When I returned to Oxford this term, just as England teased us with the sixth heat-wave of the year, I found myself at a loose end. With the deadline for two vacation essays still far in the distance, the sun lit up the sign for Soma Surovi Jannat’s Ashmolean Now exhibition, Climate Culture Care. I went in to see it (rather grateful for the museum’s air conditioning, if nothing else), and I was directed to the basement level.
From the first few lines of her introduction, the importance of Surovi’s exhibition is clear. Her work is groundbreaking: “The first solo presentation of any Bangladesh-based artist in a UK museum.” Looking at the list of her exhibition’s supporters (including The Patrons of the Ashmolean Museum, British Council Bangladesh, Samdani Art Foundation, Charles Wallace Bangladesh Trust and Gallery Espace, New Delhi), the weight of this presentation should not be underestimated. Her work is tucked between the bustling cafe and gift shop.
Like the other viewers who came in behind me, I was first struck by Surovi’s “ephemeral work”, She Carries the River in Her Skin. A single piece, the work bends around the corner and spans almost the length of the back wall. Drawn directly onto the wall in March, when the exhibition opened, the white plaster is a mighty canvas, but the black skeletal shape that arches over it does not overwhelm the space. Surovi seems to trust you to come closer to see the intricate details of her strokes. I do, as do the others. We find the figures wrapped around each other, hands that become trees, then scissors which slice through a single flower. The different parts of the wider body are all kept in individual, connected ovals. They start to feel like eyes watching us, a gaze which I am forced to drop, while it remains unblinking.
The wall text beside it is a sobering description: “Surovi examines the impact of climate change on women and children.” The words explain that this work is focused on the social challenges that women face after losing their husbands to tiger attacks in Bangladesh. She also draws attention to the health risks posed to those who find their home in the Sundarbans (the world’s largest mangrove forest). They have reduced access to clean water: “A basic human right that remains unfulfilled for many.” Her artwork is beautifully detailed, but perhaps does require the accompanying commentary to be properly appreciated. The final line especially really resonated with me: “While the work has been carefully documented, it will be erased at the end of this exhibition.”
I find that sense of erasure – the art’s self-proclaimed ephemeral nature – more compelling than the physical work itself. I think of the plants, the houses, the people, the lives that were just as uniquely intricate and detailed, then so brutally erased by the unforgiving violence of wildfires and storms. The eyes keep watching me.
I turn to take in the wall opposite, and find another impressively expansive artwork. Between the Sea and the Sky, Who Holds the Ground? is a scroll nearly 10m long. Unlike the black-and-white wall piece behind it, this artwork is an archival ink-on-paper work with acrylic colour, gold and silver leaf. This time, I read the description first: “Surovi’s work reflects the strength of ordinary people facing migration challenges, depicting a long scene of climate refugees, including both animals and humans.” As suggested, I follow it from right to left, appreciating the representation of shifting ecosystems and “cosmic transformations” caused by climate change. Again, I am not sure it would be as impactful if the meaning was not explained beside it.
Then, about halfway through, I am suddenly stopped by a ceramic hand mounted above the scroll. It was not mentioned in the description. I think it is one of the “Ashmolean inspirations” scattered throughout the exhibit, historical artefacts that influenced Surovi in her creation of the exhibition. The raised red hand is held upright, as if urging us to stop, but it has lost its thumb and forefinger. It is one of the most striking images in the basement room. It feels like the past is reaching out and begging us to change, desperate for us to stop the destructive consequences of climate change. But then I, like everyone else, move past this warning. We leave it behind as the reality of those consequences continues on the scroll.
In the middle of the room, a few smaller artworks are organised on free-standing displays. They are circular and part of a series which “delves into the emotions of animals, and the feelings of being trapped in the human world”. Looking around, they are not getting as much attention as the bigger pieces, but as I weave in and out of them, something suddenly catches my eye. An air purifier sits at the end of the room, wafting cool air through the displays. I am quickly beside it, enjoying the breeze it allows.
From my cold haven, I cannot help but mark the uncomfortable irony of this exhibition. Surovi’s works warn us of the pressing danger of climate change, and the museum must plug in units to cool the room down. She constructs works whose gaze you cannot look away from, and the exhibition is fitted underground at level minus one. It takes a committed viewer – who doesn’t mind the occasional shriek of an excited child in the cafe – to find it.
Eventually, I climb back up to the ground floor of the Ashmolean. I am quickly blinded by the light of the unseasonably hot September day flooding in through the main doors. Climate Culture Care is an important reminder that between the beer gardens and picnics, our world is being destroyed. Walking home, I find it is not so much the individual works that stay with me, but that final sentence: “It will be erased at the end of this exhibition.”
What else is being lost, as the world above us gets warmer?
This free exhibition ends in November, and I would suggest that if you have time, stop by the Ashmolean to visit it. Before it is erased.
