David Maisel is an American artist working in photography and video who was awarded a Guggenheim Fellowship for Creative Arts in 2018. His primary concern is to portray the radically human-altered surfaces of the earth and to explore the question of humanity's place in the world. In doing so, his paintings have an incredible aesthetic and his works can be seen in museums and galleries worldwide. But David Maisel also makes his works available to organisations and politicians to draw attention to the dangers of climate change and industrial measures.

Alethea Magazine had the opportunity to interview him in the run-up to his exhibition at the Edwynn Houk Gallery in New York.

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ART

Name: David Maisel

Occupation: Artist, activist, photographer

Achievements: His work has been the subject of five major monographs, published by Nazraeli Press, Chronicle Books, and Steidl.

David Maisel current exhibited at Houk Gallery, NY

Desolation Desert, Tailings Pond 2, Minera Centinela Copper Mine, Antofagasta Region, Atacama, Chile, 2018

Archival pigment print, 48x48 inches / 122x122 cm - Edition of 6 +2APs

houkgallery.com

"I think that my pictures and photography in general can contribute to viewers' understanding, to their acknowledging and comprehending this fragile situation we are in."

You focus your art on places that have experienced the psychological effects of climate change and industrial measures. Do you think your art has led people to change their behaviour?

That’s a really provocative question. We have very high expectations of photography as a medium, and maybe the burden put on photography is that it's somehow factual, and when it's about politics embedded in the work, which is certainly the case with my work, that kind of drives change.

But if we really take it apart, my pictures aim to make viewers question themselves and become better informed. When I started making this kind of work in the mid-1980s, there was very little awareness, at least here in the United States, that the environment needed us, that we needed to respect it, and that it was very vulnerable indeed. We were in a delicate balance and approaching the tipping point. We didn't have a language to discuss it then. Now we do. I think that my pictures and photography in general can contribute to viewers' understanding, to their acknowledging and comprehending this fragile situation we are in. This is a first step, and I think we have now taken this step. We have also taken it because we have no other choice. Look at where we are now. Especially this summer with the floods in Germany or the forest fires in the western US and Canada.

I've been doing this kind of work since I was quite young, in my early 20's. I think we haven't really progressed since then and society hasn't changed enough. I still make pictures and I'm still hopeful, but in a way I think we were moving towards a kind of precipice 40 years ago, and that's an important part of my work. I'm not very optimistic and I don't think my work should be optimistic. I'm not a negative person, but I think my photographs look at these places that are really damaged. I think we need to expand our knowledge of what makes landscapes, we need to include them in art so we can see our place on the planet.

What concrete measures have been taken?

In terms of concrete steps, I do most of my work independently, and afterwards I have control over how it is used. I'm happy for them to be used by environmental organisations. For my work on mining - and mining is the most toxic form of pollution in the US - I have allowed these images to be used by policy makers in Washington DC to get mining laws changed. Mining laws in the US date back to 1872. One can imagine that the technologies that existed for mining then are not commensurate with what we have today. So the damage that can be done by mining is exponentially worse. I have allowed my images to be used to change these laws and adapt them to make more sense.

What inspired you to create your art and when did you know that you had found the right way.

When I was studying architecture, I was very interested in how the built environment fits into the natural world. Emmet Gowin, my photography professor, was working on a long-term project on Mount St Helens, which erupted in the early 1980s, and I accompanied him on a photographic expedition there. That was my first aerial work. I realised how much the landscape was changed at that moment by a natural disaster and there were some images that showed me how powerful a visual record can be. (I saw the aftermath of this event). What amazed me in St Helens was not only the destruction caused by volcano, but also what the timber industry was doing to the area - almost to the same extent as the volcano. I think I was lucky to have that early experience - that's sort of where I started. From then on I just kept going - but focusing more on human-made changes to the earth.

I work more as an artist rather than a documentary photographer, I wouldn't call myself a photojournalist. I come more from a visual art point of view, and my work is usually shown in museums, books or exhibitions. The object of photography is really a critical thing. So when we stand in front of a painting or a photograph - how it affects us really depends on the visual object, its effect, how it might change us.

"Beauty is an interesting word."

Your work is beautiful and threatening at the same time.

Beauty is an interesting word. Some viewers of my work ask how I can make something that is so ugly look so beautiful. Beauty can be challenging, beauty can be threatening, but it forces you to stay with it. I try to do as much as I can to create an image that stays in your mind’s eye even when you stop looking at it.

"I have to laugh because years ago I said to a friend that I would like to take pictures on Mars."

A question in between - would you like to go into space?

(Laughs) I would love to do that. The early things you see as a child, how you see the world as a child, they still bear fruit. I was 8 years old when the moon landing happened, and my parents woke me up in the night so I could watch it on TV, and it had a profound effect on me. I have to laugh because years ago I said to a friend that I would like to take pictures on Mars. He replied that I just had to go to the right cocktail party and talk to the right person.

