We know that sea levels are rising. However, due to various factors, the rate of rise around the world is not even. Some locations are experiencing more dramatic changes in sea level and more frequent inundation. In an effort to bring home – to personalise – this significant topic and offer relatable figures, over the last few years I’ve been working on a project that seeks to discover how much the seas closest to our birthplaces have changed, relative to land, across our lifetimes.

Based on long-term local measurements gathered by various oceanographic organisations, my aim has been to present sea level readings specific to each of us, in one large-scale artwork. The principal result of this project is set to be exhibited during April and May, alongside a new set of 365 sea paintings, at the 2022 Venice Biennale. This is your last call to volunteer your data for the Venice display – by providing your (first) name, birth-year and birth-place; the level of sea-rise at the closest coast to your birthplace will be calculated and added to the artwork: davidcass.art/whereonce.

My hope is that the project will continue, and that the artwork grows. For this reason, I’ll keep the above linked sea level survey open indefinitely. The cut off for the Venice presentation is March 31st 2022, any data entered after this date will be used in future variations of the exhibition.

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Richiesta di partecipazione

Come ben sappiamo l'innalzamento del livello dei mari è in corso. Molti fattori influenzano la velocità di questo fenomeno in diverse aree del mondo. Alcune località geografiche – tra cui Venezia – sono colpite più pesamente di altre.

Nel tentativo di trasmettere questo significativo messaggio ed offrire dei numeri familiari, l'artista David Cass sta lavorando ad un progetto per scoprire di quanto il mare si sia innalzato vicino ai nostri luoghi di nascita, durante la nostra vita.

Utilizzando i dati di varie organizzazioni oceanografiche, l'obiettivo di Cass è di presentare i valori di innalzamento dei mari specifici per ognuno di noi. Anche tu puoi prender parte a questo progretto. Aggiungi i tuo dettagli in: davidcass.art/whereonce.

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Where Once the Waters design identity by Paula Del Mas

In the run-up to this year’s Venice Biennale, where I’ll present Where Once the Waters, I’ve been reflecting on my art practice. There’s a line that runs through everything I work on, connecting one project to the next. There are physical lines, too – waterlines, coastlines, horizons.

I spent my time at Edinburgh College of Art (2006 – 2010) immersed in objects, items I’d found at junk yards or in skips, fascinated by traces of past function, past lives. Towards the end of my studies, I laid out the foundations for a painting technique which I’m still developing today, one which might allow my marks to converse with the marks of unknown others. I’ve always considered how my audience might experience my artwork – so I choose relatable, recognisable objects. For me, it’s always been about letting people in.

After art school, I went to my city’s twin city, Florence, on a Royal Scottish Academy scholarship. I continued to work in this way, transforming my finds. Though now I was sourcing items at flea and antique markets. I found Florence impossible to resist. It’s a city which inspires deep feeling – infuriation in busy summer months, contented joy most of the rest of the time. In late Autumn the rain comes, every year without fail.

It’s around this time that the Arno threatens to burst its banks, as it has done many times before. In November of 1966, the city experienced one of the worst floods in its history. Evidence of that inundation lives on in the city today, etched into plaques well above head height. In hidden brickwork, oily perimeter lines remain, from where some “zealous citizen” (as put by historian Giles Waterfield) hasn’t cleaned.

As someone drawn to such traces – wont to explore all things water-related – the history of the 1966 flood soon became the focus of my artwork. I created works re-imagining the inundation, using those lines etched into plaques as my guide. Perimetri Perduti (perimeters lost) aimed to illustrate the changed shape and lost boundaries of the flooded city. By way of painting, writing and the eventual production of a book, the project drew contrasts with contemporary examples of environmental extremes, whilst also discussing the lost sense of place the city’s residents experienced. The flood became a symbol in my artwork, a tool to describe contemporary episodes of flooding or extreme weather. It could be read today as a warning, one which applies to cities the world over, particularly those with a river running through, or positioned on the coast.

As my explorations into environmental themes deepened, Florence took me to Venice. Here, floodlines exist too. On plaques, but also around the wetted perimeter of every canal. A green algae describes the level which water rests at today, its highest point running flush with the bases of cropped porte d'acqua.

Venice was built to seamlessly align with the water. Excluding episodes of aqua alta, its buildings were designed in harmony with typical fluctuations in high and low tide. As the city sinks, and sea level has gradually crept higher, buildings have been adapted. Doors have been cropped, made into gates, or sealed; brickwork has been reinforced, inhabitants moved both up and out. We can trace Venice’s rising water clearly across time.

Since the beginning of the last century, the level of our World Ocean has been rising. Ever since we turned to fossil fuels, in fact, our planet’s excess warmth has been stored in the ocean, causing thermal expansion. By now, we’re almost all aware of this phenomenon. Not widely reported, however, is that the rate of sea-rise differs significantly from place to place. This will be the principal focus of Where Once the Waters…

January

Greece

On the last day of January 2021, my partner and I moved from London to Athens, her hometown, where she’s been posted for a work assignment. We don’t know how long we’ll be here, but for the first time, I’m living in sight of the sea – my easel now looks over the rooftops of Voula and aptly named Panorama to the Aegean and the tiny islet of Ydroussa. Living in sight of the sea has had a huge influence on my practice.

