Exploring the material histories of conflict minerals, ancient pigments, and archaeological objects, this article reflects on how artists—from RISD students to Rei Naito, a contemporary Japanese artist—act on their archival impulse, engaging with the past to shape contemporary expression.
“We are all temporary, not soil,” writes Mathew Evans, renowned farmer and food activist. With these words, Evans reminds us that soil, unlike us, is ancient—it has witnessed multiple centuries beyond our existence. Soil is much more than the grounds that grow the food we eat; it is an archive of our history, bearing the legacies of colonial expansion and industrialization. From the introduction of invasive species by settlers to the exploitative use of fertilizers for urbanization, these efforts are all recorded in our soil. The vitality of soil is central to the health of our planet thus researchers have since begun to uncover how soil can mitigate the challenges of climate change and food security that we are facing today.
In the video Material Grounds, Aroussiak Gabrielian, Ph.D., FAAR, an Assistant Professor of Landscape Architecture + Urbanism at the USC School of Architecture, prompts contemplation of the ground and its physical matter as a charged medium that is neither static nor passive.
Minerals such as Columbine tantalite (coltan for short) are natural sources predominantly found in the Democratic Republic of Congo that are essential to products such as cell phones, computers, and automotive electronics. This mineral is also known as a conflict resource–a natural resource linked with continuing conflict. Gabrielian quotes, companies in industrialized countries purchase coltan “despite war and lawlessness, becoming a profitable foreign currency for multiple state and non-state actors including rebel forces, Rwandan and Ugandan armies, licensed companies, and perp communities.” While minerals like coltan are deeply embedded in modern technology and exploitation, the extraction and use of Earth's resources have long been central to human civilization. Pigments like ochre—mined in valley edges, cliffs and bedrock across deserts of Australia—demonstrate how natural resources have been central to our creativity.
While raw materials—such as natural pigments and clays—continue to ground some contemporary art practices, artists increasingly turn to the past as a source of inspiration. Art and history are intrinsically linked, calling many artists to reappropriate historical archives and cast the past as the very subject of their work. I have noticed that much of student work at RISD centers on an autobiographical component, and I have also observed this pattern in my personal work. Whether it's turning to childhood photos for a painting reference or old journals and letters in a sculpture, I’ve seen a recurring trend of artists who return to questions from the past to answer through their work. In an MIT Press publication, Hal Foster, art critic, and historian, quotes that artists “seek to make historical information, often lost or displaced, physically present,” elaborating on “found image, object, and text, and favor the installation format as they do so” (Foster, 4).
Perhaps the opaque narratives prompted through art are calling for a collective movement to reappropriate past objects for relevant inquiries into our future.
During my summer visit to the Tokyo National Museum, Rei Naito embodied this sentiment in her exhibition Come and Live, Go and Live.
In a three-room installation, Naito combines archaeological objects with delicate motifs such as balloons, glass beads, and pebbles. She challenges the conventions of a traditional gallery by spreading the three installation sites across the Tokyo National Museum. Taking advantage of the museum's historical significance as “the oldest institution of its kind in Japan,” the audience is invited to view Naito’s work alongside the vast collection of artifacts within the museum's collection. The first room is a narrow, dimly lit space that mirrors the layout of a traditional museum. A bench sits in the center, and a glass wall displays encased objects on one side. Upon entering, one's attention is instantly drawn to the colorful pom-poms and balloons suspended from the ceiling, adding a subtle vibrance to the room. This sets up a clear division between two realms: one beyond the glass, where artifacts such as Pillow for the Dead recall the notion of the afterlife and the present one we inhabit respectively, suggested by the vibrance of the hangings. The contrast between the objects on display and the floating decorations highlights the polarities between life and death, the past and the present, casting the viewer as a ghostly presence—an invisible witness suspended between these two realms.
To reach the second installation, one ascends to a different museum floor into a well-lit room with tiled surfaces. The installation is subtle, consisting of two jars: one flipped upside down onto a wooden platform, while the other sits atop it, filled with water. One interpretation of this arrangement is that Naito plays with the metaphor of a jar and its lid, where the earth itself—represented by the surface of the ground—becomes the lid for the first jar. The jar, encompassing the earth as a whole, becomes the pedestal for the second jar, which encases the water. This arrangement emphasizes the existential necessity of water as a vital resource for humanity’s survival.
In the final exhibition room, which brings visitors back to the first floor, Naito places various clay objects from the Jōmon period, taken from the Tokyo National Museum's collection, inside glass cases. Among the pieces is a clay tablet with the imprint of a child’s foot from the Jōmon period of Japan and a miniature clay sculpture of a mammalian creature. Surrounding these artifacts is an array of fragile twigs, watercolor drawings, and pebbles. These materials echo into the surrounding space that sees watercolor paintings adorning the tiled walls and pebbles suspended from the ceiling. Through this installation, Naito connects the present viewer with the distant past, drawing attention to the human desire for creative expression. Using archival objects from the Jōmon period underscores the universal reliance on the earth's resources for artistic practice. This installation invites reflection on how the materials of the past continue to speak to us in the present, not only as historical objects but as resources that grant us expressions of creativity.
Installations from come and live, go and live present art making as an act in harmony with nature echoing a past where creativity was inseparable from community needs and natural resources. In broader contexts, other artists have been responding to the environmental crises brought by industrial capitalism by prioritizing natural and found materials that circumvent global supply chains. Artists such as Martin Puryear, a highly distinguished sculptor primarily working in wood, take inspiration from vernacular traditions such as weaving and masonry and apply them to the process of creating his forms. Similarly, Mikayla Patton draws from Indigenous crafts, re-contextualizing materials like porcupine quills, deer lace, and other traditional elements through her sculptural practice.
One can see how wasteful the art making process can be by looking at the dumpsters at the end of the year at RISD. Art allows us to mend the wounds of destruction in our past, but its significance is diminished if the materials we use continue to pollute the environment.
Recently, I had an opportunity to attend a workshop at the RISD Nature Lab with my Sculpture seminar class. Our discussion led to an urgent truth: sustainability–or maintaining the status quo—was not enough for the future of our planet. Instead, we learned about companies focusing on regenerative materials and processes that go beyond single-use object consumption. We concluded the workshop with a peek into biomaterials by creating a bioplastic out of potato starch, gelatin, and glycerin.
This experience brought to mind the relevance of soil and natural resources in art, from their use in ancient ceremonial objects to their potential as regenerative mediums in today’s environmental challenges. By revisiting these ancient materials and processes, we reconnect with vernacular traditions that honored the earth, suggesting possibilities for creation that seeks harmony rather than destruction..
(Cover Image: Clay Tablet with Child's Foot Impression, Unknown Artist, Jōmon period, 2000–1000 BC, Found at Uenoyama Site, Niigata via ColBase)
Exploring the material histories of conflict minerals, ancient pigments, and archaeological objects, this article reflects on how artists—from RISD students to Rei Naito, a contemporary Japanese artist—act on their archival impulse, engaging with the past to shape contemporary expression.
How do we make art more accessible to visually impaired individuals?
Parsa considers the extent to which the decrees of the Council of Trent changed the subject matter, composition, and style of art in Europe in what has become known as Post-Tridentine art. He also reflects upon attempts to change and reform improper religious art during the Post-Tridentine era, as well as attempts to retroactively rectify issues in earlier prominent works of art.
