One of the most interesting recent exhibitions in Los Angeles is Concrete is Fluid, a solo exhibition by the eco-hacktivist Lauren Bon at Honor Fraser. The exhibition features room-scale installations of ancient soils and subterranean seed banks reconfigured into magical assemblages for ecological thinking. Bon’s post-industrial earthworks, photographs, and sculptures index two decades of collaborative interventions and champion the Earth’s immutable cycles of upheaval, abundance, and reparation.
Concrete is Fluid is a featured exhibition of PSTART: Art & Science Collide.
Lauren Bon is an environmental artist and a transformative figure from Los Angeles. Her, Metabolic Studio, explores self-sustaining and self-diversifying systems of exchange that feed emergent properties that regenerate the life web.
Camilla Boemio: What does being an eco-hacktivist mean in United States/California today?
Lauren Bon: To “hack” something can mean finding a workaround or new way to approach a situation. To “hack” means to approach a problem or system with a combination of creativity, subversion, and practicality. In the digital realm, it’s often associated with gaining unauthorized access to data or systems—an act that can either expose vulnerabilities or exploit them. But beyond the tech world, the term “hack” has evolved into a broader cultural metaphor. It speaks to the power of individuals or small groups finding alternative ways to navigate systems that seem impenetrable, whether they are bureaucratic, societal, or technological.
Like artists who repurpose materials or disrupt traditional boundaries, hackers—whether ethical or not—are engaged in a form of reconfiguration. They expose the hidden seams of a system, pulling it apart and reconstructing it to reveal something unexpected or to achieve a specific aim. In a way, hacking becomes a tool of resistance or re-visioning, a concept familiar to those of us who see the arts as inherently political acts. Hacking, then, isn’t just about computers; it’s about reclaiming agency within any rigid structure, a refusal to play by the given rules. Eco-hacking means figuring out work-arounds to free rivers to meander again.
C.B.: How can we create new inclusive art and ecological communities, where environmental sustenance becomes the norm? And what do you think are the most radical examples of this?
L.B.: To create new, inclusive art communities and new ecological communities where environmental sustenance becomes the norm, we must look beyond the conventional boundaries of art. Art alone can’t do the work—it needs to be interdisciplinary, a fusion of creative practice with ecology, science, and public engagement. At Metabolic Studio, we work in and beyond art, sharing tools and skills to build tangible alternatives. This knowledge isn’t developed in isolation but through and with the community, the public who become co-creators. The interdisciplinary nature of the studio fosters a living, dynamic form of engagement where ecology and art merge into a common practice of care and connection.
Our engagement with the mythos of the river, for example, isn’t about passive contemplation. It’s action—hands in the soil, bodies in motion—caring for the land together. We reconnect to the environment through shared work and, equally importantly, shared meals. Our community dinners, where food is responsibly sourced, become moments of communion with both nature and each other. It’s here, in this intersection of labor and sustenance, that new communities can truly form, grounded in care for the environment and each other.
Perhaps the most radical example of this is Water Right 21432. It’s a model for reclaiming something that has been lost to colonial systems—our direct relationship with water. In securing a private water right and then offering it back to the river, we begin to unravel the colonial story of water as a commodity. This is a blueprint for others—citizens can reclaim the right to water and, in doing so, shift the narrative so that the rights of rivers are what we pass forward. It’s a gesture of decolonization, where water becomes something we serve, rather than something we own.
C.B.: What is it like to show your work In Los Angeles?
L.B.: As for showing work in Los Angeles, the city is a palimpsest of so many forces—natural, political, and cultural—that it’s an ideal environment for this kind of work. Los Angeles sits at the edge of ecological collapse and reinvention. It’s a city of extremes, where the relationship between water and land is both fragile and essential. To show work here is to be in constant conversation with the land itself, a reminder that art and life are intertwined, and that the future we imagine is one we must actively build, together.
C.B.: Evoking the paramount medium of industrial Los Angeles, restoring the landscape, can you describe Concrete is Fluid solo show, currently at Honor Fraser gallery?
