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Art of Survival Exhibition

Christie's, London (2017)

By James Kydd

August 12^th, 2021

In November 2017, I exhibited these images at Art of Survival, an exhibition held at Christie’s in London to raise funds for the David Shepherd Wildlife Foundation alongside my fellow DSWF art ambassadors.

Other than our origin this is arguably the most important time in our history to be a human being. We have never had such power to create or destroy; indeed the future of so many of our fellow animals rests on a knife’s edge because of our actions. It is estimated that in next few decades we stand to lose over a million species of plants and animals.

These photographs then occupy a liminal space, remnants of a rapidly disappearing world, where we alone have the ability to alter what happens next.

From Botswana to Patagonia, the sacred places and species featured here are being irrevocably altered. Some have argued that nature’s cycles are impermanent and this changing is inexorable and inevitable. Yet in accelerating extinction, we are, at our own great cost, making that which is cyclical permanent.

The quiver trees of Namibia (bottom centre), able to thrive in one of the oldest and harshest deserts in the world, are now felled by the hotter temperatures of human-driven climate change. Where once these elders of the natural world might live to up to 200 years, they now die off considerably sooner. Is this ancient sentinel then a survivor or a skeleton?

“Always be on the lookout for the presence of wonder.”

We crossed paths on a frozen stream. He was easily over 90-years-old, though the dry winds here will give wrinkles to a child, and make guessing any age difficult. I was trailing the hill pigeons and inadvertently followed him to the small adobe building that was his home. We spoke freely without understanding each others' words, his voice was beautiful and I was perplexed that anyone was living alone so high up in the valley.

Both the long key he pulled from his robe and the wooden door it unlocked seemed from another time. I stayed a moment to help him prepare his evening's firewood; he moved slowly but showed remarkable skill splitting kindling with his hand axe. What must it feel like to be there some nights, around that crackling fire when the Himalayas breathe heavy and the wolves howl outside?