Ripley Whiteside

It is increasingly apparent that we have entered a new reality shaped by a warmer climate. Relentless emissions of greenhouse gases continue to be trapped in our atmosphere and dynamic ecological systems all over the world are being jolted out of balance at alarming rates. Animal populations shrank by an average of 69% from 1970 to 2018. In one remarkable instance, scientists estimate the world’s snow crab population dropped from seven billion in 2018 to just one billion last year. The weather is becoming distinctly more dangerous with extreme conditions manifesting all over the world, especially in the Global South. 

Apocalyptic, such a pessimistic descriptor wrapped up in doom, is being thrown around a lot. Its attachment to fatalism feels distinctly unproductive in the face of the work needed to spur behavioral change that could begin to heal global ecosystems. Could we find hope in apocalypse, separate the term from a devastating trash-choked Armageddon?          

The word ‘apocalypse’ has origins in ancient Greek: ‘apo’ (un-) and ‘kaluptien’ (cover), apokaluptie, to uncover, to reveal. An apocalypse can refer to a work of revelatory literature, a genre that often gains popularity at moments of great upheaval. The Augsburg Book of Miracles is one such work. Created around the middle of the 16th century in Augsburg, Germany, amidst societal transformation spurred by Gutenberg’s 1440 printing press and the Protestant Reformation of 1517, this illuminated manuscript contains 167 original folia and 23 inserts that illustrate phenomena that had been interpreted as heavenly signs. Presented in roughly chronological order from the Old Testament through 1552, the book culminates with depictions of the Biblical Book of Revelation wherein the world is consumed by fire and born anew. A range of miracles are depicted: in the year 73 BCE tame animals in Italy inexplicably returned to the wild, an earthquake and fire heavily damaged Jerusalem in 363 (misdated as 367 in the Book of Miracles), a three-hour long halo turned the sun into the moon over Vienna in 1520, mock suns or parhelia were seen over Kaufbeuren in 1527, and dragons were observed flying near Hilpoltstein in 1533. While some of these accounts may have been imagined fantasies, modern science can offer explanations for many of them. For example, we now know parhelia as optical phenomena created by refracted light passing through ice crystals high in the atmosphere. 

Many paintings in this book concern weather events, and these descriptions of terrible storms and floods feel prescient today. So do other accounts of the natural world out of whack, many of which were foreshadowed by celestial signs: plagues of locusts, mysterious explosions, deep freezes, various instances of things falling from the sky, famines, and pandemics. To believers in the 16th century, omens like these signaled a chance to repent ahead of the end of the world. Today, signs from above take the form of meteorological data used by scientists to prognosticate, and hopefully to help ward off, a frightening future. Living hundreds of years ago meant being vulnerable to environmental hostilities that today are mitigated by modern technologies that help us understand, and protect us from, our environment. And yet we still struggle in spite of these protections as the elements take on new violent forms. 

The Augsburg Book of Miracles offers us a revelation: we have endured previous apocalypses, survived them and found paths forward. As the reality of our near-future comes into view, we can see ways in which the carbon-intensive structures that created so many of our current problems will soon be obsolete. The incentives to decarbonize, the attainability and pragmatism of renewable energy, and most of all, the leadership being demonstrated by the generations inheriting this mess makes room for hope. The artworks presented in this exhibition were inspired by urgent indications signaling the parameters of our new climate reality; considering the challenges that we face, optimism becomes indispensable.