Lygophilia

Immortality is a fundamental theme in the history of humanity; whether it concerns eternal life or life after death, whether it concerns the body and/or the spirit, the subject is addressed in all cultures, religions and philosophies, however ancient, and is still the subject of various interpretations and speculations. With the theorisation of evolution in the 19th century, scientists begin to look at the question from a biological point of view, taking an interest in cell rejuvenation and the reversible life cycle of certain species, bacteria and yeast. The proliferation of studies has led to major advances over the last few decades, particularly in medicine, and today, more than ever, with the development of biotechnologies, we are taking another step forward in the quest for immortality. The axolotl is one of the most widely cited and world-renowned of the species that fascinate us with their exceptional abilities, and it is one of the creatures that Robertina Sebjanic has chosen to explore in her Lygophilia project, alongside the lesser-known Slovenian proteus, which shares many similarities. By observing their history, she invites us to take an empathetic look at the treatment of more-than-human living beings, and to question our responsibility towards aquatic ecosystems.

Lygophilia takes its genesis from a subject that has been tormenting the world for millennia. In the course of her research for her Aurelia 1+HZ project in 2014, which looks at the modes of communication between jellyfish, Robertina gets inspired by a species considered to be biologically immortal. In particular, Turritopsis Nutricula, a small jellyfish native to Japan, is capable of switching from its adult state to the polyp stage when it finds itself in a situation of danger, such as a lack of food. This unique capacity for inversion enables it to avoid a natural death if it is not faced with other external factors. In this sense, it is immortal but not indestructible. As the artist is fascinated by this theme but wants to move away from jellyfish, she continues her investigations of aquatic species with regenerative or juvenilising characteristics, and comes across the axolotl, a salamander living in the fresh waters of Mexico. Beyond its remarkable biological attributes, she takes an interest in the scientific experiments carried out over time and their current situation.

She starts by looking at the history of the animal : the first studies actually date back to Ancient Greece and cover different areas of history. After the Spanish conquest of Mexico in the 16th century, physician Francisco Hernandez refers to the axolotl, its Nahuatl name and language of the Aztecs, before renaming it Piscis Ludicrous. It is only from 1789 onwards that we find it mentioned again in the literature, and in 1800, two live specimens are sent to the French naturalist Georges Cuvier, one of the precursors of evolutionism, who decrees that ‘axolotls were the larval form of an unknown air-breathing species¹’, but goes no further. It is not until 1863 that the story takes a different turn: six adult axolotls are sent from Mexico City to the Jardin des Plantes in Paris, where Auguste Duméril observes for the first time their ability to regenerate their limbs, to metamorphose and, above all, to remain eternally young. The axolotl (Ambystoma Mexicanum) is a type of salamander that reaches adulthood and sexual maturity without undergoing metamorphosis. For most salamanders, life begins in the water in the form of a tadpole, before undergoing the necessary transformations to enable them to survive on land: they lose their external gills and fins, develop lungs, eyelids and a mouth, and appear with teeth. As far as the ability to regenerate limbs is concerned, this is a common attribute among salamanders. The axolotl therefore differs in that it retains its juvenile characteristics, which is actually due to an alteration in its production of thyroid hormones (which scientists would discover much later). It does not undergo metamorphosis and retains its larval appearance, although it develops its size and reproductive system. This is known as ‘neoteny’, theorised some twenty years after Auguste Duméril's discoveries.

All these observations come after a series of experiments on axolotls, a species that has so fascinated science that their numbers have increased in laboratories. It is interesting to note that one of the greatest scientific revolutions in history took place in Europe in the mid-19th century, while at the same time Mexico, newly independent, continued to face a series of political crises and wars caused by centuries of Spanish occupation. As a dark metaphor, European scientists held the Mexican axolotls captive and carried out a number of experiments that could only be described as cruel, in the name of progress and prosperity. Knowing all this, Robertina asks herself a pragmatic question: how can I, as a European artist, talk about a creature from another continent? Although she is Slovenian, and her country's history is far removed from that of its western neighbours in terms of geopolitical power relations, she does not wish to avoid the subject, and takes into account the colonial relations between Europe and Mexico in her approach, which she will later try to convey in her installation, as a starting point for her reflection.

In 2017, Robertina flies to Mexico. Invited by curator Pedro Soler for the Transition Festival at CENART, she pursues her research supported by the team of Arte+Ciencia from the National Autonomous University of Mexico (UNAM) led by Maria Antonia Gonzalez Valerio, who puts her in touch with Roberto Rojas Madrid, her assistant and interpreter for the continuation of the research. During her stay, she debates with the department's researchers, artists and philosophers, produces interviews, goes out into the field to observe axolotls in the wild, films and records the sounds of their natural habitat, while trying to understand the extent of the cultural and symbolic dimension of the animal for Mexicans. From a biological point of view, she learns that reality is much more complex than it appears; the axolotl is not completely immune to metamorphosis if it is exposed to the thyroid hormones it needs, so it continues to develop in order to live on land. In reality, its total neoteny is the result of laboratory experiments, an artificial genetic modification. It is now actually very difficult to find an axolotl that has retained its original characteristics. Even so, this makes it a perfect specimen for the study of stem cells.

