Dornith Doherty, an American artist and 2012 Guggenheim Foundation Fellow, specializes in photography, video, animations, works on paper, and scientific imaging. Her work, blending the evidentiary and metaphoric aspects of photographic images, highlights ecological and philosophical issues related to human interactions with the environment. This focus has fostered collaborations with scientists, archives, and research institutes, producing art that uses nature’s intricacies to spark conversations about environmental protection.
Born in Houston, Texas, Doherty holds a B.A. cum laude from Rice University and an MFA from Yale University. She is a Distinguished Research Professor at the University of North Texas and has received numerous accolades, including the Texas State Artist 2D in 2016 and the Honored Educator Award from the Society of Photographic Education in 2012.
Dornith Doherty’s work has been exhibited globally, including at the National Academy of Sciences and the Smithsonian. Her art is featured in various collections and has been extensively discussed in publications like National Geographic and the Wall Street Journal. She is also the author of the monograph “Archiving Eden” (2017).
In your work, you explore the intersection of various concepts. Navigating this intersection can sometimes be tricky, as these elements do not always seamlessly meld together. I’m interested in how you approach environmental resiliency within this context.
I’ve been involved in preserving biodiversity and managing environmental resources for over 20 years, a topic that’s extremely important to me. I understand the challenge of creating work that not only emphasizes these concerns but also fits within a contemporary art context. One of my most renowned projects is ‘Archiving Eden.’ This initiative focuses on the global preservation of plant life, combining the efforts of scientists and governments to establish a worldwide backup system. This includes the well-known Svalbard Global Seed Vault and various national seed banks.
My approach merges curiosity, interest, and respect for the scientists’ work. This has led to substantial collaborations, where scientists share their networks, information, and research to preserve life on Earth. Their generosity has allowed me to visit various seed banks and observe different preservation methods.
Back in my studio, I create an archive of images. These include X-rays of plant materials and photographs of the spaces and technologies involved in plant preservation, aimed at maintaining plant life for over 200 years.
My work ranges from collages, featuring anything from a single seed to expansive pieces with over 5,000 seeds, to participatory installations. These installations invite viewers to experience the scale of a seed bank. Instead of providing scientific illustrations of outcomes, my art poses open-ended questions.
Following the success of the seed bank project, I’ve collaborated with other scientists on similar themes. Recently, I worked with a Colombian scientist based in the U.S., focusing on fern biodiversity in Colombia amidst ecosystem disruptions. What’s fascinating about ferns is their resilience; they’re ancient plants that predate seed-bearing flora and have developed diverse adaptations to significant environmental changes. While ferns might not seem directly relevant to humans, their environmental resilience is crucial for our future.
You often collaborate with scientists and research institutions, which is central to your work. Could you discuss how these relationships inform and influence your creative process?
I find your question very interesting, especially since my work often involves using the actual materials from scientific research. For example, in the project ‘Atlas of the Invisible,’ we explored atmospheric pollution and its impact on bird feathers. This project stemmed from research examining minuscule dust particles in the atmosphere. Generally, people perceive the atmosphere as clear until they notice a haze, which could be pollution or chemicals.
In this project, we focused on birds that travel along vast migratory paths and suffer feather damage due to these pollutants. By examining and magnifying hummingbird feathers to a 12-foot scale, we created a vivid representation of their fragility and how they’re affected by these tiny atmospheric particles.
The genesis of this project was a collaborative effort between a plant and air pollution expert and an ornithologist. Through conversations and extensive reading, we identified feathers as barometers of environmental health. This collaboration led to a project that neither of us had initially envisioned, which was a rewarding experience.
Often in art, dialogues with scientists can spark creative ideas. While scientists typically use metaphors primarily to explain their work, these exchanges provide new avenues for artistic expression and metaphorical interpretation. This collaborative process is not only about uncovering facts but also opens up fruitful avenues of inquiry for both the scientific and artistic communities.
When discussing your Illumination Project, you mentioned the use of newspapers in the background. I’m curious about the selection process for these newspapers. How did you choose which ones to use, and what was your method for incorporating them into the project, particularly in the titles?
It’s fascinating, really. I’m deeply intrigued by this project. Alejandra Vasco’s group is heading to Colombia, and their approach is quite unique compared to the historical practice where scientists from the global north travel to the global south, collect specimens, and bring them back north. This practice has been predominantly extractive. However, Vasco’s approach involves collecting specimens in Colombia, leaving a set there, and bringing another set back to the United States.
During their fieldwork in Colombia’s humid environment, they dry the ferns between sheets of newspaper, a traditional and cost-effective method. When I photographed these ferns on a light table, what struck me was the unintentional blending of Colombia’s cultural and natural history present in the background of these newspapers.
I was particularly captivated by the sheer variety of ferns collected – over 4,000 types, each with multiple specimens. The newspapers used in the drying process inadvertently highlighted local issues, like road collapses indicative of environmental challenges or disturbing statistics about murder rates. These issues formed a stark backdrop to the ferns, present only while they dried.
