The death of a glacier is an ear-splitting event. A cacophonous chorus of moans, groans, shrieks and wails accompanied by rounds of shotgun cracks create a deafening atmosphere unlike anything else on earth. These death rattles are the loudest natural phenomenon—louder than volcanic eruptions, earthquakes, and thunderstorms combined. However, sound cannot travel in a vacuum, like that contained in a bell jar, a vessel which became immensely popular for the display of taxidermy and other curiosities during the Victorian era. Richard Jones’s Iceberg Jars, part of the Abel Contemporary Gallery’s Water exhibition, play with the imminent reality that glacial ice, due to man’s interactions with the environment, will soon become such a curiousity.
The Iceberg Jars are reminiscent of biological specimens in a natural history collection, preserved for study so that future generations may study these bygone relics. Their striking beauty is bittersweet and in their viewing one is confronted with a mix of emotions: awe, loss, veneration, introspection, a desire to touch something so transient, fragile, and breakable. Upon lifting their lids and reaching in to feel the glistening texture of the exposed tip of the iceberg, one discovers the surprising weight of the sculpture which invites further investigation after the realization that the inner “berg” may be lifted out to enable functional use (I envision these as fantastic ice buckets and imagine watching the ice melt down around the inner piece, dripping down along the long contours of submerged half of the iceberg, and pooling at the base of the jar).