Robertina also meets ecologists from CIBAC (Centro de Investigaciones Biológicas y Acuicolas de Cuemanco), an organisation that supports education and research for the conservation of endemic species in Lake Xochimilco in Mexico City, in order to understand the environmental issues involved in preserving the axolotls. These waters are now their last natural habitat, but they are under threat from global warming, the recent introduction of invasive fish species, the massive urbanisation of the city and tourism. The axolotl also used to live in Lake Chalco, which has been completely drained to prevent the risk of flooding, had no natural predators until the appearance of African tilapia and Asian carp to meet the local population's food requirements, and now has to make way for the colourful pagodas that attract tourists from all over the world. Another paradox caused by the human hand concerns the axolotls: although the species is in danger of extinction, its population has continued to grow artificially, their breeding being used for both scientific experimentation and commercial purposes (domestication).

Robertina is also interested in the cultural dimension: the Aztecs, aware of the axolotl's regenerative properties, believed it to be a divine manifestation or a ferryman for souls to the world of the dead. They were already using parts of it as a culinary ingredient or traditional medicinal remedy, in the same way as musk is used by certain populations in Asia, for example. The artist takes advantage of her stay to buy all sorts of products in the local markets that use axolotl: creams, pills, lollipops, etc. She also collects tourist souvenirs, a banknote and a jewelry bearing its image, as well as publications, including a science fiction novel and a children's book. Robertina realised as soon as she arrived in Mexico City that the axolotl is more than just an animal; it is one of the representations of the identity of the Mexican people. Which leads her to another salamander, close to the axolotl in terms of its biological capacities, yet living in caves on the other side of the world, also a national emblem of its country: the proteus.

The Proteus Anguinus, or olm, also known as the ‘human fish’, lives in the cave waters of the Dinaric Karst, a mountain range stretching between Italy, Slovenia, Croatia and Bosnia and Herzegovina. Plunged into darkness, the proteus is blind and finds its way around mainly by smell and hearing. Its snake-like appearance has led to legendary tales, emphasized by its neotenic character and its longevity, which can reach 100 years. It too has been the subject of observation and study since the end of the 18th century, bred by thousands in captivity for scientific purposes, and sent to research laboratories all over the world. Charles Darwin even quoted it in his famous book The Origin of Species. During the 20th century, it becomes vulnerable to climate change, in particular because of the alteration of its habitat due to chemical pollution, and also ends up in the hands of collectors on the black market, which further contributes to its endangerment, despite legal measures being taken. From a cultural point of view, the proteus has been part of the folklore of local communities for centuries, and its image can be found in Slovenia in many of the artefacts and souvenirs that Robertina takes care to collect, such as stamps, coins and handmade chocolate. But while the proteus shares biological and symbolic similarities with the axolotl, history has spared it from global popularity with harmful consequences, and it is not possible to obtain one as a pet.

The time has now come to design the series of works that will be part of the project; over the course of three years of research and production, Robertina, in collaboration with researchers, curators, artists and artisans, produces 4 installations and a publication. She calls it Lygophilia, which comes from the Greek and means ‘love of twilight’. The whole project is supported by the Slovenian Ministry of Culture and the City of Ljubljana, and is produced by the museums and galleries of Ljubljana (MGML), Zavod Projekt Atol, UNAM, Sektor Institute and Robertina Sebjanic Studio. She also benefits from the guidance of Annick Bureaud, who is advising and supporting the creative process.

When in Mexico, she begins by making a first installation intended for an exhibition in CENART as part of the Transition festival, but two days before the opening in September 2017, a violent earthquake hits the country. The CIBAC research laboratories are destroyed, and so is her work. She has to rethink the entire exhibition, falling back on her video essay Piscis ludicrous / Transfixed Gaze, in which she uses the data she collected. It opens with a quotation from Timothy Morton's Dark Ecology, which refers to the rejection of anthropocentrism: Nature encompasses humans and more than humans, whose interconnected ecosystems make up the complexity of the ecological crisis that we cannot fully understand and whose opacity we must accept. An ironic parallel, to say the least, with the reference to Francisco Hernandez. The video, narrated by Polona Torkar and Matija Drobne, is divided into six chapters in which she explains the theories behind the origin of the axolotl's name, recounts bits of mythology and their laboratory life in Europe, and highlights the critical issues for their survival in the wild, all set against a backdrop of images and sounds recorded in the field.

In the meantime, Robertina is deepening her research into the proteus thanks to a collaboration with researchers and speleologists Gregor Aljančič and Dr. Magdalena Năpăruş Aljančič at the Tular Cave Laboratory. She explores the natural habitat of the proteus on Lake Planina and in the Zelške cave in Slovenia, where she records sounds using a hydrophone, a microphone used underwater. She creates a sound composition, Dark Drops, which suggests a reinterpretation of our perception of time and space in underground environments that are inhospitable to humans. Rhythmed by drops, echoes and silence, the composition transports us sometimes to a haven of tranquillity, sometimes to a disquieting and mysterious zone of our imagination, which nonetheless connects us to this very special environment, while transmitting biological and geological information. The artist produces a vinyl record and will later develop this part of the project into a more complex installation.