L.B.: In Concrete is Fluid, the control of water stands as a metaphor for the deeper, more insidious control of bodies—particularly the control of women’s bodies—throughout history. As Sylvia Federici has articulated, the rise of capitalism was bound to the suppression of women’s reproductive labor, a system of oppression that has its roots in the control of nature and its cycles. The act of seizing control of water, of damming rivers and diverting streams, is a patriarchal assertion of power, not just over the land but over life itself. Water, like the female body, is fluid and generative, yet it is subjected to regulation, violence, and exploitation in the name of control. This resonates powerfully in Concrete is Fluid, where the shaping and manipulation of materials echo the historical manipulation of bodies, ecosystems, and the commons.
Federici’s critique extends into this work: by controlling water, patriarchal systems reinforce a hierarchy that glorifies male dominance and relegates women to the margins. But just as the violent disturbances of capitalism sought to constrain women’s roles, so too does the manipulation of water seek to contain its generative potential. Water, like the female body, resists containment. And in the same way that birth-giving is both disruptive and generative, so too are disturbances in the land. Landslides, which bring destruction, also bring renewal. They release energy in a way that parallels birth itself—violent, unpredictable, yet essential for new life to emerge.
The notion of potentiality offers a lens through which to view these disruptions. Landslide material, in all its raw and chaotic force, becomes a site of potentiality, a place where destruction is not an end but a prelude to new forms of life. The act of unearthing and repurposing landslide material in this exhibition speaks to the generative power of disturbance—how the collapse of an old form can give rise to something new. In Concrete is Fluid, birth is not just a biological act but an ecological one, where the disturbances of the land are a reminder that creation is born from disruption, and that the very forces we seek to control are the ones that can renew us.
C.B.: This subterranean womb where layers of earth gestate into living metaphors of resilience, metamorphosis and mutability. What ideas inspired you? Which parts of Los Angeles give form to it?
L.B.: As my mentors, Helen and Newton Harrison would ask: “How big is here?” We must recognize that here is not limited to a specific geographic point, but expands outward, connecting the floodplain to the mountains, to the ocean—one vast, interconnected living system. The Harrison’s work would begin by asking us to consider the flow of water: how it begins in the highlands, traverses the land, and ultimately meets the sea, and how each step along that path is integral to the health of the whole. The floodplain, the mountains, the ocean—each is a part of a larger network that sustains life, each affecting the other in an endless feedback loop of nutrients, energy, and resilience.
This is where the idea of a subterranean womb comes to life, as the layers of earth below us gestate and nurture the potential for life. It is a space where change is constantly occurring beneath the surface, just as metamorphosis happens in ecosystems and in the body. The resilience of the land, its capacity for rebirth, mirrors our own. What inspires us is this recognition that the system—though disrupted, controlled, and often manipulated—always carries within it the potential to regenerate.
In Los Angeles, the river is a key part of this system. It was paved over, forced into submission, and yet it carries within it the memory of its original meander, its path shaped by the contours of the land. The land itself remembers—resilient, mutable, always transforming. In Concrete is Fluid, the materials of the land—whether it’s water, soil, or even concrete—become metaphors for that resilience and mutability. The act of uncovering these materials, of allowing them to express their fluid, dynamic nature, is a recognition that nature’s systems—like our own bodies—are constantly transforming.
The patriarchal control over water, land, and body is part of a larger attempt to suppress the forces that naturally resist containment. But what we see, as the Harrisons might argue, is that the very forces which are controlled are those that hold the key to regeneration. In the face of disruption, nature adapts and continues, reminding us that transformation is inevitable, and through that transformation, the possibility for renewal is born.
C.B.: How is biodiversity integrated in your work?
L.B.: Rather than focusing on biodiversity in the traditional sense, the artworks in Concrete is Fluid are rooted in the material index of the landscapes I work with. These are not just representations of life but actual fragments of the land—ancient soils excavated during the construction of Bending the River, landslide debris, salt from the Salton Sea, and crystals from the Owens Valley. Each material tells a story of the land’s history, its transformations, and its potential for regeneration.
