Parallel Worlds: Art in the Age of Climate Reckoning

Various accounts of those who journeyed through space mention the feeling of “awe” at the beauty and vastness of the universe. So much so that an effect was coined for the specific phenomenon: “the overview effect,” which was a profound cognitive shift experienced by astronauts seeing Earth from space. Upon one’s first encounter with Parallel Worlds, presented by Gazelli Art House (London/Baku), one may come into contact with such a feeling. Set on the curatorial context of the United Nations Framework Climate Change Convention 29th Conference of the Parties (UNFCCC COP29)—where I also happened to partake in negotiations for the Thailand Delegation—Parallel Worlds morphs the astounding wonder of man’s existence in the vast universe, and the Herculean reconciliation of recognising that the climate adversity we face is manmade.

The art world seems to be having an awakening. The recent edition of the Gwangju Biennale espoused ecosystemic gaze as one of its curatorial themes, the Bangkok Art Biennale tackles mother earth and collective healing quite head-on in Nurture Gaia, but I would have never thought that I would be seeing this concurrent revelation across the Caspian Sea in Baku, Azerbaijan. Parallel Worlds features the works of Chris Levine, Michael Takeo Magruder, Marshmallow Laser Feast, Elnara Nasirli, Recycle Group, and Nye Thompson, and is on view until 31 January 2025. Oeuvres revolving around technological systems, light, recycled imagery and materials, environmental and biotechnology, and experimental software architectures are intertwined and converged into a futuristic, philosophical inquiry of the climate crises-induced world.

Upon entering the gallery space one is met with Azerbaijani and Latvian melodies originating from tree trunks courtesy Elnara Nasirli’s Whispering Forest (2024). Although the trunks appear seemingly lifeless, one cannot help but be reminded of indigenous cosmology—that the Western sciences of identifying what is life and what is not remain obscure in the face of postcolonial thought. I am reminded of my conversations with indigenous leaders at COP29 that to claim any entity as one’s own is imperialist, and that the definition of entity expands and shrinks according to one’s awareness of the cosmology.

Nasirli’s forest integrates anthropogenic sounds into the natural environment, presenting tree trunks as art pieces with agency equal to that of their human viewers. This presentation allows for object-oriented ontology and cultural sovereignty. And here, the trees are speaking in their own tongues, regardless of whether the viewers could make sense of its annunciations or etymology. Much like the convening of the 193 United Nations member states each year at COP29, the parties present must acknowledge humanity in one another, and conflict arises when this is not always the case.

“I invite the audience to reflect on the unseen and unheard dialogues of nature, and the collective consciousness stored within the mycelium and what we can learn from their resilience through plant-derived sound,” tells Nasirli.

Parallel Worlds encourages a shift of perspective, with works like Chris Levine’s Parabolic (2018) series and the Geometry of Truth (2021) inviting reflection. Levine’s meditations on light necessitates presence—alas, that is the only way to view light. The touch of UV light within Levine’s portion of the show awards those with heightened presence as one is able to come into contact with light in all its forms, encompassing frequency and vibration. The work serves as an albatross around humanity’s neck, symbolising the burden of our collective disregard for the moral implications of relentless ecological exploitation and neocolonial ambitions. Addressing these issues demands, above all, a deep awareness of one’s place in the vast universe and a conscious acknowledgment of one’s role within it as an antidote.

Levine reflects: “Increasingly over time meditation has become fundamental in my life and my artistic practice. I often say that stillness is a portal to the divine, and out of that realm I am inspired. It’s as if I’m tapping into something beyond my bandwidth of understanding, and it informs and guides my direction. I’m drawn to the realities beyond our perception but which we are affected by, everything being frequency and vibration.”

Similarly, Nye Thompson’s INSULAE [Of the Island] (2019-onwards) projects a gaping vastness of terrestrial, geological, personal, and collective existence.

“INSULAE was created from material extracted from Google Earth, and all the satellite imagery used is ‘owned’ (hence the data block of satellite imagery copyright holders in the bottom left corner) by Google and various US and European military, government and commercial companies,” explains Thompson. “I’m very interested in what it means for these Western institutions to capture and seize ownership of the ‘appearance’ of the entire world, and how this represents an act of digital colonialism and global-scale visual appropriation. To own the appearance of a thing, especially when it is primarily experienced through digital mediation, can be as powerful or even more powerful than owning the thing itself.

And this owned and controlled satellite-imagery-generated vision of the world is then served back as objective truth via the Google Earth/Maps platform, becoming a primary lens through which many of us perceive the wider world. INSULAE foregrounds the manipulation and AI-injected strangeness within the Google Earth/Maps environments, probing the cracks and glitches in the illusion of satellite image constructed ‘reality’, and in doing so reveals a representation of the world heavily laden with social and political agendas,”the artist expands.

Moving satellite images evoke a sense of artificially produced documentation, authoritarian surveillance, and a lack of media sovereignty. Spans of landscapes create a sense of longing but also detachment. Thompson’s work immerses viewers to adopt a sort of grand omnipresence that seems to be disinterested in enclaves of the earth. The voyeuristic visuals transcend geopolitics and transboundary issues, fostering a sense of detached indifference toward the lands over which satellites endlessly hover.

Set across one another, the dialogue between Thompson and Levine was that of faith and spirituality. Levine’s sacred geometry, which referenced the Archangel Metatron, positioned nearby Thompson’s omnipresent, omnipotent gaze created a sort of liminal yet transcendental space for viewership. At certain times, one espouses the role of the viewer, at others, one becomes an interfaith pantheist.

For a moment, one is left speechless by the sheer reality of existence, shared with countless other lives, held in the hands of higher forces—intergovernmental decisions, realpolitik, human-made climate disasters, and the anguish of Mother Nature. Every fibre of one’s being acknowledges the lack of control, yet one remains, still, an agent of change.

Feature image: Elnara Nasirli, Whispering Forest, 2024. Courtesy of Gazelli Art House