By Ayşe Acar
Before my December trip to Türkiye, my dear friend Paul Kyle—owner of Paul Kyle Gallery in Vancouver—called me with a suggestion.
“Ayşe,” he said, “Edward Burtynsky has an exhibition in Istanbul. You’ve seen his work at our gallery. Please visit the show for us—and if you’d like, I can try to arrange an interview.”
The idea of interviewing a Canadian artist in Istanbul, on the land where I was born and raised, was deeply exciting—especially an artist I’ve long admired, someone who has dedicated his life to documenting humanity’s impact on the natural world.
On a rainy Istanbul morning that felt as cinematic as Burtynsky’s photographs themselves, I stepped into Borusan Contemporary’s iconic Perili Köşk in Rumelihisarı to experience one of the most comprehensive exhibitions by one of the most influential photographers of our time.
Shifting Topography was realized through a special commission by Ahmet Kocabıyık, chairman of Borusan Holding. In the spring of 2022, Burtynsky and his team undertook extensive fieldwork across Central Anatolia and the Mediterranean region. Over two weeks, they travelled more than 3,000 kilometers by land and air, working with drones and helicopters at altitudes between 125 and 500 meters to produce images that are at once mesmerizing and disorienting—photographs that demand time and attention to fully comprehend.
The exhibition brings together nearly 80 large-scale works. Alongside photographs focused on erosion in Türkiye, it includes selections from Burtynsky’s earlier series documenting oil fields, quarries, and industrial zones around the world. Rather than framing human impact solely as destruction, Burtynsky invites viewers to consider it also as a potential site of repair and regeneration.
Some images feel suspended between life and death. I found myself lingering over photographs taken in Nallıhan, northwest of the Anatolian Plateau—an area severely affected by erosion across more than 4,500 square kilometers. In one image, the red trace of wind carving through sedimentary rock resembles a living vein, winding through barren land. It suggests fragility, but also resilience: destruction shaped by human hands, and the possibility of renewal shaped by them as well.
We met and talked about erosion, reversibility, and the importance of leaving meaningful artistic records for future generations.
“A positive form of human intervention is possible.”
Why did you choose the title Shifting Topography?
Topography has a significant place in the history of photography. In the mid-1970s, The New Topographics exhibition in the United States marked a turning point, questioning the landscapes humans were creating through urban and industrial expansion.
Topography refers to landforms—mountains, plains, lakes—but adding “shifting” introduces a more hopeful dimension. Unlike narratives focused solely on loss, this project looks at the possibility of reversal: reforestation, carbon sequestration, water retention, habitat creation. It explores a form of human intervention that works with nature rather than against it. Restoring degraded land is vital—without water, oxygen, and fertile soil, life simply cannot exist.
“The ecosystem is slowly rebuilding itself.”
Can you describe a work in the exhibition that reflects this idea of recovery?
If you spend time with the mural in the exhibition, you can tell the intervention likely took place 20 to 30 years ago. The grooves on the land have faded, but the lines of planted trees are still visible. The land is holding on. As trees grow, they begin to support the surrounding life. Vegetation returns, followed by birds, insects, and animals. The ecosystem rebuilds itself step by step.
“I want viewers to slow down, to question what they’re seeing.”
What kind of experience do you hope visitors will have when visiting your exhibits?
These photographs aren’t one-dimensional; each carries multiple layers of meaning. I want viewers to slow down, look again, and ask questions. Many images don’t immediately appear real, even though they are completely untouched photographs of real places. That tension matters—it encourages people to reconsider their assumptions about the landscapes we inhabit and transform.
“Art is a way of leaving a mark.”
Why is it important to document nature through art?
Most artists want to leave something meaningful behind. Art is a form of mark-making. When I was born in 1955, the global population was about 2.8 billion. Since then, it has grown exponentially, and so has our environmental impact.
Since the early 1980s, I’ve focused on industries and landscapes—agriculture, mining, quarries, forestry—long before these were widely understood as critical cultural issues. My photographs form an archive tracing the raw materials extracted from nature. This exhibition reflects a 40-year investigation into humanity’s relationship with the land. We live under an existential threat almost every day.
“I’m trying to do my part, in my own way.”
And everyone has to do their own part.
Exactly. Politics and big money often control the narrative, and too often to the detriment of all life on the planet. One day, younger generations will ask us: What happened when you had the chance to act? My answer is simple—I tried to do my part, in my own way.
“A tree should be respected as a tree, not as building material.”
You’ve also explored these themes through film. How does the moving image expand your work?
Even in Manufactured Landscapes, I argue that harming nature ultimately harms us. The films are about respecting nature for its intrinsic value. In ANTHROPOCENE: The Human Epoch, there is a much stronger sense of urgency. The film states clearly: we are the cause of the sixth mass extinction. Humanity’s impact on Earth is comparable to that of a meteor strike. We have become climate makers—and unfortunately, we are making a bad climate. My work aims to make this reality visible and undeniable.
“Exhibitions come and go. Books endure.”
What role do photobooks play in your practice?
Exhibitions are temporary. Books last. They provide context, deepen understanding, and allow the work to carry forward into the future. Right now, I’m reissuing my books with Steidl, as most are out of print. My first book, Manufactured Landscapes, published in 2003, helped define my artistic trajectory.
In 2025, I presented The Great Acceleration in New York—a term describing the explosive growth since the 1950s that reshaped the planet. Books remain an essential part of all my major projects.
Borusan Contemporary has also published a companion book to Shifting Topography, offering a comprehensive framework for the exhibition and a deeper exploration of the complex relationship between humanity and nature.
Ayşe Acar is a Turkish-born Vancouver journalist and the author of two books. The Toronto Spark is on Bluesky @torontospark.bsky.social.
