In art, as in life, patterns inevitably emerge. Whether we look at one artist’s work or a collection of artists, we can find trends in materials, style, or philosophical approach. Or we can zoom out even further, and look at how collective experiences in society shape artists’ work across all these factors.
For example, all of Modern Art, from abstract video art to impressionist paintings, is about questioning oppressive, long-held traditions. The clash of democracy and science against monarchy and the religious state led to a crisis which became the collective experience that shaped art across styles and media for over 100 years.
Recognizing collective experiences as they’re happening has been difficult. Historians could only do so in retrospect, because you had to work much harder to find enough art and literature to see these patterns. But that’s not true anymore. Now, we can easily access a tremendous amount of contemporary art and literature, in our pajamas, at home.
We don’t need to wait to see what our collective experience is. It’s climate change.
Climate change is the term we use to describe that our world is changing for the worse because of our actions. Humans have long praised ourselves for our ability to shape our environment (going so far as to create a major distinction in our species before and after the agricultural revolution), but we are now finally grappling with the reality of our shortsightedness, and the uncertainty of whether our actions can save us.
Art about climate change is art fueled by this uncertainty. We respond to it with a range of emotions--fear, despair, numbness, diligence, denial, even joy.
Climate change shows up in this season’s fashion collections in their floral themes. Representing flora and fauna in our clothes is a very human thing to do--almost every culture, when the tools to print or embroider are available, represents their natural surroundings on their clothes. But we are no longer just designing clothes when we feel inspired by nature, we are making clothes when we are afraid of losing it.
Some designers respond to this fear with nihilism, like Marine Serre’s Spring 2020 collection, which says “this is for when you’re fist-fighting your mom over clean water, but make it fashion.” It necessitates desensitizing yourself to this kind of future, and succumbing to fear or cynicism isn’t particularly creative. It’s stale.
Some designers respond to climate change with moral responsibility, like Mara Hoffman’s Spring 2020 collection, which uses sustainable fabrics and reuses silhouettes as a protest against fast fashion.
But because climate change is a collective experience in our era, it shows up in the work of designers who aren’t trying to respond to climate change at all.
Alexander McQueen’s Spring 2020 collection isn’t “about” climate change, it’s about ensuring you “feel wreathed in confidence” in their dresses, according to Vogue, and uses bold colors and free-moving fabric to that end.
But, in searching for floral illustrations to use in this collection, McQueen's artistic director, Sarah Burton, and her team were most interested in endangered and extinct flowering plants. They sifted through preserved floral specimens at the Royal Botanic Gardens at Kew in London, and by showcasing species that are vulnerable to ecological changes, made a statement about climate change anyway. After all, you only shine a spotlight on something you think is important.
When looking at this collection initially, I didn’t recognize that the plant species were either endangered or extinct. Perhaps I ought to. We continue to learn new reasons why biodiversity is important for all life on Earth, and I wonder whether a greater awareness about these species could save them, and us.
Givenchy’s Spring 2020 collection is a historical retrospective inspired by the gardens of Sissinghurst Castle, as well as Hubert de Givenchy’s flower-lace gowns that first put the design house on the map. Clare Waight Keller, Givenchy’s artistic director, isn’t attempting to make a statement on climate change in her work.
However, the gardens that inspired her have experienced cycles of neglect and preservation since the 1500s. Political and economic shifts in England over the last 400 years often meant that the resources in maintaining gardens weren’t always available. But, when those resources returned, people worked hard to restore these natural spaces. Givenchy’s collection affectionately highlights a very old garden, but in doing so, it also serves as a testament to the kind of diligent stewardship it takes to maintain a natural habitat well enough for future generations to enjoy.
Rahul Mishra’s Spring 2020 collection is a successful attempt at showcasing his innovative embroidery techniques. Reviews of this collection highlight his use of feather-light materials to create an increasingly impressive visual detail the closer you look.
But the representations on this garments are inspired by his four-year-old daughter’s awareness of her changing environment, in an attempt to capture it as it exists now, he tells Vogue. And his daughter’s growing understanding of her environment, like that of young people everywhere, is inextricably linked to climate change.
I search and I search and I search and every time I look, I see fashion connected to our changing environment. I see it because I, too, am part of this collective experience. When you’re designing clothes inspired by nature, you’re observing what’s there, what’s not there, and how you feel about that. You, like all of us, are grappling with the impermanence of our natural world.
