A Day of Climate Arts and Community Connection in Washington Square Park

By Akua Banful, Andrew W. Mellon Foundation Predoctoral Fellow in Climate and Inequality

*A documentary film crew captures the early morning sculptural installation*

On the morning of October 10th, 2021, nearly eighteen months after the performance for her sculptural installation, Low Relief for High Water had first been scheduled, Gabriela Salazar arrived in Washington Square Park with crates containing a sculpture of her childhood home, made from water-soluble paper and methyl-cellulose. Garibaldi Plaza and the surrounding structures had withstood the shocks of a global pandemic and the summer's extreme weather events, and Salazar's sculpture, evocative of the fragility of our notions of home in a time of climate crisis, had waited patiently in storage for this moment.

Gabriela Salazar, the Climate Museum team, and a group of dedicated volunteers spent an inspiring, storm-kissed, and sun-dappled day interacting with approximately 1,000 visitors and passersby, sharing the power of the climate arts and channeling that into civic action by sending postcards to President Biden and Senate Majority leader Schumer. Here are some stories, encounters, and reflections from this full-day, climate arts event.

There is community in the climate arts

Gabriela Salzar always knew she wanted to share this piece with the public in Washington Square Park. When people came up to interact with the work, they were a little in awe at the fact that they got to interact with the artist, too. What visitors walked into when they stepped onto the stage in Garibaldi Plaza was a structure at once built and ephemeral that Salazar took apart and gave to them to keep, cherish, or discard over the course of the day: an accelerated time-lapse of a home dissolving in the space of an afternoon.

To each person, Gabriela said, "this is my home, I'm giving away a piece of my home to you," as she offered a piece of the sculpture to them, clasped between both hands like a sacrament. In an unspoken reply, the recipient would stretch out both hands and receive their piece of Salazar's home. This exchange was the silent ritual she repeated throughout the day. Like most precious flashes of the spirit, it happened so quickly that if you hadn't been standing on stage for a sustained period of time, you might have missed it and been none the wiser.

*'Here is a piece of my home' - Gabriela Salazar; Credit: Sari Goodfriend*

*Salazar embossed each fragment with the name of the piece and date. Credit: Sari Goodfriend*

You never know what's in someone's brain — what knowledge they possess. That's what Josie, a youth volunteer for the Museum, found herself thinking as she was mid-conversation with a passerby who she drew into Low Relief for High Water. What had gotten him excited about the sculpture, it turned out, was that he knew an awful lot about paper. This unexpected fact offered the perfect segue into a conversation about the climate crisis.

Spending the day drawing people into the sculptural installation and performance was an exercise in meeting people where they were. Some people responded to how Salazar’s sculpture invited them to meditate on the intimate and human impacts of the climate crisis. Others were drawn in by the opportunities for climate activism that the postcard station offered and were eager to send messages to President Biden and Senate Majority Leader Schumer. Over the course of the day, Josie circled Garibaldi Plaza speaking to as many people as she could, excited about the possibilities of what could engage the next visitor, determining which tidbit would spark the next conversation. After all, she wondered, what snippet of information can you offer a stranger that tells them that the exhibit they are about to see is about climate change, yes, but that it is primarily an emotional experience — something spiritual, even?

*A recipient moved to tears; Credit: Sari Goodfriend*

Dilshanie, a Mellon Fellow at the Museum, witnessed the day's events from the vantage point of the stage. She noticed a great deal of excitement mixed into the awe with which visitors regarded and interacted with Gabriela Salazar. Initially, they were tentative, wondering how to approach a piece they could actually walk through and touch; not entirely sure how to approach the novelty of an arts experience where engaging with the artist was not simply a part of but the point of the event. As they interacted with team members onstage and eased into the experience, Dilshanie noticed an eager curiosity take hold of many visitors. Perhaps, some were struck by the unusual opportunity to closely engage with an artist as part of the work. Their inhibitions gone, they joyfully peppered Salazar with questions: how long did it take to make the sculpture? How did the rain affect the piece? How did it feel to give away fragments of her home?