Once in the U.S., these specimens are transferred to traditional herbarium sheets. However, the moment they were drying between the Colombian newspapers created an accidental timeline, reflecting the complex interplay of Colombia’s current societal and natural challenges.
For the project’s presentation, we label each specimen with both its taxonomic name and English translations, as well as Spanish titles sourced from the newspaper headlines. This bilingual approach is essential, considering the project’s relevance in Texas, where many Spanish speakers reside, and in Colombia, where it will be exhibited at the Botanical Garden of Medellín, Colombia, one of the project’s partners.
This project underscores the complexity of the race to preserve biodiversity, intertwined with cultural narratives and natural world challenges. It’s a vivid reminder of how closely linked we are with both cultural issues and environmental challenges.
Your project that delves into the Columbian Exchange is fascinating, particularly in how it explores the unintended consequences arising from this historical event. I’m interested in how you approached the narrative of the Columbian Exchange. What specific themes were you aiming to highlight, and how did you use the visual poetics in your video pieces to emphasize these themes?
I wanted to delve into the aspect of the Columbian Exchange, specifically how the exchange of American rootstock with European varieties possibly triggered the phylloxera blight. The introduction of resistant American wild grapevines, which co-evolved with the phylloxera, was crucial in saving European vineyards.
I collaborated with Dr. Allison Miller, whom I met at the Land Institute. This collaboration was initiated by an invitation from the Missouri Botanical Garden. Dr. Miller’s research focuses on how grafting American and European grapevines alters the quality of the vines, creating a hybrid entity. This process, I believe, serves as a fascinating metaphor.
One part of the project includes CT scans of the three primary American rootstocks used in grafting. These scans are displayed in a video, showing the rootstocks combining and recombining in nine different ways. Another component features hundreds of digital collages of Native American grapevines, both wild and domesticated, depicting cycles of flourishing and decay.
Additionally, I’ve created highly magnified, four-foot-tall images of phylloxera galls. These tiny organisms have an unusual lifecycle, which made identifying the disease agent challenging. By magnifying these galls, I aim to highlight this often invisible factor in vine health. I’ve printed these images on metal to resemble gold, referencing the 19th-century orotones and tintypes.
This aspect of the project also touches on the role of technological advancement in the spread of phylloxera. The hypothesis is that the blight took time to become a problem because phylloxera could not survive long sea voyages on sailing ships. However, the advent of steamships, which made faster transatlantic journeys possible, allowed phylloxera to survive the trip and infest European vineyards.
Returning to our initial discussion, you incorporate X-ray imaging in your work, providing a unique view of the subjects you explore. Could you describe the process of transforming these X-ray images into art? Additionally, I’m interested in what you believe this technique conveys in your artistic expression.
At the onset of this project, I was intrigued by X-ray technology, especially when I heard about the opening of the Svalbard Global Seed Vault. My journey began with the United States Department of Agriculture’s National Seed Genetic Preservation Library in Fort Collins, located at the National Center for Genetic Resources Preservation. They granted me permission to photograph their seed bank, where I also noticed their use of X-rays.
For me, X-rays reveal the profound questions surrounding the spark of life within these tiny, delicate seeds. We encounter seeds regularly without giving them much thought, so peering into their inner world is fascinating. It’s akin to a seed bank itself. The seeds are stored inside a bunker built in 1957, a formidable structure elevated 12 feet above ground to prevent flooding, with four-foot-thick walls for security. This juxtaposition of the minute seeds within this vast, inaccessible preservation facility is thought-provoking. It symbolizes our forward-looking efforts to safeguard these seeds for the next 200 years.
In addition to seeds, the facility also houses tissue samples, like potatoes, which are not grown from seeds but from clones. I had the opportunity to photograph these clone plants as they were being cultivated and tested. This process raises questions about the intersection of vivid, detailed photographic imagery and the metaphors derived from observing elements typically invisible to the human eye. For me, this intersection is a rich and fertile ground for artistic exploration.
You’ve mentioned using indigo blue in your work, attributing symbolic significance to it. Could you elaborate on how you utilize this color to interweave various themes, such as cryopreservation, cultural exchange, and historical trends, within your art?
I chose indigo blue for my project for several reasons. Firstly, it serves as a reference to the Columbian Exchange. The indigo trade, starting in one part of the world and spreading globally, has turned the color into a metaphor for this exchange. This is evident in the use of indigo in Delft pottery and the similar styles of pottery in Mexico, which draw inspiration from Chinese ceramics. These ceramics typically feature blue floral imagery, reflecting the global exchange of goods and ideas.
Indigo blue also symbolizes the cryogenic process used in seed preservation. This process is essential for maintaining seed viability over centuries, and the color indigo aptly represents the concept of freezing and long-term preservation. The use of this specific color not only ties back to historical trade and cultural exchanges but also connects to the contemporary scientific methods of preserving biodiversity.
ALL IMAGE CREDITS: Dornit Doherty.
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