March

The Sea from Here

I aimed for this to be both a social and educational online exhibition, of seascapes taken by people around the world during 2020, exploring the sea that connects us all. These last two years have not only been devastating for our planet’s human population, but also for our oceans. The world’s oceans reached their hottest level in recorded history in 2020, supercharging the extreme weather impacts of the climate emergency.

April

RSA Online Exhibition

Featuring two of my artworks, the Royal Scottish Academy presented the 195th Annual Exhibition for the second time entirely online as a result of Covid-19. I’m always pleased to be selected for this annual show – the RSA has been an important part of my career so far.

April – September

Summer Exhibition at Moncrieff–Bray Gallery

This was my first exhibition with Moncrieff–Bray, having been taken on by the gallery in early 2021. Moncrieff–Bray is a spectacular 120 square metre converted barn with stunning views over the South Downs. More can be read online.

August

Med: A Cookbook

Last year I was approached by designer Dave Brown (of APE) and publishers Ebury (of Penguin) to collaborate on a seascape cover design which would harmonise with the rich and vibrant dishes Claudia Roden has chosen for this cookbook celebrating a lifelong love of the Mediterranean.

September

Andiamo!

A trio of my 2010 Royal Scottish Academy Collection paintings were presented during an exhibition of Florence scholars at The Mound, Edinburgh. My Florence flood artwork featured in the exhibition’s publication, with text by curator Sandy Wood. Chaired by Mary Bourne RSA, I was also part of an online talk (password to view: rsa) about the impact of the scholarship on my work.

October

Artworks Consigned to Three Galleries

These brilliant galleries now hold a stock of work on site: The Scottish Gallery, Tatha Gallery & Moncrieff-Bray Gallery. Please get in touch to be passed on to a gallery contact. As with private sales, artworks can be sent worldwide.

October – November

COP26 Collaborations

I was part of three environmentally focussed collaborations during COP26: with Climate Change Creative & Climate Fringe, bringing voices from marginalised communities to Glasgow; and with artists Elizabeth Ogilvie & Robert Page on their stunning project Into the Oceanic, which highlights the natural resources we have at our disposal to combat the climate crisis. My role in the project has been to provide branding, design and online promotion.

December

Panthalassa

I was excited to exhibit a set of sea photographs at Tatha Gallery during their end of year show Presence. This was my first opportunity to present a significant set of photographs for an exhibition, taken across the last few years. Framed & unframed prints from the series remain.

2022

Looking Ahead

You can take part in The Sea from Here Part II, and my upcoming Venice Biennale exhibition Where Once the Waters. I’m also working with artist Gonzaga Gómez-Cortázar on an online exhibition – Points of Return – opening soon. Next year, after the Biennale, I’ll turn my attention to a 2024 solo exhibition in The Scottish Gallery.

New workspace in southern Athens

Looking out to the islet of Ydroussa

Artwork consigned to Moncrieff-Bray after their Summer Exhibition

Cover illustration for Claudia Roden’s Med

Matchbox consigned to The Scottish Gallery | Also featured in Fold Zine’s edition Twos

Detail of a new consignment to The Scottish Gallery

COP26 work in progress

Digital contributions to Into the Oceanic (photo: Eoin Carey)

Venice Biennale work in progress

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Panthalassa was the super-ocean that surrounded the super-continent Pangaea, until the landmass began to break up around 250 million years ago. As a title for this series of photographs, Panthalassa (from the Greek πᾶν “all” and θάλασσα “sea”) is used to enforce the notion that these are each captures of the same ocean. Our World Ocean. Stating the location of each photograph in the series is not important. Spanning twelve years (and counting) these photographs have been taken as research (for painting projects), during material gathering trips, and from the artist’s studio. They link to Cass’ The Sea from Here series, and other works exploring climate change and specifically variations in sea-level rise.

A set of ten (pictured above) will be shown at Tatha Gallery, Fife
as part of the exhibition Presence
from November 13th—December 23rd 2021

Panthalassa I—X
332 x 500mm each | edition of 10
£350 framed or £275 unframed | contact lindsay@tathagallery.com
2009—ongoing

Over on Instagram, I’ve been sharing available artworks in my posts & stories. Most of these are held in my three main galleries, others are in the studio here in Athens or stored in the Scottish Borders. Over thirty pieces are currently available, on surfaces ranging from matchboxes to roadsigns.

In the UK, The Scottish Gallery, Tatha Gallery & Moncrieff-Bray Gallery each hold a stock of my work. Please get in touch to be passed on to a gallery contact. Artworks can be posted worldwide.

Later this month COP26 opens in Glasgow. Described as “our last best hope” (BBC Radio 4, podcast, 18/10/21), this conference of the parties must secure commitments to limit the rise in the Earth's temperature to 1.5C. The conference will again stress that if greenhouse gas emissions are not reduced significantly over the next nine years, there is no chance of meeting that target. This will require global carbon emissions to fall by 45% from 2010 levels by the end of this decade. It’s a mammoth task, and we have wasted enough time already.

