Art and the Environment

From Sand to Sea: Learning the Language of Algae

I’ve spent the past three months further developing my understanding of the sea through the practice of foraging algae. This began by first photographing algae for three summers—exposing and developing their portraits outside, right on the coast.

When I first began, I knew almost nothing about the ocean—its rhythms, its power, or the intricate lives held within it. The sea was mystery.

I am from the desert. We lust for water there. We understand extreme heat, the dangers of reptiles and arachnids, and the kind of beauty you have to train your eyes to see—subtle, hidden, often hostile.

The coast, by contrast, is loud, but still dangerous. Algae blooms with the tide, clings to rocks, drapes over limbs like silk. It’s ephemeral and resilient. Some days, I come back with nothing, after cautiously traversing the intertidal zone.

Foraging has become a way of learning—a physical, sensory, and cultural education. My hands know which textures mean which species. My eyes have adjusted to the wet gleam of potential. I’ve started recognizing patterns: how the moon tugs at the tide, how certain wind conditions bring certain growth. The fisherman watch out for me, and I watch them to learn where and when safety is a concern.

It’s strange to think that photography led me here, to seaweed and salt and marine charts. I’m so grateful for it. The desert and the sea, they taught me how to look and how to listen.