In Conversation with Sarah Lau (Annabelle) about After The Deluge
Apocalypse or new beginning – what awaits us after climate collapse? Michael Schindhelm does not have a simple answer to this question – but he does have an invitation to think about it together. In his new exhibition, After the Deluge, the artist and physicist first sends visitors through a gigantic tidal wave that engulfs the city of Basel. And he asks: What kind of world will we build afterwards? What values, what plants, what stories will we take with us into the future?
annabelle: ‘After the Deluge’ starts in a former Nestlé industrial building, where you submerge Basel in a huge digital tidal wave. Is this a warning that even in the affluent paradise of Switzerland, there will be no safe zones after climate collapse?
Michael Schindhelm: Yes. The Swiss narrative has always been strongly nature-oriented; people here have grown up proud of their mountains, forests and lakes, but also aware of human powerlessness in the face of nature’s destructive force. Nevertheless, the fact that nature is also vulnerable is often ignored. The fact that forest fires also rage here in Ticino is quickly suppressed; we prefer to point to our southern neighbours. This is another reason why we are showing Basel in a very concrete way – recognisably – and making it clear that the consequences of climate change affect us all.
Aren’t you scaring visitors away with such a gruesome opening?
Similar to the Genesis in the Bible, we begin with a downfall, but one that brings forth something new. Our aim is to make a sober observation: Today’s extreme weather conditions are just a foretaste of what is now inevitable – disaster is coming. We invite visitors to consider what the world might look like afterwards.
Among other things, with a Noah’s Ark designed by the visitors. Why?
In the Bible, Noah builds an ark, saves animals and his family – and God then makes a covenant with mankind to reorganise society.
Today, tech billionaires seem to be the new gods, oriented less towards the common good than towards super-economies. Will they decide who is allowed on the ark?
I am repelled by the idea that a handful of gods in Silicon Valley determine everything. Such decisions can only be made collectively – according to loose rules, but with principles such as equality. In our exhibition, visitors bring plants, mementos or even intangible things such as poems. This creates a collective collection of things that is not based on individual interests, but on a shared vision for the future.
‘Those who have money are at the front and enjoy themselves, while the rest still pay.’
What if the visitors’ gifts or contributions violate your set of values?
Isn’t that exactly what we all experience in our everyday lives? The important thing is that there is a discourse – only then can you contribute your own position and show your attitude. Especially now, when negotiations are often conducted in the interests of a few, while a growing section of society is hardly represented in the debate.
Are you referring to the growing division in society?
I see it more as marginalisation. Take Disney parks, for example: the middle class in the USA can hardly afford a visit to the amusement park anymore. Those who pay more can take the fast lane, while those who buy a normal ticket have to wait and see almost nothing. For me, this is symbolic: those who have money stand at the front and enjoy themselves, while the rest still pay – and in total, even more.
The super-rich are building bunkers and planning to continue living on other planets because they no longer believe in Earth. You address this in your exhibition with visions. Where do you get your energy from?
The liberating factor is hope – and speculation. I don’t get bogged down in details like 1.5-degree targets; we’ve invited researchers to discuss these issues in the exhibition’s panel discussions. I see my role as an artist as daring to leap beyond the catastrophe. I call this ‘apocalyptic optimism’: we must think ahead to the world that comes after.
‘We humans must learn to reintegrate ourselves into natural systems.’
Why do you base your exhibition on the biblical omnipotence of God?
I was born in Eisenach, where Luther translated the Bible into German, and grew up in a Protestant family. One of the reasons I became an agnostic was that I couldn’t imagine that one person alone could make all the decisions. I realised that even in the Bible, God withdraws after creation – the world is then left to its own devices and its ecosystem. The real message, which is very important to me, is this: we humans must learn to reintegrate ourselves into natural systems. A single tree is a habitat for countless microorganisms. The humanity of the future will reflect this complexity – and realise that we can only survive by reintegrating ourselves into natural systems.
You talk about a fusion of humans and nature. Let’s assume that after an apocalypse, the world starts from scratch, so to speak, with neither money nor technical immortality counting – what will matter then?
We will not return to the bush, but will remain progress-oriented and continue to use technology. But with the aim of embedding education, the economy and society into the overall system of the Earth. In ecology, they talk about the Symbiocene – a possible world in which humans and ecosystems live in harmony again.
Participation is important to you. Does art have to be activist in order to be heard?
I don’t see myself as an activist. You can be political without being an activist. I am primarily interested in how to invent formats to bring ideas into society and spark debate. Leonard Bernstein promoted classical music in the famous TV programme Young People’s Concerts between 1958 and 1972, reaching millions of people – more effectively than any university could have done at the time. Today, I think more popularly than I did 25 years ago in the theatre. My aim is to reach people beyond the art world who shy away from the word ‘art’. That was one of the reasons why I once left the high culture scene. Art must break out of its elitist bubble if it wants to have a social impact.
In addition to the opportunity to bring items onto the ark, the exhibition will feature a Statement Room where visitors can contribute their own intangible contributions – texts, songs, performances. Such open formats can create encounters, but they also carry the risk of a bunch of narcissistic self-promoters clogging up the stage with their egos.
Both will happen. The crucial thing is that participation enables genuine encounters. Museums are often visited alone – objects are “consumed”. We are trying to break this pattern: those who perform do so in front of others, creating immediate exchange. In this way, the ego gesture becomes a conversation. This is precisely what our exhibition programme with researchers, artists and guests is designed to achieve.
‘I also contribute to the carbon footprint. That’s why I refuse to take the moral high ground.’
Did you have any eye-opening experiences while preparing the exhibition?
A team from ETH Zurich led by Philipp Urech and Matthias Vollmer looked at the future of domestic cities. Switzerland is gradually coming under subtropical influence – I live in Ticino, where this is already noticeable. By 2070, Zurich could also have a subtropical climate: more extreme rainfall, longer heat waves, changed vegetation. In a point cloud simulation, the ETH students show today’s Zurich streets alongside possible views of 2070, and I was surprised at how hedonistic the thinking was, not as gloomy as I had expected. The city is tropical and green, with little traffic noise and a lagoon-like atmosphere, partly close to the water. I realise that the climate is causing drastic destruction in many places. But the students also wanted to highlight the idea of resilience and adaptability.
You work internationally. How do you reconcile frequent flying with sustainability?
I openly acknowledge the dilemma. I fly less often these days and stay in one place for longer. I hardly ever fly in Europe anymore. Nevertheless, I too contribute to the carbon footprint. That’s why I refuse to take the moral high ground. The German social theorist Niklas Luhmann taught me that we are part of the system we criticise. Honesty about one’s own entanglement is more important than moral purity. And when it comes to dealing with new technologies, it is also clear how difficult it is to remain consistent.
You mention AI. You also incorporate it into the exhibition – for example, with an animated short film about a post-apocalyptic society. How do you think technology and nature go together?
There are two attitudes: technology for its own sake or technology as a tool for human goals. I clearly favour the latter. Rejection on principle is widespread in Europe, while elsewhere optimism prevails. That is precisely why we should show productive, critical applications here: technology for us, not instead of us. AI, too, is neither a saviour nor an enemy, but part of a symbiosis that we must shape.
It is very philanthropic of you to see people in the next dimension at all.
I can’t help it. For me, people always remain at the centre. That is precisely where the hope lies – otherwise no one would participate anymore.