Alongside this COP, like those of recent years, arts organisations will present creative responses to the climate crisis during the conference. I’ve been involved in three very different projects for COP, one of which is called Eight Posters for Glasgow (by Climate Fringe + Climate Change Creative). My contribution, titled Letter to Glasgow comes from my upcoming Where Once the Waters (Venice Biennale, 2022) presentation and focusses on the issue of sea-rise. It’s a simple typed letter, printed in large format, pasted onto a billboard on Bath Street in central Glasgow. It reads:

Around the world, as a result of climate change, sea levels are rising. This is a well-established fact. But did you know that the rate of sea-rise varies from coast to coast? In Millport, 35 miles from where you currently stand, sea level has increased by at least 165mm over the last century*. 60 miles further south, Portpatrick has seen a rise of over 230mm in that time.

24 years ago, COP3 was held in Kyoto, Japan. Since then, the level of the sea at the Kyoto coast has climbed by almost 100mm. In 2010, COP16 was held in Cancún, Mexico. Sea level there is rising at an even faster rate of around 5mm per year.

Sea level rise is not uniform around the world, but our response should be. Regardless of where you stand today, your actions impact sea level rise globally. A rise of less than 2mm per year at Glasgow’s coast doesn’t sound much, but with the rate of rise increasing year on year, places such as Cancún, and the Kyoto coast will be submerged if serious action is not taken by all of us. We cannot stop sea level rise this century, but we can slow it.

*Tide gauge readings used here to calculate levels of rise come from the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration’s Sea Level Trends dataset.

I’m delighted to share the cover illustration for Med: A Cookbook by Claudia Roden. Last year I was approached by designer Dave Brown (of APE) and publishers Ebury (of Penguin) to collaborate on a seascape which would harmonise with the rich and vibrant dishes Claudia Roden has chosen for this book celebrating a lifelong love of the Mediterranean.

Claudia Roden is one of the world’s most influential food writers, widely credited with revolutionising Western attitudes to Middle Eastern and Mediterranean food. In Med, she shares memories of travels and stories along with the food she loves and cooks for friends and family. Med explores the many and varied flavours of the region across eight chapters, beautifully photographed by Susan Bell and styled by Frankie Unsworth.

Thank you to all involved, and especially Dave Brown, who brought together the unique design you see here, flecked with gold foil as if reflecting a deep Mediterranean sun.

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Athens: 2021

Earlier this year, my partner and I waded through the twin tides of a pandemic and Brexit and moved from London to Athens, her hometown, where she’s been posted for a work assignment. We don’t know how long we’ll be here, but for the first time, I’m living in sight of the sea – my easel now looks over the rooftops of Voula and aptly named Panorama to the Aegean and the tiny islet of Ydrous(s)a, known colloquially as Katramonisi – black island – maybe because it’s so often in silhouette against the bright sea, maybe because in the past when shipbuilding took place along the coast, contaminated water often stained its edges. There’s no record of this online, so I’m relying on snippets of half understood Greek to piece the story together. Just as I’m relying on the advice of locals on finding the best viewpoints out to sea – tucked away behind villas or up high on the dirt tracks behind the city’s outskirts.

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If you’ve followed my practice since graduation, you might best describe me as a sea-painter. Yet, until now, I’ve rarely painted sea from life. Though I have created watercolours whilst travelling over the years, the bulk of my work has been produced from imagination. The majority of the gouache works that formed my Years of Dust & Dry series, and the entirety of my Rising Horizon oils came to life indoors, painted without resource material. An ocean exists in my mind’s eye, formed from innumerable trips to the coast and from mentally logging observations over water.

Today, my painting practice is changing, I’m finding myself drawn to capture light on the sea, the movement of water, reflections, the infinite combinations of colours above and below the horizon. I am, for the first time, pushing myself to paint with bolder colours and using quicker marks.

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For The Sea from Here (Part I), I reached out to people around the world, seeking photographs of sea. Now, in a new series of paintings, I want to take this a step further. I’m asking people to physically send me their sea.

When working in watercolour on the coast, I usually mix seawater with my paints. From time to time, I bring a bottle back to the studio. I wish to take this idea to a new level, to create a substantial body of watercolour seascapes using seawater from around the world, for an exhibition next year. Using seawater to paint with is hardly a novel concept, but it’s another way I can provide commentary on localised sea-level change without needing to travel. Each painting becomes a site-specific collaboration, and each collaborator will be credited in the artwork series description, along with location notes. It’s a project about appreciating our seas – treating the gathered water as precious, connecting us all.

Of course, sending liquids by post isn’t always straightforward, but if carefully packaged, it’s perfectly safe. As with the first part of this project, I don’t want anyone to go out of their way or break coronavirus restrictions on movement. Likewise, I don’t want anyone to take risks when gathering water.

How to…

I only need one “sample” from each sea, and so please fill out the below form to see if water from your local coast has previously been sent. I now have several samples, listed below. I don’t need a large volume of water from each participant. Anything from 50—200ml would be enough.

