Under the Dark Sun

The idea of this exhibition is to reevaluate our own actions in the face of environmental destruction. To do so, Under the Dark Sun transforms Warin Lab into a small-scale echo chamber, a kind of incubator, where experiments are performed to contemplate transformations of our planet – where animals of diverse ecosystems interchange their functions, where oceans dry up, and oxygen runs out. It is apocalyptic and unreal. Or is it really? 

Under the Dark Sun is a warning and, at the same time, an opportunity for change. It reminds us of the nurturing power of nature as a place for all species – an ecosphere in which sea and land creatures, and birds coexist. Yet, as environmental changes of great magnitude loom over us, Under the Dark Sun reflects on the possibility that nature may one day become no longer a hospitable but a dark place, where no light or life would be conceivable – the end of our planet or perhaps its transformation within the cycle of life.

In that, Under the Dark Sun is also a prophecy. 

It is with this sense of awe and preoccupation that the artist approaches the exhibition, on one hand looking at the consequences of human behavior on the environment, and on the other highlighting the power that natural phenomena have had on human history, and on the history of the planet. The moon and the sun, for instance, with their phases and cycles, have guided our civilizations for millennia, determining crop sowing and harvests, migrations, and hunting and fishing seasons. What would this planet be like if the sun were obscured, and the moon depleted? Would their cycles still guide us? Could biodiversity still exist? 

To address these questions, the artist proposes a series of mixed-media installations that hypothesizes a subversion of reality. The ambience is dark, as the gallery is cocooned in somber gray walls. At the far end, a light box in the shape of the moon gleams at us, while in the foreground a larger-than-life gorilla head greets the audience. As if waters were parting upon progressing into the space, we observe piles of fish scales scattered on the floor to form ripples or dunes, arranged geometrically on the walls, and covering entire animal figures. There is a pervasive sense of unease. 

The inspiration for this layout and material (the dried fish scales) comes to the artist from her research on the Aral Sea in Central Asia, and its rapid disappearance. Effectively one of the largest saline lakes in the world, with an area of 68,000 km2, the Aral Sea began shrinking in the 1960s after the rivers that fed it were diverted by Soviet irrigation projects, until it almost fully dried up in 2014. To date, this is considered one of the most impactful environmental disasters of all time. The region’s ecosystem and once-prosperous fishery culture had been devastated, altering the local environment and marine biodiversity. Photos accessible online of the Aral Sea’s current conditions show a lunar-like landscape, with boats stuck in sand where once was water – the same surreal situation is evoked in Under the Dark Sun. 

The main concern of the exhibition is, in fact, the crucial role of the marine ecosystem for the sustenance of life, from the Aral Sea to all bodies of water, and to all marine creatures. The ocean covers over 70% of the planet and it is the main source of the planet’s oxygen. It is home to most of Earth’s biodiversity, and it is fundamental to our livelihood. However, from the disastrous consequences of climate change causing abnormal water levels and temperatures, to irresponsible fishing, which not only impacts the marine biosphere but also fosters human slavery, to wanton garbage disposal, we are endangering the very survival of the ocean. Biologists, non-profit and environmental agencies are engaged in sustaining marine life, as are artists around the world. This same concern is, indeed, carried through in Under the Dark Sun and reflected in most of the works featured in the exhibition, especially, but not exclusively, using fish scales as a medium. 

Above the shimmering ripples of fish scales on the floor, at eye level we find on one of the walls miniature sculptures, neatly assembled. On closer inspection, we realize that these small, contorted shapes are made of carved fish scales. Together, the sculptures seem to form the letters of an archaic alphabet – an unfamiliar language that attempts to acquaint us with the ocean’s depth. “Each fish scale was cut until bent,” the artist says, “the direction and degree of twisting the fish scale depends on its thickness, so it is impossible to predict what shape it will finally take. It is a mysterious process, whereby letters of a language we cannot read take form to tell us their stories.” 