One of the first visitors to walk up to the sculpture on October 10th was a woman with an infant who animatedly asked questions of Gabriela and everyone else on the stage as her child wandered through the pieces of Salazar's home adventuring as toddlers are wont to do. Surrounding her on the stage were several people holding up the sculpture. This collective and coordinated act made an impression on this visitor: she saw it as a sign of strength.

*A show of strength; image credit Sari Goodfriend Photography*

Unexpected Encounters

When Jeanne learned that a Climate Museum had launched in New York City, she was intrigued. An environmental scientist who had specialized in hazardous waste cleanups for over 30 years, she was expecting something more along the lines of a scientific museum that would communicate the facts on climate change. When Jeanne came across the Climate Museum's 2018 Climate Signals public art campaign, what drew her in was how the Museum's approach combined the arts and sciences. The site-specific, citywide art installation of solar-powered highway signs with messages on climate change caught her attention. Once she was in the signs' orbit, engaging programming like the 'Ask a Scientist' table made her linger, and she's been volunteering with the Climate Museum ever since.

*Timestamps and collectibles; Credit: Sari Goodfriend*

*Reflections on home - Jeanne ; Polaroid taken by Akua Banful*

At Low Relief for High Water, Jeanne was standing in the Plaza when she noticed two shy young people enter the exhibit's orbit. They seemed a little hesitant to come closer, so she decided to try to strike up a conversation. As they conversed, she learned that they were college students focusing on environmental science and that the hesitance she had picked up on earlier had been a touch of skepticism: they had not been expecting an art exhibit, and they did not know what to make of it. Jeanne saw a bit of herself and her own first encounter with the Climate Museum in their hesitation, so she began to explain how the arts could be a (very effective) form of climate communication. The students opened up through this conversation about how an art exhibit could inspire reflection on the climate crisis; they went up to see the exhibit, had their photographs taken at the polaroid station, and paused to speak with Dr. Wendy Greenspun, the Climate Psychologist. Just like Jeanne did a little over three years ago, a pair of budding scientists had become acquainted with the power of the climate arts; she considers their encounter a success.

"I've seen the art, what's next?"

Relative to the expanse of Washington Square Park, Garibaldi Plaza is more compact than it initially seems. Framed by large, stately arches, with a sculpture of the storied Italian war general and a fountain in the distance, it's a space whose impact is belied by its size. Interacting with Gabriela Salazar and her sculpture were the main attractions of October 10th, but just as Garibaldi Plaza is enlarged by careful framing, what visitors encountered in a seemingly innocuous semi-circle of adjacent Climate Museum programming surrounding the sculpture, framed and extended the work's impact.

Entering the Low Relief for High Water sculpture and performance space, the first thing visitors encountered was a friendly face at the introductory table. Then, they were introduced to the the artwork, engaged in conversation, took Climate Museum pins, stickers, and event paraphernalia, and followed the ramp or stairs to the stage to interact with the sculpture. After their encounters with Gabriela Salazar, participants would descend from the stage holding a piece of her sculptural home. They would arrive at another station, where my colleagues and greeted them with polaroid cameras and asked whether they wanted their pictures taken. As the photographs developed, they were offered a chance to reflect on prompts by Salazar asking, "What does “home” mean to you? " "What do you most want to protect?" "What does caring for your community look like?" Once their images had come to life, they joined a conversation by writing their responses on their photographs and placing them on a canvas, becoming a part of a visual archive of voices.

*A visual archive of voices; Credit: Sari Goodfriend*

Once the photographs were taken, and their responses to Salazar's prompts had been written, you could almost feel their excitement. "What's next?" they would ask. "Well, we have two more activation stations here today," I would say. "The Climate Museum's tagline is Culture for Action, so we present events that invite people to reflect on how the climate crisis impacts our daily lives, and encourage them to take civic action: you can do that by sending a postcard to Washington today.”

