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Arts

World of difference: ‘A Quick and Tragic Thaw’ chronicles the implications of a hotter Earth

Escapism or activism? Should a work provide respite from pertinent problems, or is it art’s duty to provide commentary on these political and social issues? More and more, this seems to be the debate among artists and patrons.

While it’s limiting to think that the two approaches are mutually exclusive, the conversation surrounding them seems to have grown louder in recent years. The problems of the world have grown louder, too, not least the ever-approaching specter of climate change. How is escapist art possible when its subject concerns something that none of us can escape?

“A Quick and Tragic Thaw,” the latest exhibit at UVA’s Ruffin Gallery, seeks to find some middle ground. Co-creator Gabrielle Russomagno says the climate- themed collection of artwork is intended to be a “meditation on something that might feel like loss…regardless of pedagogy and political paradigms.”

Russomagno and her artistic partner Yvonne Love, have been concerned with climate change since their first collaboration over a decade ago, when the two created an exhibition on global warming. “A Quick and Tragic Thaw” certainly feels like the culmination of many years of work and thinking—their art was informed by the research of Howard Epstein, a UVA environmental science professor who studies the effects of climate change.

This added scholarly element compounds the sense of collaboration. Liza Pittard, visiting artist coordinator for the UVA Arts department, calls it “bridging the arts and sciences in an almost poetic way.” “UVA is a research institution,” she says. “How can we get other people involved?”

If the crowd present on the exhibit’s opening night is any indication, then “A Quick and Tragic Thaw” has already left a considerable impression. The single, cubelike room it occupies was overflowing with spectators.

The largest portion of the exhibition is a re-creation of Greenland’s shifting, shrinking glaciers done in black sand and porcelain—a stark dark and light that comprises much of the room’s color scheme. Love and Russomagno have given it the fitting label “Patterned Ground.” The porcelain analogues for ice contain intricate valleys and divots, and the black sand holds a network of delicate grooves. It’s eerily soothing to look at, hypnotic almost to the point that the viewer forgets the dire subject matter.

On the far wall, “Plastic Projections” provides a burst of color to the muted room. Present and future predicted maps of the Arctic are arrayed in an oblong shape, each of them on plastic that has been warped by heat into new forms. Close inspection is required to realize that they are maps at all—from a distance, they resemble flowers in the process of opening and closing.

This uneasy balance of extremes—finding beautiful ways to represent terrible things, almost to the point of obfuscation—is present in all of the exhibition’s artwork, and it brings to mind the ongoing debate of escapism versus engagement. Which is being practiced here? After all, Love and Russomagno’s work is not explicitly giving a call to action.

The abstract explaining “A Quick and Tragic Thaw,” says that the artworks are meant to “emphasize connections…between indisputable data and the conceit of how we choose to live.” The result is plainly gorgeous but only quietly upsetting, what Pittard calls a “passive political statement.”

Another juxtaposition here is the artists’ differing reasons for creating a series of works about climate change. Love, whose father was a naturalist, approaches it from a scientific view. “Observation was a huge part of my upbringing…I was hearing about the negative human impact on the environment from a very early age.”

Love’s observational skills have given her an intimate understanding of how humans can affect their surroundings. “I’m seeing the effects in my own backyard, and it’s been really scary.”

Russomagno, by her own admission, is “totally urban.” She contrasts her upbringing to Love’s, saying that although she wasn’t surrounded by the natural world, she could still “notice if people were in despair, because I was surrounded by a bajillion of them.”

The result of these distinct points of view is a representation of climate change that not only connects the personal and political but also the universal. On the wall labeled “Transfer and Pierce,” a collection of drawings on carbon paper, the sketch of a single Arctic individual feels perfectly in place next to large-scale renderings of his home.

Love and Russomagno recognize that this is a problem that affects all of us. They wanted to avoid the “screaming, politicized voices,” as Russomagno puts it, and reach something more transcendent. “There’s something about loss and beauty combined that I think stirs everyone’s soul,” she says. “Maybe if the conversation through art activates that in someone, then we’ve done our work.”