I’d be grateful if you could use recycled packaging, with plenty of padding. Cleaned drinks bottles or travel-sized cosmetics containers from around the house, tightly screwed, wrapped in layers of bubble wrap (most courier companies require three layers) and sealed in a waterproof bag, bound with tape. You can send it in a box or padded envelope, depending on the sample size. If required, you should declare the package as containing ‘bottled water: non-hazardous liquid.’

I ask that you include the co-ordinates of the collection point and you may also wish to send a photo of your sample being gathered, which I may use on social media.

In return

I’ll aim to produce one large artwork using everyone’s seawater, and one small artwork with each sample too. You’ll be sent the smaller one as a thank-you for your time and effort (approx postcard sized). Along with your sample, please include your address so that I can send this.

Note that some quotas – listed below – are now filled:

Alboran Sea (Spain)

Arctic Ocean (Disko Bay, Greenland)

Balearic Sea (Spain)

Baltic Sea (Denmark)
Baltic Sea (Sweden)

Bay of Biscay (France)

Black Sea (Russia)

Celtic Sea (Isles of Scilly)

Coral Sea (Australia)

East China Sea (China)

East Sea, Sea of Japan (South Korea)

English Channel (England)

Firth of Clyde (Scotland)

Galilee Sea (Israel)

Great Australian Bight (Australia)

Gulf of Mexico (America)

Irish Sea (England)
Irish Sea (Ireland)
Irish Sea (Wales)

Indian Ocean (Australia)

Lake Michigan (America)

Loch Nevis (Scotland)

Mediterranean Sea (Israel)
Mediterranean Sea (France)
Mediterranean Sea (Malta)

New Jersey Bight / Long Island Sound (America)

North Atlantic Ocean (America)
North Atlantic Ocean (France)
North Atlantic Ocean (Scotland)

North Pacific Ocean (America)
North Pacific Ocean (Japan)

North Sea (Denmark)
North Sea (England)
North Sea (Netherlands)

Red Sea (Egypt, Sudan border)

Saint George’s Channel (Wales)

Salish Sea (Canada)

Shapinsay Sound (Orkney)

Sound of Gigha (Isle of Gigha)

South Atlantic Ocean (South Africa)
South Atlantic Ocean (Ilha Grande Bay, Brazil)

Southern Ocean (Australia)

Suez Canal (Egypt)

Tasman Sea (Australia)
Tasman Sea (Tasmania)

The Sea from Here

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Words from the people behind the lenses

As an accompaniment to The Sea from Here, we’re sharing some of the words that were sent along with your images – specifically those related to climate change. These short captions were volunteered by the photographers, and there’s a clear emphasis on coastal change. These are, in effect, short witness statements from people who live on the coast, or are drawn to visit it often; who keenly observe and record their findings. “Coastal erosion is devastating here”, says Lisa Churchward; “floods have increased here”, reports Amy Friend. These witnesses speak of changing ocean behaviours, inundation, erosion and pollution; but also the sea’s emotional pull. “The sea was a revelation”, Leslie Hickey writes.

“Jokulsárlón – glacier river lagoon – is located at the south east of Iceland and floats into the close by ocean. The lagoon is affected by the tides, as are the icebergs. The incoming sea-salt leads to a faster melting of the ice. The glacier from which the icebergs and the water is coming from is Europe’s biggest: Vatnajokull – water glacier.

This image is the result of a scanning process. Our team is scanning bergs in order to 3D print them again. These become the monuments of climate change.”

Jökulsárlón (Glacier River Lagoon), Iceland
Alessa JM Brossmer & Jochen Orso

“During March we travelled with the snowmobile onto the fjord. We regularly find small cracks here, but the ever increasing larger cracks obstruct our ability to cross.”

Uummannaq, Greenland
Paaluk Kreutzmann

“One sunset last April. You can see that the sea ice is already starting to melt and nobody’s using the ice. Close to the town you can see open water and a strong current – this is where the melt begins.”

Uummannaq, Greenland
Paaluk Kreutzmann

“People from here say there’s less sea-ice today, icebergs are shrinking, and it’s not so cold in wintertime. Used to be -40°C when I was young, a local told us when we arrived. Minus 28°C is the coldest we’ve experienced in the five and a half years we’ve lived here.”

Ilulissat, Greenland
Carina Björling

“Floods have increased here over the last few summers.”

Lake Ontario from Port Dalhousie, Ontario, Canada
Amy Friend

“The last time I saw the sea was just as the pandemic was emerging – I was beginning my new project on the Atlantic in Ireland, and my last kayak jaunt was on the most vicious of days – setting out from Letermulan (Connemara) to Golam Head. This image was taken on that last day, when half way there, holding onto some rocks while using a reef for brief shelter.”

Golam Head, Connemara, Ireland
David Gange

“I've lived here my whole life and I'd say the cliff [behind] has eroded about 15 metres inland, which is a lot considering I'm 25. My dad says it is to do with the new marina that was built a few years ago (which was protested against, but the developers won) which took over from our quaint harbour and subsequently led to the currents flowing in a different direction, leading to more erosion on the beach.”