And I, as your viewer, am grappling with it too. When I look at the ruzhil leaves in Rahul Mishra’s dresses, or the rutaceae flowers on Alexander McQueen gowns, I don’t know that these plants are extinct. I don’t know that Sarah Burton’s dress is an obituary. And I wonder, as we continue weaving our natural world into our garments, documenting and preserving what we see, how much more of what we create is destined to become a eulogy, and how much will become a loving testament to our hope for the future.
For example, all of Modern Art, from abstract video art to impressionist paintings, is about questioning oppressive, long-held traditions. The clash of democracy and science against monarchy and the religious state led to a crisis which became the collective experience that shaped art across styles and media for over 100 years.
Recognizing collective experiences as they’re happening has been difficult. Historians could only do so in retrospect, because you had to work much harder to find enough art and literature to see these patterns. But that’s not true anymore. Now, we can easily access a tremendous amount of contemporary art and literature, in our pajamas, at home.
We don’t need to wait to see what our collective experience is. It’s climate change.
Climate change is the term we use to describe that our world is changing for the worse because of our actions. Humans have long praised ourselves for our ability to shape our environment (going so far as to create a major distinction in our species before and after the agricultural revolution), but we are now finally grappling with the reality of our shortsightedness, and the uncertainty of whether our actions can save us.
Art about climate change is art fueled by this uncertainty. We respond to it with a range of emotions--fear, despair, numbness, diligence, denial, even joy.
Climate change shows up in this season’s fashion collections in their floral themes. Representing flora and fauna in our clothes is a very human thing to do--almost every culture, when the tools to print or embroider are available, represents their natural surroundings on their clothes. But we are no longer just designing clothes when we feel inspired by nature, we are making clothes when we are afraid of losing it.
Some designers respond to this fear with nihilism, like Marine Serre’s Spring 2020 collection, which says “this is for when you’re fist-fighting your mom over clean water, but make it fashion.” It necessitates desensitizing yourself to this kind of future, and succumbing to fear or cynicism isn’t particularly creative. It’s stale.
Some designers respond to climate change with moral responsibility, like Mara Hoffman’s Spring 2020 collection, which uses sustainable fabrics and reuses silhouettes as a protest against fast fashion.
But because climate change is a collective experience in our era, it shows up in the work of designers who aren’t trying to respond to climate change at all.
Alexander McQueen’s Spring 2020 collection isn’t “about” climate change, it’s about ensuring you “feel wreathed in confidence” in their dresses, according to Vogue, and uses bold colors and free-moving fabric to that end.
But, in searching for floral illustrations to use in this collection, McQueen's artistic director, Sarah Burton, and her team were most interested in endangered and extinct flowering plants. They sifted through preserved floral specimens at the Royal Botanic Gardens at Kew in London, and by showcasing species that are vulnerable to ecological changes, made a statement about climate change anyway. After all, you only shine a spotlight on something you think is important.
When looking at this collection initially, I didn’t recognize that the plant species were either endangered or extinct. Perhaps I ought to. We continue to learn new reasons why biodiversity is important for all life on Earth, and I wonder whether a greater awareness about these species could save them, and us.
However, the gardens that inspired her have experienced cycles of neglect and preservation since the 1500s. Political and economic shifts in England over the last 400 years often meant that the resources in maintaining gardens weren’t always available. But, when those resources returned, people worked hard to restore these natural spaces. Givenchy’s collection affectionately highlights a very old garden, but in doing so, it also serves as a testament to the kind of diligent stewardship it takes to maintain a natural habitat well enough for future generations to enjoy.
Rahul Mishra’s Spring 2020 collection is a successful attempt at showcasing his innovative embroidery techniques. Reviews of this collection highlight his use of feather-light materials to create an increasingly impressive visual detail the closer you look.
But the representations on this garments are inspired by his four-year-old daughter’s awareness of her changing environment, in an attempt to capture it as it exists now, he tells Vogue. And his daughter’s growing understanding of her environment, like that of young people everywhere, is inextricably linked to climate change.
I search and I search and I search and every time I look, I see fashion connected to our changing environment. I see it because I, too, am part of this collective experience. When you’re designing clothes inspired by nature, you’re observing what’s there, what’s not there, and how you feel about that. You, like all of us, are grappling with the impermanence of our natural world.
And I, as your viewer, am grappling with it too. When I look at the ruzhil leaves in Rahul Mishra’s dresses, or the rutaceae flowers on Alexander McQueen gowns, I don’t know that these plants are extinct. I don’t know that Sarah Burton’s dress is an obituary. And I wonder, as we continue weaving our natural world into our garments, documenting and preserving what we see, how much more of what we create is destined to become a eulogy, and how much will become a loving testament to our hope for the future.