A few months after the earthquake, she returns to her original idea for an installation. Neotenous Dark Dwellers inspires an iconography with a strong connotation halfway between the cabinet of curiosities and the scientific museum; Robertina designs two large glass and metal cabinets, each dedicated to its animal, in which she stores objects collected during her travels, illustrations, five glass sculptures representing salamanders, a phenakistiscope (the ancestor of the animation, which is a circular device whose disc is made up of images, which in rotation, gives the impression of movement) and her piece Dark Drops. The artist first produces clay prototypes before calling on two glassblowers, the Jireh Glass studio in Mexico for the axolotl and Pero Kolobarić in Slovenia for the proteus, an important gesture for her. An amusing and significant anecdote is that when she began working with them, everyone knew their own animal perfectly well, but none of them had heard of the other. The proteus are represented in a fairly classic way, unlike the axolotls. And with good reason: one of the images Robertina chooses is a parabiosis performed by Georg Schneider in the early 1950s at the University of Jena in the GDR; the operation consists of welding the blood systems of two organisms, in this case two axolotls, one white and one black, to make them function through a single body. His aim was to test the limits of the animal's regenerative capacities. This chimeric axolotl lived for two and a half years. And it is precisely the differences in treatment between the popular axolotl and the protected proteus that Robertina is trying to highlight in this way. The choice of glass is not insignificant either; it simply brings us back to our ability to look away or look through things, in other words, to wilfully ignore the monstrosities committed by human beings on nature and its non-human inhabitants, all the more so when these are rarely visible or are in places inhospitable to humans. To underline the paradoxical nature of the fate of laboratory animals, she chooses to focus on the macabre treatment inflicted on them, while mirroring their emblematic aspect for Slovenian and Mexican national identities.

The cabinets are modular and can therefore be adapted to suit the needs of a space, making them easy to transport and install. After a premiere in Ljubljana, the exhibition finally takes place at the Centro de Cultura Digital in Mexico City in August 2018, as part of a group exhibition curated by Maria Antonia Gonzalez Valerio and the UNAM’s Arte + Ciencia team, in a scaled down version of Neotenous Dark Dwellers and Dark Drops.

In 2019, Robertina still has an idea that she wants to put into practice; with the help of Marko Žavbi’s skill to create smells and perfumes, she develops Odorantur, a machine that takes the form of a glass globe, whose mechanisms trigger the release of four odours specific to the proteus, which can be mixed inside the globe: water, mud, the cave, the proteus itself. Visitors are invited to activate them using a system of pistons, and to smell the odours through the vents provided, taking them on an olfactory journey through the Slovenian caves. The artist draws attention to the importance of the sense of smell for proteus, their main means of orientation, hunting and communication, which is deteriorating as water pollution increases. The accumulation of toxic substances in their bodies is damaging their ability to perceive their own environment, which will ultimately lead to their total extinction if things continue as they are.
In December of the same year, she publishes an online video capsule with a text edited by Annick Bureaud, in which she takes up and develops all the elements of her research and includes scientific articles by Slovenian and Mexican researchers, including Gregor Aljančič, Dr. Magdalena Năpăruş Aljančič, Dr. Maria Antonia Gonzalez Valerio, Dr. Polona Tratnik and many others.

In all of these installations, Robertina has taken on the role of a storyteller, highlighting different perspectives on the situation of the axolotls and proteus through a combination of sensory and emotional experiences. She treats double standards as a key element on a number of levels, whether this relates to our relationship with more-than-human creatures as laboratory guinea pigs and embodiments of national pride, or to our perception of the more-than-human in general as something taken for granted and fragile, or to aquatic ecosystems seen as detached from and part of humans. She doesn't seek to point fingers, but rather to provoke a sense of urgency while underlining the complexity of the ecological crisis, just as Morton does. Decolonisation is also a fundamental aspect addressed by the artist, firstly by integrating a relevant, respectful and correlated approach into her research and production process, and secondly by choosing to show the parallels between the scientific revolutions carried out in Western Europe and the legends of local folklore and tales of indigenous mythology. She reminds us that truths are diverse, and that if scientific ‘progress’ has been made, it has been at the expense of human and non-human inhabitants somewhere else in the world, bringing us back once again to our interdependent relationship with nature and with our fellow human beings. Mojca Puncer's article analyses Lygophilia through the prism of feminist posthumanism, taking a closer look at the correlation between humans, animals and water.

The project, which was officially completed in 2020, is still the subject of much discussion. An exhibition is on show at the Museum of Decorative Arts - Kunstgewerbemuseum in Berlin until 5 January 2025.

Robertina Sebjanic has chosen to assert her commitment to building a better future through narrative and empathy. Lygophilia does more than simply raise awareness ; it opens up the question of our responsibility as humans for our environment and the way in which we wish to continue our collective history.