North Beach, Greystones, Ireland
Li-Ann Smal

“I see Eilean Dubh (Black Isle), a tiny island that sits in Loch Boisdale, every day. This image shows a familiar pattern from the intertidal zone of the Isle which is repeated on rocky tidelines the length of Uist. Along with Tiree, Islay and Sanday in Orkney, Uist is one of the areas most vulnerable to changes in sea level brought on by climate change.”

Eilean Dubh, Isle of South Uist, Scotland
Michael Faint
Read more in Michael’s Journal

“Usually, you can’t see the line that divides the sky from the sea. Most days it’s blended into one, and that’s how I think of the sea in Lima. The city wasn’t built to face the sea, it turns inward, inland, and while the sea is always there, it is often forgotten. I look out at the sea every day, and I made this image on a rare evening when the horizon was visible, a small break in the clouds and fog opening up the distance that is mostly invisible.”

Lima, Peru
Ana Lía Orézzoli

“When I finally got to the sea, it was a rare day on the Oregon coast, there were no clouds and it was clear all the way to the horizon. That day had the bluest sky, the deepest blue water. After almost two weeks of heavy wildfire smoke, it was a relief to just be there, without the apocalyptic yellow clouds and pink sunlight I had been living through. The sea was a revelation; everything was clean and beautiful and being there already felt like a memory.”

Neahkahnie, Oregon, USA
Leslie Hickey

“We notice direct human intervention here, more than anything else. The harbour is constantly being developed and changing form.”

Busan Harbour, Busan, South Korea
Patrick Lydon

“We experienced really high seas in February 2020, which saw a huge amount of debris – logs, seaweed, coral – washed onto the shore. Unfortunately, I didn’t keep photos of logs and trees that got washed ashore after the fires down on the south coast in January 2020. Even in May, there were still piles of timber on the beaches around my area – they are now being bulldozed and the beaches cleaned.”

Avoca Beach, NSW, Australia
Jane Lethbridge

“The path to the beach has been changed again this year, due to erosion. Henry Beston's The Outermost House (1928), the house since lost to the elements, raised public awareness of the terrain here and its fragility.”

Cape Cod, Massachusetts, USA
Patricia Emison

“Freshwater and saltwater flooding shapes the wetlands here. High tides flood the mangrove and tidal flats, creating food-rich environments for fish, crabs, molluscs and birds. Spring tides flood the saltmarshes several times every year. During major floods most of Tinchi Tamba is covered by water.”

Tinchi Tamba Wetlands, Queensland, Australia
Rachael Wellisch

“The sea here is the Solway Firth, home to Robin Rigg offshore wind farm. Captain Roy Kerr of the tallship La Malouine, docked in nearby Palnackie told me 'Rigg' means ridge/spine – a raised part of the sea bed – which I knew because it is a Norse word (hryggur) and I speak Icelandic. This is a place where ships used to run aground and would be looted by pirates. Such a topographic feature is also a good place to put the wind turbines to minimise the height of the shafts.”

Balcary Hill, Dumfries & Galloway, Scotland
Sarah Thomas

“America’s east coast is among the places sea level rise has – and will continue to – significantly affect.”

Montauk, New York State, USA
Gonzaga Gómez-Cortázar

“The sea wall at Douglas Terrace has been undermined by recent storms. The character of the estuary is ever changing but there is real evidence of the impact of more storms and higher tides.”

Broughty Ferry, Dundee, Scotland
Stewart Murdoch

“Coastal erosion is devastating here. We’ve lost over 50m of sand (6m high) in the last 2 years, and we are about to lose a road and our surf club to the sea. The wreck of the Amazon (1863) is now visible on the shore.”

Inverloch, Victoria, Australia
Lisa Churchward

“On Friday (14th August) I swam from England to France as part of a relay team … it was a truly incredible thing to do!”

Near Cap de Gris Nez, Calais, France
Katie Mcalister

“…from the coastline of Oqaatsut, one of the smallest settlements on the north-west coast of Greenland – taken from the sea-ice. I love the metaphor of sea-ice as water temporarily transformed into ever moving land…”

Oqaatsut, Greenland
Andreas Hoffmann

The time we wasted glimmers at the end of your eyes |

From the public art project Disgha (photographed in 2020) | “In 2018 I produced Disgha, a large scale intervention across the Maltese archipelago. The work is composed of verses from 9 different poems by 9 different Maltese poets engraved on different sites and rock formations across the islands, effectively creating a land constellation across the territory.

The verses are all engraved using a specifically-created Maltese font and focus on the transient nature of the work itself. This for me was a gesture of love to my land, my mother tongue, a comment on the current environmental situation and an attempt in blurring the lines between permanence, impermanence and memory. It also deals with the notion of horizon and perimeter, and the cultural osmosis that happens on all kinds of borders.

Most of the engravings perished or will be eroded in time, so we are thinking of sedimenting the memory of the interventions in a publication: the only testimony of this transient art installation. Here’s an image of the Valletta site, taken late last year.”

Valletta, Malta
Austin Camilleri

The Sea from Here

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Outtakes

Below is a selection of images we didn’t include in the exhibition, but which we felt merited display here. In most cases these are supplementary images, taken by those already featured. These are quite remarkable photographs, taken around the world through a variety of lenses, presented here with an emphasis on the north.

