We all bear responsibility for the precarious state of our Earth’s environment. Humankind’s insatiable appetite, represented here by golden teeth arched around the upper palate, pair with the crocodile’s mandible in pressing the air out of a globe, creating a jet of air that propels Mankind from our collapsing Eden. The angel from John Faed’s 19th century painting of the expulsion of Adam and Eve sees them off in their rocket ship.
Nestled in the lower jaw, cupped hands filled with rich soil support a spindly sprout: imperiled hope.
To the right of the globe, Sri Lankan stilt fishermen seek their catch off the coast of Greenland as glaciers melt and seas warm.
In the upper left, a stone figure looks down with despair, its head rimmed by a jet engine containing the Sun.
The collage’s composition is bisected by a battle line of police, each of their shields representing an acute natural disaster, disasters that are occurring at an accelerating pace.
Below them, crowded highways blend into a melting ice flow with a sea lion bellowing its pain; ostrich heads, no longer able to hide, poke up out of the barren land; a sea turtle looks out over a clear-cut tract of land and catches eyes with the extinct Dodo.
Between them, a Roman coin (dates to AD81) capturing the Colosseum, rests on a rubbish pile of human detritus. Above the coin, a butcher sharpens his knife as porcelain girls dance around a red alert alarm, containing an early depiction of earth before the continents were formed.