration in cultural masters, represent a calling to our higher selves. And in the context of current events, there can be no loftier aspiration than that of contributing to racial harmony and social justice. Although powerful forces relentlessly try to draw us away from this goal, we are only fully realized when we pursue it. And despite those who repeatedly try to draw us into conflict and separateness, we are only fully human when we embody love.



Don't Freeze on Warming

Gabriela Bulisova & Mark Isaac

One day, we woke up and an African-American man was President. One day, we woke up and gay marriage was legal. One day, we woke up and the majority of Americans supported Black Lives Matter. When will we wake up on climate change?

You’ve probably already tuned in to one of the many commentators saying the pandemic can be an inflection point, and we don’t have to go back to the way it was. But on the other hand, isn’t a return to normal what most of us want? Shouldn’t we use the car now because it’s not safe on public transit? When can we drive to the beach or get back in an airplane? When will things get back to the way they were?

When fear of the virus finally lifts, when it’s truly safe to drink in a bar, eat in a restaurant, pray in a church, take in a concert, and go to a football game without a mask and without distancing, we could pretend that things are back to normal. But it would be magical thinking. 

In June, it was 88 degrees in a small village on the Arctic Circle called Russkoye Ustye. Most summers, they use snowmobiles to get around. In Siberia, where temperatures are increasing almost twice as fast as other parts of the world, temperatures were almost 20 degrees above average in May. The latest research shows that, even with strong climate action, there will likely be a total loss of summer sea ice in the Arctic before 2050.

The Irkutsk skyline in Eastern Siberia is darkened by smoke from distant wildfires in July 2019. Also shown is the damage done to nearby forests by wildfires. In the summer of 2019, forest fires the size of the nation of Belgium destroyed precious woodlands across Siberia. Similar fires this year started much earlier and threaten to compound the damage.

Last July, as we finished our Fulbright grant focused on Lake Baikal in Siberia, wildfires the size of the country of Belgium were consuming Russian forests. The smoke wafted across thousands of kilometers and entered Irkutsk, the city we were living in, turning the skies into a murky haze. This year, after we won a second Fulbright to Russia (already delayed due to the pandemic), the fires got off to a much earlier start, consuming vast swaths of these precious forests as early as April.

And the melting of permafrost is accelerating. In Siberia, Canada, Alaska, and other northern territories, roads are buckling, buildings are cracking, and most threatening of all, vast quantities of methane risk being released, with the potential to accelerate warming in a “feedback effect.” 

Shallow Frieze is a collection of experimental photographs that we created of Lake Baikal’s landscape that were frozen in ice and then rephotographed during a melting process. These photographs directly comment on the problem of global warming, which is occurring more rapidly in Siberia than most places in the world. Research by Russian and international scientists demonstrates that Baikal’s ice cover, critical to its many endemic species, is significantly shorter and thinner than a century ago. These warming trends are already contributing to changes in the Lake’s precious ecosystem, from tiny plankton to the world’s only freshwater seal.


It’s comforting to think of getting back to normal, but we’re already marooned somewhere quite distant from that. And rather than try to get back, we need to fight our way forward to a new place. Normal must be lashed, scraped, smashed, eliminated, excoriated, demolished.

And to do that, we need new paradigms, a leap forward, in our thinking. We got a glimpse of quieter, cleaner cities during lockdown. In the New York Times, Farhad Manjoo recently asked, "What about cities without cars?" Not as fanciful as we think, this solution has the potential to simultaneously clean the environment, save lives, expand park space, and improve health.

In the political realm, there’s always a tension between what we know we should do and what’s “politically realistic” given the power of the fossil fuel industry and its allies. But there’s considerable evidence now that the economy is moving faster than politicians. Recent studies show that solar and wind plants are already more economical, in every major market around the globe, than existing coal-fired plants. While regressive leaders cling to archaic paradigms in the hopes of solidifying their base and preserving dying jobs, a report issued in 2018 by, yes, the Trump Administration, makes it eminently clear that climate change could have a devastating impact on the American economy, eliminating as much as one-tenth of the nation’s GDP by the year 2100. 

The Green New Deal is often criticized for being too sweeping and unrealistic in part because it links climate change to social justice issues. But isn’t that exactly what the pandemic demonstrates? “I can’t breathe” are not just the dying words of George Floyd on the streets of Minneapolis, but they are the words of people of color dying from COVID-19 in disproportionate numbers, and they are the words of poor and working class people who are more frequently exposed to contaminants and pollution in the environment, causing serious health problems and premature death. (If this sounds like hyperbole, then be aware that more than 90 percent of people in the world breathe unhealthy air, causing 7 million deaths per year.)

