Reshaping the Plasticocene
The material was full of promise. Roland Barthes called it “the stuff of alchemy” in 1957, practically granting it magical properties. Farseeing, the philosopher added that “plastic is wholly swallowed up in the fact of being used: ultimately, objects will be invented for the sole pleasure of using them.”1 1 - Roland Barthes, “Plastic,” Mythologies, trans. Annette Lavers (New York: Noonday Press, 1991), 97 - 9. Now we find ourselves in a world of overconsumption and disposables, the new era of the Plasticocene.
It’s true that some promises were kept: a revolution of daily life, democratization of haute couture, reduction of food waste, contribution to medical hygiene. We have lost count of the advantages of plastic, and its derivatives are so extensive, it’s difficult to identify them all. The mimetic capacity of polymers has perhaps even protected some species (think of celluloid replacing ivory in billiard balls when first discovered), and we still consider plastic as an alternative to animal-based materials (fur, leather, wool, silk, etc.) — although certainly an imperfect one. Living in a plastic-free environment would be a utopia today, which is why the ambitious goal of the world conference held in Busan (South Korea), in November 2024, of developing a treaty to eliminate plastic by 2040 raised both hope and skepticism.2 2 - At the time of writing this editorial, the negotiations came to an end and the drafting of the treaty was postponed to a later date.
In the past several years, science has proven the devastating impact of plastic. Whether through its toxic additives or impossible decomposition, our “stuff of alchemy” is in the process of destroying our ecosystems. What are our options? Reduce production? Recycle? Make new bio-based and biodegradable plastics? A great number of scientists are working on finding solutions. Even the industry of plastics engineering seems inclined to take part in the reflections. Yet the hypocrisy (or naiveté) of the policies implemented is alarming. It’s important to realize, for example, that single-use bags need only respect a certain thickness to not be banished from businesses, and in their new incarnation, they are even less biodegradable and not at all recyclable. These terms have in fact been cunningly tarnished by greenwashing strategies, such as the sad example of the Positively PET campaign on social media: plastic is not infinitely recyclable and the process always requires the addition of new plastic.3 3 - In reality, as explained in Plastic Atlas, “On a global scale, 14 percent of plastic packaging is currently recycled — though this usually means ‘downcycling’ to make an inferior-quality product.” Plastic Atlas: Facts and Figures About the World of Synthetic Polymers, eds. Lili Fuhr and Matthew Franklin (Berlin: Heinrich Böll Foundation and Break Free From Plastic, 2019), 36, accessible online.
At the other end of the spectrum, bioplastics certainly offer some interesting, though still largely undeveloped, avenues. While some see them as the ultimate route to take,4 4 - See Paul Lavallée, Le plastique est mort, vive le bioplastique (Montréal: Éditions Écosociété, 2023). others remind us that bioplastics, made particularly from sugarcane or starch, are products of highly industrialized farming that consumes a lot of water and fertilizers and ultimately leaves a more significant environmental footprint.5 5 - Plastic Atlas, 34. We therefore need to be discerning in our questions and actions. Eco-anxiety and an eagerness to do something, combined with the sometimes dubious information conveyed by a self-serving petrochemical industry, contribute to making us lose sight of the actual impact of our modes of consumption. Although we can assume that the use of plastic packaging is less damaging for the environment than the waste of unpackaged foodstuffs, we must seek nonetheless to eliminate once and for all overpackaging, compulsive consumption (especially in the fast fashion industry), and the tendency to throw out instead of repair.
Having read about the context, we will understand that analyzing plastic in the field of art also runs the risk of raising many dilemmas and giving the impression that we are trying to defend the indefensible. Far from extolling plastic yet without denying its utility, this issue is interested in our ways of coexisting with synthetic material in order to evaluate the consequences and seek alternative solutions, and to claim a kinship with what gives this material its glory: its plasticity, which expresses the power both to receive and to give form.
Since contemporary art abounds in polymeric substances, twenty-first-century artists constantly find themselves walking an environmental tightrope. One issue is the limited lifespan of the artworks since, paradoxically, although plastic never disappears from the Earth’s surface, it quickly breaks down into synthetic dust. As Katie Lawson and Kirsty Robertson ask, “What is the time of plastic art?” and “As plastic artworks begin to age and crumble, do the toxins become increasingly visible over the course of their lifespan?” These critical questions, which seem to take an axe to art production and conservation, should not be seen as accusations but rather as attempts to clearly address a reality that, for the moment, is impossible to escape.
Among other aspects, this issue reflects on the tension inherent in our relationship to plastic, a relationship tinged with discomfort and anxiety. Irem Karaaslan writes that “our reliance on plastics thus complicates our understanding of intimacy as inherently positive, nurturing, and mutual.” In other words, the reassuring intimacy we have with objects in our daily lives or with the materials that envelop or enter our bodies is undermined the more we discover the adverse effects of plastic on our lives and our environment. This leads us to reconsider our coexistence with this material by thinking of it as an active agent. This material agency is evoked several times in the articles, as they reveal the invasive nature of synthetic polymers. Accumulation, infiltration, contamination, interference: the invasive character of plastic in the world is expressed in so many works, forms, and vibrant colours that Anne-Marie Dubois justifiably likens it to aposematism, the defense strategy that some species use to warn that they are toxic, especially through colour. Evoking the neo-materialist concept of agency, she adds that “plastic [is] a potential new force that claims the territory of the living.” Here, we might describe, in Karaaslan’s words, the emergence of the “overbearing agency” of a material that we would prefer perhaps never to have been invented.
Challenging both the opposition between plastic and ecology and all forms of righteous indignation, artists use the synthetic to call into question the normalization of bodies or to reclaim artifice as an empowerment strategy for queer femininity. Katie Schaag reminds us that “glitter is deeply tied to political histories of LGBTQIA2S+ activism” and that “queer femme plastic aesthetics… reclaims plasticity as a capacity for ethical self-moulding and continuous becoming.”
Perhaps by returning to the idea of plasticity or choosing the French feminine term (as philosopher Catherine Malabou writes, la plastique “also implies the balance and beauty of forms”6 6 - Catherine Malabou, “La plasticité en souffrance,” Sociétés & Représentations 20 (October 2005): 31 -9 (our translation).), we might be able to reconcile with a word that, in a sense, has been usurped by technoscience. When initially reflecting on this issue’s theme, the editorial committee asked, “Could our very plasticity help us imagine a way through the contemporary crisis?” This question is actually a wish that our plasticity will allow us to reshape our needs and desires in the future so as to thwart the overbearing agency of plastic and move toward closer collaboration with the other-than-human.
Translated from the French by Oana Avasilichioaei
