There’s something deeply unsettling about the way we humans tend to imagine our relationship with the planet. We build systems, draw borders, and claim dominion over nature as if it’s a puzzle we can solve. But what happens when those systems crack? That’s the question hanging in the air at Two Rivers Gallery’s new exhibit, Paradise Lost, and it’s one that feels more urgent than ever. As I stood in front of Jazz Keillor’s bird’s-eye-view landscapes last week, I couldn’t help but think: Are we looking at the world from too far away? Or are we simply refusing to see the cracks beneath our feet?
The exhibit, featuring Keillor and Laura St. Pierre, is less about showcasing art and more about provoking existential discomfort. Keillor’s work—those vast, almost alien renderings of Earth’s patterns—forces viewers to confront the fragility of human control. It’s not just a post-apocalyptic vision; it’s a mirror held up to our present. What makes this particularly fascinating is how Keillor’s perspective feels both detached and intimate. Imagine seeing your own backyard from the orbit of Mars. The result is a haunting reminder that our systems of governance, agriculture, and urban planning are not as solid as they seem. They’re paper-thin when viewed from the right angle. And yet, the irony is that we’re the ones who built them. That’s the kind of cognitive dissonance that makes this exhibit so compelling.
Then there’s Laura St. Pierre’s The Sower, a character who lives in a world stripped of life and tries to coax growth from barren soil. This isn’t just a metaphor for environmental recovery—it’s a psychological study of human resilience, or perhaps hubris. What does it mean to plant seeds in a world that’s already dead? The Sower’s actions feel both noble and futile, and that tension is what makes her story so gripping. Personally, I think this character represents a generation raised on climate anxiety, trying to find purpose in a world that seems determined to unravel. The Sower’s gardens are tiny, fragile things, but they’re also acts of defiance. It’s a reminder that even in collapse, there’s room for hope—but only if we’re willing to get our hands dirty.
The gallery itself deserves a mention here. After months of renovations that left the space closed, the reopening feels like a statement. Two Rivers isn’t just showing art; it’s redefining how we experience it. The HVAC upgrades might seem mundane, but they’re part of a larger conversation about sustainability in cultural spaces. If you take a step back and think about it, galleries are paradoxical places. They’re supposed to be temples of creativity, yet they often rely on energy-intensive systems to keep their contents safe. The fact that this exhibit is the first after such upgrades adds a layer of irony. Are we now curating art in a climate-conscious way, or are we just papering over the cracks with better insulation?
And let’s not overlook the French programming sponsorship. It’s a small detail, but it speaks volumes about the role of language and culture in shaping how we engage with art. By offering French content, the gallery isn’t just being inclusive—it’s acknowledging that environmental crises are global, and so are the conversations we need to have about them. What many people don’t realize is that art isn’t just a reflection of society; it’s a tool for reimagining it. When a gallery makes space for multiple languages, it’s saying: ‘This isn’t just about your perspective. It’s about everyone’s.’
So what does Paradise Lost ultimately ask of us? It doesn’t offer easy answers. Instead, it challenges the viewer to move beyond the comfort of human-centred thinking. That’s a radical demand in an age where we’re more connected than ever but still so disconnected from the natural world. As I left the gallery, I found myself wondering: What if the real paradise isn’t a place we’ve lost, but a way of seeing that we’ve forgotten? The exhibit doesn’t just show us a future—it invites us to reconsider the present. And in that reconsideration, there might just be a seed of something new.
