The first color photography processes were devised in the 1840s using plant-based materials and processes, substances later substituted for harsh reactive chemicals. By using sustainable materials across the photographic process and by printing directly onto plants, Spanish artist Almudena Romero is furthering that early research. Writer Jynann Ong learns how Romero’s ephemeral, performance-based artworks are questioning the art world’s participation in systems of accumulation, disposal and extraction in the age of climate crisis.
Plants were my subjects and objects of research, but now I consider plants as artists, performers and my peers.
When the first color photography processes were devised in the 1840s——by John Herschel with contributions from Mary Somerville—plant-based photosensitive materials and plant-based solutions were central to the anthotype, an image created using such materials as leaves and flowers. Almudena Romero is continuing that early research, not only by using plant-based materials across the photographic process, but also by printing directly onto plants. “My initial research has moved on a lot,” she says. “Plants were my subjects and objects of research, but now I consider plants as artists, performers and my peers,” she explains.
Her favorite place to experiment is her grandmother’s garden in Valencia, Spain. Organic farmers by trade, they cultivate an abundance of lush crops, including avocado and orange trees. But instead of continuing the family tradition of fruit production, Romero celebrates the beautiful wildness of nature by incorporating it throughout the image-making process, from live cress canvases to using the power of the sun to imprint directly onto living species. These vast experiments form the chapters of the artist’s extensive body of work “The Pigment Change,” which sees her push the boundaries of photography across a range of artistic experiences.
Romero places plant-based cellulose negatives on leaves which are then exposed to natural sunlight to be bleached. The sunlight destroys the pigments that are not protected by the negative, creating a simple dye-bleaching process. She tends to print her own hands on the leaves, a reflection on the constant self-questioning that goes into the physical act of making. With her extraordinary cress panels on the other hand, the artist projects an image onto a panel which is then exposed to light to the same effect. In this way, Romero recreates the events of the dark room, but instead of using photographic paper, it’s a canvas of watercress seeds. Printing images from her family’s archives as a rumination on the act of documentation and who will live to see it if the climate crisis continues to snowball, Romero asks: “What do we want to leave for others? The more sustainable your practice, the more likely you can practice it in the future. As a citizen and as an artist I wonder: What do I want my legacy to be?”
In the 19th century, there was this idea that photography provided truth. But with AI and digital photography today, we know images no longer convey truth.
Until now, much of Romero’s work has gone into researching which plants are best used as photographic paper. “Every plant chemistry is different,” she explains. Just as our genetic code predisposes how much we’ll be able to tan in the sun, Romero discovered that “plants from different countries have different capacities to resist light.” In the same way humans have varying levels of melanin to protect skin from sunlight, plants indigenous to sunny places—such as palm, avocado and banana trees—also have a higher resistance to light.
Romero’s artworks are ephemeral, having relied on natural light to cast its imprint. Lasting up to four or five days depending on conditions, temporality is a key concept explored throughout the artist’s practice. “Historically, photography has been loaded with the task of providing documentation,” says Romero. “In the 19th century, there was this idea that photography provided truth. It was never conceived as a disappearing object. But with AI and digital photography today, we know images no longer convey truth. They can be very easily constructed.”
Romero understands photography “as an art form that interlaces with other disciplines like performance or installation.” Her work reflects on the effects of non-compostable objects and the meaning of art that accumulates in private residences only to be seen by a chosen few. For Romero, there is pride in creating artworks that don’t participate in the dynamics of disposal and extraction. “I use photography for research, experimentation and to create new meanings,” she explains. Importantly, her art is intended to be experienced rather than collected—to facilitate conversations and stimulate reflection, not decorate private abodes.
A current resident at London’s Sarabande Foundation, the artist is working on her most ambitious project yet: farming the largest photograph ever. To produce the artwork, Romero will deploy genetic differences in wheat to achieve color and shade variations in the grass. The project, “Farming a Photograph,” will cover 30,000 square meters, the equivalent of nine football stadiums, and the collaboration with the French National Institute for Agricultural Research will last up to 15 years.
For the artist, alive artwork should also be experienced in real life. In contrast to art consumed via the screen nowadays, Romero’s work rewards people for going to see it in person. She encourages viewers to touch the pieces and, in doing so, removes the idea that art has to be something precious or valuable in order to benefit the industry. “Not everything needs to fall under that dynamic,” she says. “If art can be experienced through touch, we can interact with it in a looser manner and make it more accessible.”