The large columns of landslide material, misted and coaxed into life, hold within them seeds dormant in the debris—sunflower, morning glory, sage, amaranth, rye. These plants are not incidental; they emerge from the specific conditions of the land itself, responding to its shifts and disturbances. The artworks are a living index of these landscapes—physical, chemical, and ecological traces of how the land has evolved, how it has been shaped by both natural forces and human intervention.
This focus on the material presence of the land challenges the more sanitized notion of biodiversity. Instead of seeing nature as a catalog of species, the work invites us to see how these landscapes, through their material, are embedded with life’s potential. The salt sculptures and crystals are not symbols; they are geological memories of ecosystems in flux. The materials embody the cycles of disruption and renewal, calling attention to the land’s own capacity to adapt, to hold history, and to generate new forms of life from its own depths.
By working with these materials, I’m not just representing the land—I’m creating with it, allowing the material to carry its own narrative forward. It’s a conversation between the landscape and the artwork, where the land’s past, present, and future are inscribed in every column of soil and every crystal of salt.
C.B.: How is earth spirituality present in your work?
L.B.: The presence of earth spirituality in Concrete is Fluid evokes a deep connection to the concept of the “Dea Madre” or Mother Goddess—an embodiment of the land’s power to nurture, transform, and regenerate. This spiritual layer isn’t simply an aesthetic choice; it’s a call to recognize the sacredness within the materiality of the earth itself. The soils, salts, and seeds in the exhibition are not just passive objects but active agents, imbued with a living presence that speaks to cycles of birth, death, and rebirth.
Through the esoteric lens of Sub Rosa, meaning “under the rose” and symbolizing hidden knowledge or secrets, we can understand this spirituality as something that moves beneath the surface. The work invites a quiet listening, a tuning in to the subterranean forces at play—those forces that gestate in darkness before emerging into form. Sub Rosa suggests that the true power of the earth, much like the feminine energy of the “Dea Madre,” resides in what is unseen, in the potentiality that lies beneath, waiting to break through. It’s a deeply esoteric idea of concealment and revelation, where the surface is always shifting, and what lies underneath is the true source of vitality.
This exhibition isn’t just about showing the earth; it’s about engaging with it as a spiritual, transformative force. The landslide material becomes a metaphor for labor and birthing, for the energy of the earth breaking free, and through this breaking, something new is born. In this way, Concrete is Fluid works like a ritual, drawing on the hidden wisdom of the land to reveal the interconnectedness of life, creation, and destruction. This spirituality, this esoteric force of Sub Rosa, asks us to consider what lies beneath, what is gestating in the earth—and how we, in turn, are shaped by these unseen forces.
Camilla Boemio is an internationally published author, curator, and member of the AICA (International Arts Critics) and IKT (International) based in Rome. Recently, she had curated Antonio Palmieri: TEN YEARS: BSR People 14 – 24 at British School at Rome (2024). The solo show by Antonio Palmieri, who over the course of ten years working at BSR has photographed the people who have passed through the academy, from fellows to staff, inventing characters and telling stories.
She co-curated with AAC Platform Stefano Cagol. The Bouvet Island at ETRU Museo Nazionale Etrusco di Villa Giulia (2024); and Saun Santipreecha: Performative Cities presented by Reisig and Taylor Contemporary at AOC F58 Galleria Bruno Lisi in Roma (2024).
In 2013, Boemio was the co-associate curator of PORTABLE NATION: Disappearance as Work in Progress – Approaches to Ecological Romanticism, the Maldives Pavilion at the 55th International Art Exhibition La Biennale di Venezia. In 2016, Boemio curated Diminished Capacity, the First Nigerian Pavilion at 15th International Architecture Exhibition Biennale. Boemio’s recent curatorial projects include her role as co-associate curator at Pera + Flora + Fauna. The Story of Indigenousness and The Ownership of History, an official collateral event at the 59th International Art Exhibition La Biennale di Venezia, 2022. Invitations to speak include the Tate Liverpool, MUSE Science Museum, Pistoia Musei, Museo Orto Botanico and the Cambridge Festival 2021 at Crassh in the UK.