Ásta Sif Árnadóttir | Iceland (2020)

Carina Björling | Greenland (2020)

“The ice sheets and glaciers of Antarctica and Greenland comprise 98% of the potential 65 metres of sea level rise, though that will take many centuries, possibly longer.”

— Englander

Ulfe Piñón | Spain (2020)

Julia Sergeeva | Svalbard (2020)

In all, just shy of 400 photographs were submitted to The Sea from Here, from some 150 participants around the world. To narrow down the images, the first parameter introduced was to only present one from each participant in the main show. The images were further refined by omitting those which featured small lakes or rivers rather than seas; those which featured people; and then we looked into the technical details of each image, principally the resolution and website compatibility. Many of those sent via social media, for example, couldn’t be included as files were either too small, or usage rights had not been discussed. It was vital that all images in the exhibition were from the same year, and so a dozen were also set aside for having being taken during a year other than 2020.

Naomi Muirhead | Spain (2020)

Pat Law | Scotland (2020)

Carla Osinski | Australia (2020)

Cathryn Shilling | England (2020)

Jane Rushton | Scotland (2020)

Nattaphon Kakatoom | Greenland (2020)

“Oceans are connectors and borders, linking nations, friend and foe.”

Lisbeth Karline Poulsen | Greenland (2020)

Ellis O'Connor | Scotland (2020)

Dave Brown | England (2020)

Gonzaga Gómez-Cortázar Romero | USA (2020)

Mary Walters | Svalbard (2020)

Andreas Hoffmann | Greenland (2020)

Niall-Meehan | Ireland (2020)

Sarah Thomas | Scotland (2020)

“It is estimated that a mere 20% of the world’s oceans have been explored.”

Giannis Garyfopoulos | Indian Ocean (2016)

Anonymous Contributor | Greenland (unknown year)

Jenny Mcculla | Australia (2020)

David Gange | Ireland (2020)

Andreas Hoffmann | Greenland (2021)

Nattaphon Kakatoom | Greenland (2020)

Michelle O'Hara Auer | Australia (2020)

The Sea from Here

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“What we need most of all is for all of us to start an international conversation about the rising ocean...”

— Englander

John and I first opened a dialogue in 2018, focussing our exchange on the topic of rising sea levels, which my artwork has aimed to explore over the last few years. Soon after, he wrote a short text for my exhibition Rising Horizon. During February and March of this year, we were set to exhibit together in the group show Chronicles form the Edge, alongside works by artists Joseph Calleja, Austin Camilleri, and the late Robert Callender. The show was to be a follow up to As Coastline is to Ocean (An Talla Solais, 2019). As a result of the pandemic, however, galleries have mostly remained closed – as they’ve had to – and so the show has been put indefinitely on hold.

The global outbreak of COVID-19, in early 2020 ‘demonstrates some striking similarities between pandemics and rising sea level’, John writes in his latest book, Moving to Higher Ground: Rising Sea Level and the Path Forward. ‘All major countries were warned for years about just such a pandemic … as with the future threat of rising sea level, there had been warnings, but they were largely ignored.’

We timed the two-part release of The Sea from Here to coincide with the launch of Moving to Higher Ground. This new work on the forces driving climate change and sea level rise is a must read for concerned people of all ages. John also narrates the audiobook version. ‘We are now at the moment in human history when we must start moving to higher ground. Metaphorically for most, and for many people on the coast, literally.’ The over-riding message is that rising sea level will likely be ‘the greatest agent of disruption and destruction this century.’ John argues simultaneously for prevention, and realistic future planning. Prevention: we still have time to slow sea level rise, if we rapidly adapt our usage of Earth’s resources. Realistic future planning: sea rise is already “locked in” for this century, and so we must plan ahead with a moving coastline in mind – moving to higher ground – whilst doing all we can to halt greenhouse gas emissions and grab hold of our rising global temperature. If we act now upon both areas, future generations will benefit. ‘But we must make haste’.

John’s first book High Tide on Main Street: Rising Sea Level and the Coming Coastal Crisis is a superb resource and one of the key books to have influenced my environmental art practice; offering a radically different point of view and clearly breaking down the science behind sea level cycles.

Profiles

John Englander is an oceanographer, author, and international speaker on climate change and Sea Level Rise.

Multiple expeditions to Greenland and Antarctica have showed John, first-hand, the devastating effects of melting ice on land reaching the sea. These expeditions, coupled with his broad science background in both oceanography and geology give him a unique perspective on planet ecology and the grave dangers we face from climate change, severe weather events, and unstoppable sea level rise.

His mission is to be a clear voice on our changing climate and oceans. For over 30 years, he has been a leader in both the private sector and the non-profit arena, serving as CEO for such noteworthy organisations as The Cousteau Society, The International SeaKeepers Society, and The Underwater Explorers Society. He is now President of the Sea Level Institute, working with businesses, government agencies, and communities to understand the financial risks as increasing severe storms and long-term sea level rise challenge us to adapt to a shoreline that will move inland.

johnenglander.net

Though principally a painter, my work also involves – in no particular order – design, photography, writing, research... These aspects support the development of my practice and allow me to collaborate often.