For several visitors who continued on to the postcard station, signing cards addressed to President Biden and Senate Majority Leader Schumer was a gesture of collective climate action that allowed them to continue the conversations they had begun as they walked up to Gabriela Salazar and her sculpture, and reflected on what home meant to each of them in a time of climate crisis. Each piece of the sculpture that was given away, each polaroid that was taken, and every postcard that was signed and sent, was a glimpse of community – a vision of what it can look like when the anxiety and silence that surround the climate crisis are transformed into conversation, community, and collective action by the power of art.

What Can I Ask a Climate Psychologist?

We are all living in a time of climate crisis, and we all weather its physical and psychological impacts. When homes are lost to unfathomable fires and floods, or a loved one suffers the health impacts of extreme heat, those, too, are the harsh impacts of an intensifying crisis on human life. According to a December 2020 study from the Yale and George Mason University climate communications center, 70% of American adults are worried about the climate crisis. Of that number, 7% speak about it often. The Climate Museum's mission is to offer spaces – through exhibitions, panels, events, youth programs, and more – where people can reflect on the human impacts of the climate crisis, break their conversational inertia, and build a culture of collective climate action.

Holding pieces of a sculpture that evoked an artist's childhood home was incredibly resonant for many who encountered Low Relief for High Water on October 10th. It became all the more so as the rain started to fall, and the water-soluble paper of Salazar's sculpture started to take on water. We watched and felt a home become fragile before us, around us, and sometimes in our hands.

One reason people have difficulty voicing their worries about the climate crisis is that they feel out scaled. How do you begin to articulate or wrap your mind around something that is immensely powerful yet remains largely intangible until disaster strikes? How would you even start that conversation? Experiencing Gabriela Salazar's sculptural installation gave people a tangible point of conversation - something that was literally fragile, precious to hold, and reflect upon.

Some visitors were ready to channel their reflections into civic action by writing postcards to President Biden and Senate Majority Leader Chuck Schumer almost immediately. Others made their way to the activation station that piqued the most curiosity on October 10th: they had a structured five-minute conversation with a climate psychologist.

*Engaging the Expert; Credit: Sari Goodfriend*

Most passersby were surprised to learn of the growing field of climate psychology: their reactions ran the gamut from intrigue to shock to a healthy dose of skepticism. Still, the chance to speak with clinical psychologist Wendy Greenspun, Ph.D., was an undeniable draw. She brought a twist to the beloved 'Ask a Scientist' station that had drawn Jeanne into the Climate Museum's orbit three years ago: this time, visitors to Low Relief for High Water got to 'Ask a Climate Psychologist.'

After struggling with her own grief and anxiety in the face of the climate and environmental crisis, as well as hearing increasing levels of similar distress in her clients, Dr. Greenspun felt the urgent need to get involved in the climate arena. Following the recommendation often given to activists to “use your passion and what you know how to do,” she realized she could translate and build on her clinical skills by creating spaces for individual and communal reckoning with the painful emotions connected to the climate crisis and climate injustice. She has expanded her role as a climate psychologist through several channels, including individual therapy for those struggling with climate distress and teaching a course at Adelphi University on Psychoanalysis and Climate Distress.

At the event, Dr. Greenspun provided information and resources to visitors on climate awareness and distress and answered questions related to climate psychology and building psychological resilience. People shared their reflections on Gabriela Salazar's sculpture and their feelings on the climate crisis with her. Dr. Greenspun interacted with several pairs of visitors, where one person was openly anxious and distressed, and the other was dismissive. The conversations with Dr. Greenspun helped to validate the visitors' worries and connect their concerns to prevalent, growing climate anxiety among the public. Many people who spoke with Dr. Greenspun were not seeking clinical help: they were looking for ways to reach out to and connect with others. Parents and educators, for instance, came to her with questions about how to talk to children about the climate crisis. Others asked Dr. Greenspun, "if climate change is happening, why can't I feel more?" Talking through how we respond to emotions so big they overwhelm us by shutting down helped them feel seen and made them more receptive to the idea of moving on to the final station, where they were encouraged to take action by sending postcards to Washington. After their conversations with Dr. Greenspun, many people did.

