panorama

The Path Toward "A Tree for the Forest"

The installation of A Tree for the Forest, the new exhibition by Atlantika Collective members Gabriela Bulisova and Mark Isaac, has now begun at the Municipal Gallery at Ibrahim’s Khan in Pafos, Cyprus. It was an occasion for exhilaration, nervousness, hard work and considerable coffee consumption. It was also a moment to fully acknowledge the creative vision of curator Yiannis Sakellis, whose strategy for hanging the exhibition proved to be an excellent one. 

In this exhibition, the artists focus on the role of trees in the climate crisis. The work is simultaneously despairing and hopeful. It zeroes in on the tragic loss of forested areas to wildfires in recent years, but it also takes careful note of the new scientific discovery that trees communicate extensively with each other in underground networks, sending nutrients and warning of danger. “Mother trees” also provide essential support for younger trees in their vicinity. This discovery offers the promise that we can better protect our forests, which have the potential to substantially reduce greenhouse gasses in the atmosphere. 

The main photographs by both artists are wide panoramas. Gabriela’s works are all more than 4.5 meters in length (that’s almost 15 feet stateside), and one reaches to 4.7 meters, or almost 15.5 feet. This easily surpasses the widest print that either artist has ever made. And the artists are interested in inquiring of other photographers who may see this post whether they have ever printed this wide, or know of someone who has? Mark’s works are not shabby in the length department either, reaching beyond 2.5 meters despite their origins on cell phones. 

Curator Yiannis Sakellis devised an ingenious method of hanging the works that involves panels of board joined together in one long strip. The long scrolls are then clipped to the panels and hoisted onto the walls of the gallery. A total of three large works were hung today, with the rest of the 10 images slated for hanging tomorrow. 

The exhibition also includes a multi-channel video installation, titled Mother Trees, that will be presented in a novel manner. Several video monitors will be placed flat on a table and will be viewed from above. The video includes images of trees that were captured in Prague and Paphos. It also includes original music and found sounds of communication, including sounds that were recorded as part of the Conet Project. The Conet Project is a famous set of recordings of shortwave radio broadcasts that contain instructions to espionage operatives around the world. 

Finally, the exhibition will include an installation of objects found at the scene of wildfires in the vicinity of Paphos, including Tala, Lemona, and Psathi. The found objects include almonds, olives, pomegranates and tree branches that were burned in the fires. It also includes tree sap that oozed out of trees when they were exposed to high temperatures.

In their statement to accompany the exhibition, the artists note that Cyprus is a hotspot in the accelerating climate crisis. It is among the parts of the world that are increasing most rapidly in temperature, and it experienced the worst wildfire in its history this year. 

They also explain that the title of the exhibition, A Tree for the Forest, is intended to emphasize the agency of each individual in responding to the crisis. In fact, the artists call on each person who encounters the exhibition to think of one additional action they can take to mitigate the climate crisis. “We can all stand tall, like a mother tree, connected to those around us, providing essential support for healthy forests and a healthy planet,” Bulisova and Isaac wrote. 

The Crown's Silhouette

Mark Isaac

I admit it. When it comes to the wild proliferation of images in the world, I’m an unreformed offender. Not only do I capture them recklessly and with abandon, but I store endless numbers of images in an ever-expanding battery of costly storage devices with a proclivity to fail.

And there’s nothing I’ve photographed more than trees. Since the very first days of my photographic habit, decades ago, when I started capturing the images of trees on the shiny reflective surfaces of cars, I’ve returned to trees with more frequency than any other subject. 

Why? I consider trees among the most beautiful things in the world. I know it’s considered unfashionable by some to prize the appearance of the natural world, lauded endlessly by so many for thousands of years, over objects that humans craft in this technological age with an intense focus on the perfection of their design. 

But the monsters of the plant world, clasping with an immense ball of roots deep into the earth, sending a monumental trunk skyward, and spreading a sheltering crown above our heads, offer ageless and undeniable visual delight. The diversity of species, shapes, sizes, barks, leaves, flowers, seeds. The manner in which branches seek the sunlight in imperfect symmetry. The wabi sabi of peeling bark, dead branches, knots, and burls. In some, the exquisite contradiction of stretching upward, then cascading downward in weeping fronds. 

And now comes word that, no fake news about it, something miraculous is happening. There is scientific confirmation that trees are not solitary, but instead communicate in huge, extended, complex underground fungal webs (known as mycorrhizal networks), sending alarms about danger, and sharing carbon, water and other nutrients. This impressive level of collaboration even extends beyond species. 

More than 5 years ago, I started making panoramic photographs of the tree canopy while walking underneath with my iPhone. The phone camera is prone to making “mistakes” as it strives to knit the images of the treetops together. But the fortuitous accidents it records seem to express the truth about trees better than the more representational image that the phone’s camera is designed to produce. They are images of trees reaching out to each other, vibrating with energy and motion, dancing and cavorting.

They are also images that capture the darkness that is upon us in the age of climate crisis and environmental collapse. The trees’ crowns appear as silhouettes of foreboding darkness, taking on anthropomorphic shapes, groaning in disbelief and pain, and whispering truths and organizing rebellion. After all, as a tree, there is much to fear: drought, extreme weather, the spread of wildfires, rampant legal and illegal logging, deforestation, the list goes on. These problems are worldwide and colossal in their implications.

I devoted only sporadic time and energy to the project until recently, while in lockdown in Prague. During the pandemic, our mental and physical health relies largely on spending long periods outside, running along the Vltava River or strolling through Prague’s impressive parks, such as Stromovka (named for its trees), Letna, Vitkov, or Krejcarik. The grandeur of the trees is always on prominent display, often alongside a demonstration of their fragility: the Slavic obsession with trimming them or cutting them down.

The final product of this effort will be panoramic images, but paranormal panoramas: images that reveal the trees in all their “vegetality,” as living, communicating beings with intention, expressing the magnificence of natural creation, as well as the fragility of our contemporary, interconnected world. They are images that capture the enormity of what is at stake, and the intense danger that plants and animals now face in the wake of catastrophic environmental damage.

The panoramas, which are difficult and time-consuming to create, are still in progress. But today I’m sharing one of them in addition to a series of details from the larger images that offer a window into the ongoing project. I hope you will enjoy them and that they will whet your appetite for the full panoramas to come. And I hope you’ll share your thoughts about this latest body of work in progress. 

An example of a full panorama of the treetops, as part of a body of work currently in progress.