Read more about my artwork throughout this website. Lens-based works can be seen here, and a summary bio below.

Bio Page

“It starts with education. We all need to be teachers and students...”

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James Strawbridge and David Cass are both keen environmental advocates, promoting sustainability and considerate approaches towards our planet’s resources – in life and work. While James’ principal focus is cookery and David’s painting, each aims to raise further awareness through creative collaboration. Pilchards & Paint is the first in an ongoing project combining their processes.

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David’s artwork is all about elevating the everyday. Using what’s available, what’s sustainable. He paints directly upon found items that are commonplace around the home: from small tins, to kitchen tables. As subtly as possible, he transforms these objects into artworks, most often painting sea upon them. This act speaks not only of a recycling process but aims also to encourage discussion over the state of our seas.

James is a Cornish development chef and food photographer. Like David, he’s drawn to what’s within reach; drawing out the very best from carefully sourced local produce whose provenance and sustainability is always known – or which he might even have grown, caught, cured or foraged himself. James’ native Cornwall is his pantry, just as David’s is his local flea-market.

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In this first project James has sourced MSC sustainable Cornish sardines (supplied by the Lakeman family, who has for seven generations been fishing out of the Cornish port of Mevagissey – the family’s home for over 400 years) combining these with everything from edible gold-leaf to plastic sequins, representing the economic value of the fishery, but also raising the issue of plastics in the marine ecosystem.

Their shared attraction to vintage objects saw the use of James’ grandfather’s pen-nib tin as a vessel to cure pilchard fillets; and found papers to summon the nostalgia of wrapped fish from the market. David’s interwoven painted waves speak of an enduring traditional industry very much alive today and celebrated in James’ creations.

The humble sardine is rich in stories from the coast, robust in flavour and offers a sustainable future food system, it’s apt then that it should be sheathed in gold.

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Travelling is usually a big part of my practice. I combine activities: material gathering (visits to flea markets and antiques quarters around Europe), subject and location research, sometimes exhibition projects too. But of course, this year has been very different, as it had to be. I’ve been unable to get out gathering in any serious way this year, instead sourcing materials locally when possible and frequently online.

At the time of writing, we’re in lockdown phase-two in London. I’m undertaking an imagined journey, creating a series of postcard paintings at the kitchen table, using photographs from past trips as subject matter. The series opened by crossing the English Channel, heading to Paris. I’m painting watercolour postcards from each location with some available for sale as part of the Artist Support Pledge.

A rough route is already mapped out, and I’ll announce destinations on my Instagram as I go.

“[David Cass’] visual language has consistency but no inviolable boundaries. Meditative for both maker and viewer, it distills light into line, not in any attempt to render an idea of perfection, but to harmonize art and science into an abstract vision of balance between two entities that are not opposites, like water and sky.”

— Patricia Emison (Sept 2020)

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The pool that is my art practice is fed by two definite streams: my paintings of sea in oil, onto metal surfaces; and my paintings of sea in watercolour onto wooden surfaces. Journey of an Artwork focusses on the latter. Photography, film and design are additional aspects of my practice, used to chart process and progress, and have been included to illustrate the stages from flea-marketing, to surface preparation, painting, and onward.

From the outset of this presentation, an awareness that my paintings resist accurate photography has been fundamental. The warmth of wood, the patina of surfaces, the texture of paint and how it absorbs or reflects light, the edges of artworks… these essential elements of my completed works are so easily lost on screen and in print.

In order to better depict the process of production I’ve selected a set of analogue photographs, for the tone of film photography better explains the materials I work with. This digital presentation is a summary of how I build my artworks, where both the physical materials and the subject matter comes from, drawn together by a new text from art historian Patricia Emison. It ­can be taken as a kind of model of an exhibition, a surrogate while we wait for full-scale encounters to return.

“[Cass] continually explores line both as border and as connection, and searches for grounds, for surfaces that can provide palimpsests, reminding us of the limits of the present. In achieving a new relationship between paint and ground, he has made a visual analogue for the common human experience of seeking to place the mercurial present upon the substructure of the past, to have at least a semblance of being able to exert ourselves upon what came before, rather than seeing ourselves as passive inheritors.”

— Patricia Emison (Sept 2020)

In 2009 I first worked watercolour (gouache) onto wood. I didn’t know then, that this combination would come to define the following decade for me. Nor did I title that first work – it was simply listed as Untitled Seascape, which in hindsight seems redundant. Thus, my uneasy relationship with artwork titles began.

I’ve always been interested in words and in private moments I’ve always written. Over the last decade my artwork titles have been wide-ranging in tone: from prosaic titles which simply state the location illustrated – Aegina, 2018 ­– to more poetic titles referencing passing time and memory – Time Pulls, Time Pools, 2012.

Often, titles are important and bound to the artwork, but not always. My Rising Horizon series sees paintings titled for the heights of their horizon-lines, with the simple aim of inspiring discussion on the topic of sea-rise; my So Many Endings series speaks of both sustainability and my own personal response to closing one project and beginning another.

Having pursued my work with found objects for a considerable time, I realise that what’s most important to me asides from the physical artwork itself, is when an artwork was created, and where the surface came from – which isn’t necessarily the location illustrated.