*A postcard to the President; Credit: Sari Goodfriend*

Holding up Pieces of Home

A few hours into a sun-bathed morning in Washington Square Park, a storm paid a visit. There are several pithy sayings about what fate has in store for humans' best-laid plans. It helps to multiply them when you're presenting a sculptural installation that reflects on the fragility of home in a time of climate crisis. As passersby cracked open umbrellas and staff and volunteers unfurled clear anoraks, the contours of the performance surrounding Gabriela Salazar's sculpture shifted.

The wind, a diminutive cousin of those that accompanied the tropical storms that had swept the Eastern seaboard that summer, had little respect for the sandbags and planned supports meant to hold up the sculpture. And so, human hands and bodies became supplemental supports.

Standing on the stage as all of this unfolded, Anais Reyes, the Senior Exhibitions Associate at the Climate Museum, was struck by how quickly and almost instinctively staff and volunteers rushed to hold up the water-soluble sculpture - to, quite literally, offer relief from the elements.

What the installation's visitors never learned was that one part of the installation would have been a choreographed series of movements led by Salazar and others on stage. The dance that happened instead, was one of people rushing up to support the piece; it showcased community, strength, and perseverance in the face of unforeseen challenges, and created a new layer of meaning, Anais thought. Sometimes, humans make rather meticulous plans, and the climate crisis deepens their intensity and resonance.

*Rain-time resolve; Credit: Sari Goodfriend*

Sara was one of the volunteers who had made that instinctive switch; she had moved from the polaroid station, where visitors were responding to the exhibition by writing down their reflections on what home meant to them or what they most wanted to protect. As the rain came pouring down and the weather turned colder, she kept taking photographs and reloading her film. When people were having their pictures taken, she noticed a spark about them — a certain twinkle in their eyes.

There was something beautiful and poignant about the day, about the whole experience, Sara thought; something poetic about holding up and watching an artist give away pieces of a water-soluble sculpture in the rain. You could feel it as people were drawn into the orbit of Garibaldi Plaza, as they walked up to various team members and struck up a conversation, as polaroids emerged with flecks of rainwater woven into them. When the rain came, our performance didn't shift insomuch as it became a demonstration of what relief from high water can look like.

Most of my teammates rotated through stations throughout the day, but something about taking pictures and watching people connect the ways in which the installation resonated with them underneath their images kept me glued to my station. From the vantage point of my polaroid camera, I traversed Washington Square Park, chasing the light, listening to stories, and capturing smiles. An older gentleman chanced upon the installation by chance and warned of rain; he reminisced that friends of his had written and warned of the impacts of climate change in the 1980s. Seeing people standing in Washington Square Park talking about climate change with urgency once again, he said, filled him with hope.

People came to Garibaldi Plaza and Low Relief for High Water from far-flung places with an incredible array of stories. As visitors ruminated on what home meant to them and what they most wanted to protect, they were drawing from the West Coast, which had just seen record-breaking heat, and was being swept by harrowing wildfires, they were reaching back in time to memories of Hurricanes Sandy, Irma, and Maria, and drawing on the devastating floods that had just swept France and Germany, the extreme heat and fires that had blanketed Australia, the drought that had gripped East Africa, the acidifying oceans that were bleaching the coral reefs all over the Caribbean. As Gabriela Salazar took her home apart and shared it with those who came to visit, through sun and rain, what took its place was a web of stories that stretched from Washington Square Park and wrapped itself around the globe.

In the months since October 10, I have kept my fragment of Salazar's sculpture atop a mounted shelf in a New York apartment, turning to it as news of power grid collapses loom, and flash hurricanes with hail descend. The sense that home is fragile in a time of climate crisis is ever present and ever more meaningful as our climate emergency deepens. Our increased awareness which swings between hope and sometimes despair, is a call to collective action, a call to protect our climate and each other. It calls to us now, several months later, in another season of intense weather and heightened climate injustice, because our shared planetary home will always be worth protecting.

*Zooming out, zooming by; Credit: Sari Goodfriend*

*Salazar’s performance underway; Credit: Sari Goodfriend*

*Remaining fragments at the end of the performance; Credit: Sari Goodfriend*

Miranda MassieJuly 22, 2022