Greta Thunberg is outspoken about the fairness issues at play in the climate crisis. She is quoted in Time Magazine recently saying, 

On average the CO2 emissions from one single Swede annually is the equivalent of 110 people from Mali in West Africa….The vast majority of the global population...are already living within the planetary boundaries….The climate and sustainability crisis is not a fair crisis. The ones who’ll be hit hardest from its consequences are often the ones who have done the least to cause the problem in the first place.

And while we all need to do our part and be willing to compromise on our lifestyle to limit greenhouse gas emissions, there’s a firm case to be made that the rich have outsized impacts, and need to be at the head of the line in making changes. Around the world, regardless of country, the wealthy often own several large houses, drive multiple cars long distance, fly frequently, and use energy at a rapid clip. As British scientist Kevin Anderson put it in the Guardian recently, “Globally the wealthiest 10% are responsible for half of all emissions, the wealthiest 20% for 70% of emissions.” 

If the rich were forced to cut their emissions to the level of an average citizen, Anderson estimates, we could cut greenhouse emissions by one-third. The catch, of course, is that wealthier citizens, industry leaders and top policymakers are among the most powerful and don’t easily embrace far-reaching changes, choosing to sublimate the fact that their own children are the ones who will be paying the proverbial piper. Anderson says, “Many senior academics, senior policymakers...have decided that it is unhelpful to rock the status quo boat and therefore choose to work within that political paradigm – they’ll push it as hard as they think it can go, but they repeatedly step back from questioning the paradigm itself.”

If climate change is not just an environmental issue, but a social justice issue, it forces us to consider how to claim more power so we can accelerate change. Recent history in the United States sadly does not suggest we’re good at maintaining meaningful movements. After all, what happened to Occupy Wall Street, The Women’s March, the March for Our Lives on gun violence, etc.? We don’t hear much about them anymore.

But it’s possible we’re in the middle of something a tad different. The Black Lives Matter protests, which occurred in hundreds of cities across America, are variously estimated to have included between 6 and 10 percent of all Americans, making it potentially the largest protest movement in US history. (That’s not counting the many solidarity protests abroad, including the one we joined in Bratislava, Slovakia.) 

Thousands gather for a Black Lives Matter solidarity protest in Bratislava, Slovakia, on June 13, 2020. Peaceful protesters gathered at the Square of the Slovak National Uprising, an important historic spot related to the fight against fascism, and marched to the US Embassy, where they heard speeches from African-Americans living in Slovakia and musical performances.

Although we don’t have the same revered leaders as we did in the 1960s in the heyday of the Civil Rights movement, we can learn from their strategies. Dr. Martin Luther King, for example, was indefatigable in pursuing protest and non-violent civil disobedience to demand and bring about lasting change. Less known is the fact that King himself was one of the first to closely link social justice and environmental justice issues. Now we need to follow through on Black Lives Matter, making desperately-needed and long overdue change in our criminal justice system, but we also need to go further, sustaining a long-term movement around environmental and economic justice.

Yes, we all need to vote, the presidency is especially important this time around. Just think about the American response to coronavirus, in which the president gathered fossil fuel moguls suffering from reduced demand and promised them he’s with them 1000 percent, versus the EU, which quickly pledged $800 billion to rebuild their economies differently. But our problems are too big to be resolved by one election. We must join our voices, create a lasting movement, and pursue paradigm-shifting changes through ballots, sustained protest and King’s (and Gandhi’s) powerful method of civil disobedience. 

There’s not a single thoughtful person who can’t step up their game, at least a tiny bit, during this demanding time. And artists, who can be meaningful influencers, are among those who have a responsibility to lead the way. Leaving room for a wide variety of approaches, Atlantika Collective has long prided itself on embracing a contemporary humanism and tackling socially conscious issues. In this time of coronavirus, Black Lives Matter, climate change and other pressing issues, you’ll see us take on more in this regard. You’ll also see some of us embracing direct action to accomplish change instead of relying solely on our artwork. Difficult times challenge us to do more. 

It’s tempting to freeze up and go back to the way things were. But this may be the most important moment in our lives. We must demand a share of power big enough to enact cathartic, transformational change: to eradicate the impact of racism in our justice system, revolutionize our environmental paradigm and save the planet. We must act and believe as if the politically impractical is not only possible but imperative. We must do this with rigor, consistency and perseverance. Only then will we wake up to a nation that is democratic and just -- and an economy that is clean, prosperous and fair.