In recent months I’ve only wanted to paint sea onto my finds, despite ­the fact – or maybe because of the fact – that I’ve hardly seen the sea this year. I focus heavily on the process of production, working in layers, from imagination; sometimes following woodgrain, creating rhythmic patterns that resemble waves but are probably better described as abstract. Slowly evolving over time, these processes have accompanied me wherever I’ve set up studio. The act of gathering objects is equally as important as the act of applying paint.

With this in mind, I’ve embarked upon a process of re-formatting titles, where appropriate. Each painting title going forward will follow the sequence: month & year; object used as surface; where surface was sourced; paint-type, size, status. Past Untitled works – as well as those which were titled for flea markets or as a description of the scene depicted – will be updated, too. Artworks previously listed in order – I, II, III – are now distinguishable by the clear listing of surface-type and date. These changes will not affect authenticity documents for works previously purchased: both myself and galleries have records of titles in their systems.

When I set out painting sea, I had no idea I’d explore the potential of the found-object to this extent. I had no idea how strong the pull would be to keep painting these scenes, but the possibilities are infinite. This new system of titling makes most sense to me, and places each painting within the context of the whole.

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December 2009
Framed mirror · Prestonpans
Gouache · 45 x 50cm
Private collection

This week I’m pleased to be The Scottish Gallery’s staff pick. The gallery has also published some footage I shot in the Scottish Borders in July – Two Weeks in the Studio.

“As lockdown eased across the UK during July 2020, David travelled back home to Stow, in the Borders, to spend a couple of weeks painting – taking film at intervals to chart his progress for us. In this short film we can enjoy a quiet look at Cass’ working processes, transforming a collection of everyday vintage items into artworks.”

— The Scottish Gallery

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Matchbox painting consigned to The Scottish Gallery

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Printmaker’s tray painting consigned to The Scottish Gallery

Just finished, Salvage Scotland: A Maritime SOS was an online project from Journeys in Design celebrating heritage & sustainable design initiatives alive in Scotland’s coastal communities. The exhibition – which was adapted for online presentation – took the form of a virtual journey around Scotland’s coast. Project curator John Ennis recorded a series of online discussions during the project, introcucing each participating artist and offering some background. Our conversation can be seen below: Art Activism and the Sea.

“Intensely engaged with themes of rising sea levels, maritime ecology and climate change, David discusses the essential collaborative elements of his work, in both research and dissemination phases.”

Surface was a grouping of artworks I selected in collaboration with Art North Magazine, for the platform Projectroom2020. The presentation featured works by eight artists working upon re-imagined grounds – a celebration of alternative surfaces and processes.

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Roger Ackling
David Cass
Roland Fraser
Derrick Guild
Kevin Harman
William Kentridge
Hayley Tompkins
Andrea V Wright

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“Here, we have eight artists, including myself, producing work upon re-imagined grounds: walls, functional objects, found fragments, fabrics... In selecting the artists and artworks encountered here, my concerns have related primarily to what I view as ‘dynamics’, or ranges of pace. Not only have I sought to confine my selection to those who use what might be considered non-traditional substrates, but also, to those who employ unconventional processes.

Surface is about contrasts too: Derrick Guild’s tightly considered trompe-l’œil masterpieces are presented in stark contrast to Kevin Harman’s experimental and accident-embracing glassworks, for example. Roland Fraser dismantles and reassembles functional artefacts, while Andrea Wright indexes them, capturing years of evidence – of accretions on brick and wood – onto latex.

Personally, I can’t imagine starting an artwork from a blank slate. To me, it would seem unnatural, for what in life can ever truly be considered blank, and isn’t art so often considered to be a mirror of and for life? As Allan Kaprow suggested, ‘the line between art and life should be kept as fluid, and perhaps indistinct, as possible.’

So much has come before. So much exists out there. So much will, in addition, outlive us. The subtle evidence of lives lived, loved, lost, may so frequently be found inscribed on the very surfaces we have touched and, however lightly, have etched something of ourselves into the everyday objects that live with us throughout our lives.”

— Excerpt from David's introduction text | May 2020

Screenshot of the presentation webpage, featuring Roland Fraser’s Stepladder (2017)

“Become one with the object. Plunge deep enough into the object to see something like a hidden glimmering there.”

— Matsuo Basho

I’m delighted to have been interviewed by Sea Library – a blog and physical library set up by Anna Iltnere from her base in Jurmala, Latvia. A place “thriving under pine umbrellas on a stretch of land between the river Lielupe and the Baltic Sea.” Jurmala translates as seaside and jura as sea: “the perfect place for a sea library to wash ashore.” Among other things, the feature highlights two ongoing participatory projects: The Sea from Here + Where Once the Waters.

Find on Sea Library’s Instagram a wonderful range of water-books, many of which grace my own shelves: David Gange’s The Frayed Atlantic Edge, Barry Lopez’s Horizon, Raynor Winn’s The Salt Path…

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“Sometimes when I’m near water I can switch off and appreciate the beauty of it all, and in much of my painting I hope to convey this feeling. But at other times, I can’t help but fear the ocean’s power, and regret the damage we’ve done.”