It would be more than surprising if, absurdly, we were to deny that anxious states do not characterize a period we have already been going through for quite some time. As is indeed recommended when discussing subjects, tasks or complex matters in general, by examining these anxious states in section, we can distinguish multiple sources which, further filtered by age criteria, will yield some very interesting results.

This leads us to eco-anxiety, a concept that conveys the state of fear caused by aspects related to the ecological sphere or ecology itself. In a world where climate change is, unfortunately, visible to the naked eye, eco-anxiety is a reality that, like almost every aspect of inner or outer life, is also reflected in art. Why of the young generation? Because the so-called "young generation" is not only contemporary with major climate changes, but was actually born during these changes and/or especially their effects, thus the artistic expression of young artists can convey a different perspective from that of those who also lived through gentler times. 

Tensions between landscape and emotional desertification  

We know that landscape is one of the main subjects of visual arts, and its evolution from the realm of aestheticization and idealization of natural scenes to a more faithful representation of reality is a sign of maturity, but also a warning from artists. This symbolic transposition of the climate crisis can be found in works such as the exhibition The World to Come: Art in the Age of the Anthropocene, from 2019, held at the Harn Museum of Art at the University of Florida. Based on seven main themes, the exhibition explores the visuality of the actual state of natural disasters rooted in various types of human expansion. Built as an exercise in how artists see "the world to come," it was positively received by audiences, the result being an increase in awareness of the serious environmental problems we are facing, despite a seemingly carefree lifestyle that easily adapts to extreme temperature fluctuations or occasional floods. In artist Mary Mattingly’s photograph, a massive boulder formed from various personal household objects rests on her nude body, anticipating an impact and yet conveying the constant tension between an external landscape too little looked at with attention due to a kind of emotional desertification.

Oversaturated with information and statistics, this desertification is highly dangerous because it can make us immune to the worsening of the current situation, our emotions entering a state of numbness—paradoxically, due to the overstimulation of emotional responses to various news stories. 

Such contexts are generally found in artists who illustrate the landscape as ruin or who use specific elements of these environments in various installations or compositions. The lost nature is no longer necessarily a trace of Eden or a reference to lost paradises, but a reminder that nature, as we have it, is a paradise we risk losing. Georgeta Manea Josan subtly brings this theme into discussion in her series Secret Gardens, where the lost paradise is implicit, and the secret garden defines itself as a space separate from the real plane through its potential to be discovered by those who truly wish to find it. The scattered eyes in the composition, the rather neutral tones, and the abstraction of the planes amplify precisely these formal aspects of the paintings, the effect being one of stirring curiosity and a gentle desolation, though still in a playful spirit. 

The body as an echo of collapse  

Another representation of eco-anxiety is achieved through the alteration of compositions depicting the human body. This is not about the cyborg domain theorized by Donna Haraway, but rather about bodies that already bear the marks of climate change—marks in the form of results or, more precisely, consequences of the irrational use of Earth’s resources. Even in works that do not explicitly address such themes, such as the nude Out of This World by Sofia Ovejeanu, there is a dystopian reading key, considering elements such as the distorted perspective, the positioning of the female body in relation to a red, demarcating line, and the collage background composed of overlapping layers that seem to render a desolate landscape. This vulnerable, nude, fragile and yet defiant exposure in relation to the red line reveals another tension, namely the one between liberation and imprisonment.

A famous and hotly debated sculpture is The Young Family by Patricia Piccinini, which depicts in hyperrealist fashion mutant, transgenic, grotesque bodies that, by brushing against the abject, manage to materialize precisely these analyzed eco-anxieties. Patricia Piccinini continues to hybridize species, all retaining human elements in their appearance—something that creates contradictory feelings, ranging from alienation to belonging. And yet, in her works, there is a surprisingly explicit component that neutralizes the initial reaction of repulsion almost as quickly: affection. The hyperrealistic creations possess strong attributes of affection, of a complete innocence, this aura being a final (or perhaps initial?) trace of humanity, a recognizable imprint of it. 

Stepping outside of this framework, a work from the WIN Gallery that also acts as a commentary on the relationship between contemporary man and urbanity is Man in the Urban by Ileana Ștefănescu. With an oversized face and using clay directly on the canvas surface, Ileana Ștefănescu discusses through composition and materiality aspects related to man’s relationship with the city, with urbanity. An echo of urban collapse, of its unbounded development, the body—in this case, the face—feels the need to grow, to expand, to reclaim its dominant position over the urban space which, ironically, it itself created. Ileana Ștefănescu recalibrates the man–city dynamic through this positioning reminiscent of a David and Goliath. 

Eco-anxiety is not merely a passing state of mind, but a generational imprint that shapes both the perception of the world and the artistic act. Faced with a reality increasingly difficult to emotionally filter, young artists choose not to offer answers, but to formulate visual questions, tensions, affective scenarios. From landscapes dissolved in lucid nostalgia to bodies rendered fragile, yet not entirely defeated, the works analyzed outline an emotional map of the present in which the natural and the internal spaces seem simultaneously threatened and transformed.

The art of the young generation thus becomes a form of resistance in the face of indifference and a declaration of lucidity—perhaps the only one still capable of softening the emotional armor of a weary world.

Perhaps true regeneration doesn’t begin with nature, but with the way we relearn how to feel. 

Ph.D. Researcher Andrei FĂȘIE