Continuing through November 29, 2025
Jet engines, radiation treatments, and the lithium-ion batteries found in smartphones and EVs all require cobalt. So do certain cutting tools and, of course, cobalt blue paints and inks. All help drive a global society that is transforming at breakneck speed. And all help meet vital human needs.
Yet let’s pause to consider this situation. Photographer Edward Burtynsky proposes as much in his exhibition, “Transformation.” To refocus from the immediate to the millennial. To recognize that current technology is not destiny. To remember that ours is a fragile and finite planet.
“Transformation” opens with “Dry Tailings #1, Kolwezi, Democratic Republic of the Congo” (2024/2025), an aerial view of an open-pit cobalt and copper mine near the central African city that is the site of more than half of global cobalt reserves. The photograph reveals a vast tiered gash in the earth’s surface. The global superpowers’ frenzy to extract cobalt and copper have transformed a once wooded grassland into a place that is ravaged, bone-dry, and, as in “Dry Tailings #1,” unexpectedly stunning.
Although Burtynsky’s work has been widely reproduced, it makes its full impact not in books or on screens but as pigment inkjet prints. For one thing, their size — about an arm span wide — allows us to step back for an overview, then move in to eyeball the hyper-detail. In “Dry Tailings #1,” he achieves pinpoint resolution by shooting with a 100-megapixel Hasselblad. He also opts for compressed space, horizonless framing, bright yet even light, and lucid color. The mine is rendered as a series of stepped-back striations of ochres, grays, siennas, and whites. Paradoxically, this image was created using some of photography’s latest technical advancements, yet looks quasi-painterly from a few feet away, emphasizing the formal beauty of the photograph. But move closer, and minuscule human figures come into focus. They dramatically change the way we see the image. Using primitive tools or their bare hands, these artisanal miners visibly scratch out the toxic chunks of cobalt that will earn them a dollar or two a day, even as it poisons them. The inhumane conditions and scale of the pillage are morally appalling. Yet cobalt is vital to decarbonizing the planet. How to mentally process this situation? What should be done? Burtynsky only observes, but in so doing invites us to ponder.
Moving halfway around the globe and down to ground level, the artist turns to a much more verdant environment in “Rainforest #2, #3, and #4, Olympic National Park, Washington, USA” (2024/2025). He again photographs in microscopic detail. The images’ overallness recalls Jackson Pollock’s drip paintings, which Burtynsky cites as an inspiration. Their lushness evokes the phantasmagorical, as branches shiny with moisture and shaggy with moss appear tarantula- or snake-like. How shall we interpret these strikingly ominous images? Are we seeing an ecosystem threatened by climate change? No, some will say, it’s merely the product of natural cycles. Does it rightfully belong to indigenous peoples? Maybe it’s another overstaffed and overprotected national park. Opinions will differ. More unsettling questions hang in the air.
That ambiguity points to another reason for viewing Burtynsky’s work in print format. The size of each image accommodates multiple viewers, inviting discussion, and the gallery’s relative quiet allows for undivided attention. Indeed, the exhibition exhorts us to step away from life in downtown San Francisco, pause, and engage in critical reflection.
The five remaining works in “Transformation” are desolate and dazzling aerial views of receding glaciers, dwindling snowpack, and parched land. Burtynsky’s description of his photographs as Rorschach tests is singularly suited to the craggy textures and tortuous contours of the sites they depict. Barely recognizable as landscape, the surreal “Thjorsá River #3, Southern Region, Iceland” (2012/2024) surveys a richly biodiverse wetland nourished by the glacier-sourced river. For decades, Icelanders have debated its future. Now at issue is the construction of a hydroelectric plant crucial to the nation’s economy. The project requires a reservoir, the construction of which will flood and destroy this unique ecosystem. Some supporters of the plant argue economic necessity demands that it be built, while opponents favor defending the environment at all costs. Others will see solutions beyond these binaries.
Closer to the Bay Area is “Echo Bay #1, Lake Mead, Nevada, USA” (2023/2025), the site of a once-popular lakefront resort that was demolished as this Colorado River reservoir shrank to historic lows. The forty million people who depend on the lake for drinking water and irrigation continue to consume more than the river can replenish, and the seven states that share its bounty continue to battle over water rights. While it’s easy to ignore news reports about the complexities of water politics, Burtynsky’s gorgeous panoramas bask in inconvenient truths. Previously known for its lacustrine beauty and recreational options, Echo Bay, as Burtynsky’s drone camera captures it, resembles a tattered dried hide stretched over rugged terrain. I’ll think of it next time I’m on a flight with the window shades lowered and passengers glued to their screens as our sublime and fragile earth glides by below.