“Plastic Projections” is one of the works on view in the climate change-focused “A Quick and Tragic Thaw” at UVA’s Ruffin Gallery through October 18.

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Arts

Vinyl never went out of style for avid collectors

Ask a vinyl record collector about his collection and it becomes clear that listening to records is about more than the music. It’s about the ritual of placing the needle in the groove and being present for the sound; listening to The Beatles with your dad; anniversary dinners with your wife. In honor of Record Store Day on Friday, November 25, we asked local collectors about the vinyl experience.

What is the first record you owned?

Aaron Goff: The Smiths’ The Queen Is Dead; I found it at a thrift store. I originally had no intent in playing it, I just thought it would be cool to have a large, tangible form of an album I’d always loved.

Liza Pittard: My dad and I would talk about music while he would rummage through his old record collection and recount his memories of each. Once I bought a record player, he would give five records to me at a time to listen to. Two of the first ones he gave me were Hendrix’s Axis: Bold as Love and Talking Heads’ Little Creatures. Almost every time I go home, he continues to share his collection with me. He still won’t part with his Beatles records, but we’ll get there one day.

Matthew Simon: All the children’s “play and read” records, which I had a ton of—and Christmas with the Chipmunks. I remember so clearly wanting one album when I was 8 years old, and I stubbornly wouldn’t take any treats, books, clothes, anything, until I got that record. My grandparents came to visit and they had a gift in a brown paper bag for me and I wasn’t going to accept it; when they slid out a copy of Thriller, I was the happiest kid alive.

What’s in your collection?

AG: I have around 500 records, give or take. I’m constantly buying new stuff and giving away stuff that I don’t listen to anymore. I want to keep a collection that I will regularly listen to rather than one filed with rarities. A few highlights are an original mono pressing of Dylan’s Blonde on Blonde (thanks to SPCA Rummage), an ’80s German copy of Bowie’s Hunky Dory and an original pressing of Fugazi’s End Hits. I am usually particular about having entire discographies; I have complete collections from The Smiths, Joy Division, Slowdive, Sunny Day Real Estate, Tortoise, The Appleseed Cast and Sigur Rós, among others. I’m slowly eating away at Brian Eno’s discography.

LP: I own about 90 records, ranging from classic rock to electronic music of the 2000s to funk and soul. As I’ve been collecting, I’ve expanded the types of music that I listen to and I think that’s reflected in what I own. I also like to have a balance of older and newer records, so I can be exposed to the music of the past and also support musicians making music now.

MS: I have about 600 records, and they tell my story. I’ve got copies from when I was young, like Weird Al Yankovic and John Denver and The Muppets’ A Christmas Together; my dad’s copy of the first pressing of The Velvet Underground & Nico; a bunch of Stereolab, Talking Heads, John Zorn, Devo; every Phish album ever pressed; jazz, hip-hop, international compilations. It’s all over the place.

What’s your favorite record?

AG: Emergency & I by The Dismemberment Plan is one of my favorite records released within my lifetime [in 1999]. It’s technical and groovy with big hooks and relatable lyrics. They traverse so many different styles on this album while remaining accessible. It still holds up.

LP: It’s hard to pick a favorite because it changes based on how I’m feeling and what I’m into during a given time period. I listen often to Lali Puna’s Scary World Theory, a melodic and haunting electronic record. It was one of the first records that I bought when I started collecting. I am constantly listening to Johnny “Guitar” Watson’s A Real Mother for Ya, which I found at Melody Supreme a month or two ago; I heard him on WTJU’s jazz and blues marathon and have been hooked since. I found the record right after the marathon ended, so it felt like fate.

MS: The collection as a whole is my favorite. I love adding to it to make sure I have a record or song for every possible occasion or mood. That said, I love owning the original copy of Stereolab’s Transient Random-Noise Bursts with Announcements. The sound of that album on vinyl is the epitome of all the reasons to own a record player: the music and phasing is so good, the album art is cool. Records can certainly be art. I have a copy of Animal Collective’s Hollinndagain, of which only 300 copies were initially made; each and every copy features a cover spray-painted and decorated by hand by the band themselves. They even drew on the center label with a marker. I love just looking at that one.