Since you only work as an aerial photographer, what role does fear play in your work.

Yes, that is a valid question. I mostly work out of a small plane or a helicopter - it's not without a certain amount of danger, with a helicopter the doors are open and you lean out. But for the most part I feel safe in planes. Because my photos are without a horizon, the pilot has to steeply bank the aircraft. You feel the G-forces in your stomach and it is physically challenging.

But probably despite the fear you feel you have to keep going?

At this point, instead of making the images myself, I could perhaps simply download high-resolution files from the internet. But I feel that I have to be there physically - I don't want to work with drones. It's about physically taking in the space and seeing the landscape unfold as you move through it - it's like a dance in a strange way. There's a kind of triangular relationship between the earth, the aircraft, and my body holding the camera. I find that really compelling.

"We expect that electric cars will solve the problem of using fossil fules, but in fact it will create new problems."

Are there places in the world you haven't been and would like to be?

Yes, of course. The project I did in Chile about lithium and copper mines. We need more lithium mines for the electric cars, laptop and iPhone batteries. We expect that electric cars will solve the problem of using fossil fules, but in fact it will create new problems. The Atacama Desert in Chile is the highest altitude, driest, and most environmentally sensitive desert in the world. It is the most exploited source of lithium, which is now being mined at this crazy rate and increasing. The United States feels that it doesn't want to be so dependent on other countries and so there are some locations in California and Nevada where there are lithium deposits where mining permits have been issued. I would like to visit these places and document the changes in the landscape.

"It's like a requirement for me to feel overwhelmed."

Do you remember a place where you felt overwhelmed?

It's like a requirement for me to feel overwhelmed. The sublime Mount St Helens, Owens Lake and also a project I did about Los Angeles because it seems like this city is growing endlessly, the lithium mines in Chile. It's that feeling of scale when I'm this little piece floating around like a disembodied eye, like a speck of dust. It's that feeling of being overwhelmed that I'm looking for and actually every place I work is overwhelming for me.

How do you find your inspiration - how does the next project come to you?

In making my series The Mining Project, I was very interested in the work of Robert Smithson, an American artist who died 50 years ago. He was known for making earthworks sculptures and he had works that he situated in abandoned mines. He liked to build viewing platforms at the bottom of mines as a place for people to look at this landscape, and that got me interested in mining.

The work at Owens Lake, on the other hand, was almost like an accident. When I started researching it, I stumbled across it and I realised that it occupies this essential place in terms of water. Los Angeles could not exist without a water source, and Owens Lake provided that opportunity.

Regarding the work I did in Chile on lithium: several years ago I wanted to do the right thing in terms of the environment when it came to buying a new car, so I bought a Volkswagen Diesel. Then the whole debacle started with the pollution these cars were emitting, so I started researching electric vehicles, because diesel cars were a scam. I realised that we are polluting this very fragile desert environment by mining it for lithium. This is the price to pay. Sometimes the new project comes to me through research and sometimes it comes to me almost by accident.

Occasionally I work with graduate students in the Master’s program at the California College of the Arts.. I say to the students that their job as artists is to develop their instincts, to trust them and follow them. That there is this moment when something triggers a flare and you have to learn to pay attention to it.

Where is your next project or is that a secret?

My next project is to photograph the lithium mines. I'm reluctant to photograph the places after the devastating Los Angeles fire because it meant the loss of many lives. We are in a devastating drought right now - fire season is starting earlier and earlier and there are many more fires than in previous times - it is a whole new era.

This is global warming. I think in every season the number of storms and fires will increase. A next phase will be climate refugees who cannot stay in their environments. What happens when this planet is no longer sustainable? That is the real question.

Can you tell me something about your new exhibition?

My exhibition is in New York at Edwynn Houk Gallery. It will be my inaugural exhibition with them, it will show a kind of cross-section of environmental projects.

To conclude our interview, can you tell me the message of your work?

I would like to say two things. One message is to convey the knowledge of what makes landscapes. When we think of landscape we think of a beach or the national park or our front garden or backyard, but we need to broaden that view - we need to broaden our thinking to include the places that have been damaged by human activity - we can't think of landscape as a pretty place that serves as a refuge for us or was created for our enjoyment.

I have to accept that when I make this kind of work I am also guilty - I have my iPhone, my car, I use a plane to make these images, the medium of photography itself uses metals and chemicals - so I am not innocent. I'm not outside of it, and I'm embedded in it as well.

It is not about pointing fingers at a particular industry, but asking ourselves how we can move forward and how we can undo some of the damage or consider other ways forward.

This realisation came to me when I was a young student travelling all over America to take my photographs. As I developed the film, I realized that I had become an accomplice. I was living on the coast of Maine in this tiny little cabin, heated with a wood stove, and yet I was still complicit. I thought that maybe I shouldn't be a photographer, perhaps I should be an environmental lawyer - but then I thought to myself that my strength is taking pictures like this - this is the role I have to play in society.

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David Maisel

©Lynn Fontana