Not far from the wall installation, two large animals, the gorilla head mentioned earlier, and a peacock, stand in the middle of the gallery, fully or partially covered in white fish scales. Shaped like a crescent, the gorilla head is tilted at 45 degrees to the floor, highlighting its precarious balance. As the moon, the gorilla head is dark in front, covered in tiny knots of human hair tightly arranged around the face. The back of the head is convex and covered in fish scales, conferring an impression of translucency. Seen as a whole, the gorilla mask mimics the lunar phases – because the moon and the sun cycles affect all creatures on the planet.  Next to it, a peacock towers over the space, emerging from ripples of fish scales,  or, perhaps, collapsing into them. Despite its regal appearance, the peacock, unlike most birds, cannot fly long distances, its body trapped in its complex plumage – a dichotomy that fits the intent of the artist to highlight the wonders of nature, and its contrasts. In the exhibition, however, these two animals, and their conflicting mediums decisively at odds with each other (fish scales instead of fur and feathers), coexist in the same space, creating a contradiction of forms, and environment. Apparently placed at random, the artist’s careful arrangement hints to the fact that these creatures and their habitats that were once in harmony are now in desperate disarray. 

This disharmony is visible not only through the impact on large animals, but also in relation to the tiny creatures and organisms that, despite their insignificant size, are able to tell us big stories and to show us big problems. They, too, contribute to the efficiency of the planet, and they too are now struggling to keep the balance. For instance, the work titled The Dark Moon, essentially a round light box that faces the viewers at the far end of the gallery, incorporates hundreds of minuscule termite wings stuck to the surface. “This work was born out of my interest on how termites behave during the change of season,” the artist says, “after the first rain they typically fly attracted by the light and then shed their wings – this is also a sign of the cycle of life.”  Like the minutiae of The Dark Moon is the work titled Plankton, placed on the second floor. Made of fine human hair knitted together, the work presents samples of microorganisms, enlarged, and neatly encased in 49 acrylic boxes. Seen from the top the installation resembles a garden. The very word ‘plankton’, from ancient Greek meaning “drifter” or “wanderer”, refers to the myriad microorganisms that, as its etymology says, are carried by tides and currents, unable to move against these forces. As harmless and tiny as they are, these microorganisms are responsible for the photosynthesis of most of the oxygen on Earth along with seagrass. In fact, both species use carbon dioxide, water, and energy from the sun to make food for themselves, releasing oxygen in the process. 

Among these mixed-media installations, Under the Dark Sun also encompasses several two-dimensional pieces. Next to Plankton there is a 100 x 120 cm canvas showing a minute fish scale, enlarged and transformed into a symbol of nature – a voluminous organic form or a massive protuberance that evokes a mountain. The work starts off as a monoprint using human hair as a base. Once the paint dries the artist removes the hair going over the marks with graphite, creating an intricate net of lines that confers to the original fish scale an otherworldly dimension. In fact, it is only when we see the actual fish scale, placed next to the canvas in a tiny box, and exposed in all its fragility, that we fully appreciate the relevance of all organisms. Furthermore, there is a suite of three paintings also in monochrome on the ground floor, along with the gorilla and the peacock sculptures. The works are created using a mix of acrylic and human hair applied several times on the canvas. Here, the use of graphite is in addition to the hair, used to draw over the marks left by the hair creating a free flow of lines and empty spaces that run throughout the surfaces. In between those spaces the nets of remaining hair generate unpredictable organic forms – fish, flowers or, indeed, plankton – with such intricacy that evoke iridescent embroideries. In fact, as we move around the canvases, we are able to perceive new forms and details shining through the surface as if observing a stream of water. 

Whether pointing to the end of our planet or perhaps its unavoidable transformation, Under the Dark Sun raises ethical questions of balance and respect for mother nature. “I wanted for this exhibition to evoke environmental chaos and disarray,” tells the artist, “not only  to  imagine what the future of our planet might be like, but also to be reminded of how its life cycles should function” – and to never forget its intrinsic perfection.