Anna Sharpe brings her artwork Into The Abyss Two to the SEE HERE NOW exhibition. This was created during her descent into the Gran Paradissio Glacier in the Alps. Here she describes the descent, and the background to her art piece.
In my explorations (on both foot and paper) I investigate the ungraspable magic of the ephemeral and explore the relationship between change and loss.
Walking through the landscape and with the fluid lines of a brush I contemplate my position in the ebb and flow of a land that spans times beyond human comprehension.
2.54 million years ago the ground we stand on was covered in ice. More recently, from 12,900 to 11,700 years ago, a localised glacial phase was carving out some additional features in the Lake District, where I live. Consequently wind, rain, heat and cold have eroded away the finishing touches.
In the Alps, giant glacial ice structures still cling to jagged peaks. I have been drawn to these great features ever since childhood holidays to the French and Austrian alps. Alongside my sense of wonder for glaciers, a sneaking sadness has been growing. Whilst the summers get hotter, and the winters shorter these great ice structures are becoming smaller. As a mountaineer, I have learnt the hard way that that the alpine landscape has changed vastly over the last decade; often a large area of glacier on the map has been replaced by a dessert of loose rock and scree; the initial pitch to a rock route as described in a guidebook can only be accessed by first climbing smooth, featureless glacial-worn rock, that until recently was covered in ice.
Gathering the experiential data for ‘Into the abyss’ – A journey into the Gran Paradiso Glacier
On the 16th August 2023, Rachel, my patient and understanding friend, awoke in her campervan as the sky just began to lighten, silhouetting the surrounding jagged peaks of Valsavarenche. The air was cool and we made fast progress up the winding forest path, then beyond the treeline to the Rifugio Chabod hut at an altitude of 2,710 metres. Lingering here we could see the great grey-white form of the glacier ahead of us. As we continued up the dwindling rocky track, the first rays of the sun cut across the eastern horizon and the blue of the alpine sky intensified.
The lower section of the Gran Paradiso Glacier is a dry glacier, meaning that its icy structure is laid bare: there is no blanket of snow to cover the crevasses or sprinklings of rock and boulders. Putting our crampons on and getting a rope ready, we ventured onto the initially rocky, then icy, surface, in search of a suitable crevasse to explore. I laughed and joked to conceal feelings of trepidation. I was comfortable with my skillset for the venture and more than assured of Rachel’s competence, yet I couldn’t beat the uneasy feeling in my stomach. Glaciers are huge bodies of flowing ice, they move too slowly for the eye to see, but you can hear them creak and crack as bits warm up, as they shift, and as released ice or rock falls – booming down into the depths of a crevasse.
Descent
Once we had identified an appropriate crevasse, Rachel and I set up an anchor consisting of three ice screws, attached the rope and sent it down the crevasses. And then it was my turn to descend. My trepidations morphed into excitement as I slowly abseiled into the abyss.
Lowering myself deeper I discover a creaking world far older and greater than my small human ego. A cold world of blues, greens and greys. A world of sculptural lines and abstract forms. A world of trickling water, silence and my heartbeat.
A loud crashing noise reverberated through the glacier around me and startled me from my revery. I called up to Rachel before remembering that she couldn’t hear me. Feeling panicked and alone, I began to prussic my way back up the rope. This process was long and cumbersome. Finally emerging back into the sunshine, panic melted away and was replaced by elation. The crashing noise was rockfall on the far side of the glacier, a phenomenon that is becoming increasingly frequent as the permafrost that glues the Alps together melts in the ever-warmer climate. From within the glacier however, it had felt so loud and close, like the whole body of ice was responding as one.
Respecting the fragility of the alpine environment we weaved our way between crevasses and off the glacier descending to the hut. I was giddy with joy and bouncing with gratitude for this unique experience.
To find out more about Anna’s approach to her artistic practice, and its links with climbing, watch this video. While Anna spends a lot of time in the Alps, where the glaciers are retreating, this video takes a particular focus on the Lake District.