As the Arctic undergoes irreversible change due to the climate crisis, photographer and filmmaker Evgenia Arbugaeva—who comes from the native Yakut people on the northeastern coast of Siberia—has made it her mission to tell urgent stories about her homeland. Working closely with local communities and the land, she blends Indigenous storytelling and a sublime cinematic aesthetic to give her audience a sense of what it means to live through this moment in time. Arbugaeva tells writer Gem Fletcher about her artistic journey, what it takes to make work at the edge of the world and how she wants to respond to the challenges of our time.
Evgenia Arbugaeva has long been captivating audiences with her Arctic storytelling, but her journey to finding her voice as an artist was challenging. After graduating from the International Center of Photography in New York, she desperately tried to make a living, frustrated by her lack of traction. “I felt like I was free falling,” recalls Arbugaeva, who now lives in London. “I gave myself one year to turn it around. I didn’t reference anyone. I committed to doing what I wanted without thinking about outside opinions.” The bold decision to leave New York and go to Tiksi, the small town in Siberia where she grew up, allowed her to see things afresh, and her debut photobook of the same name conjured an almost fairy tale vision of her Arctic childhood.
I’m trying to figure out what to do with this pain in myself and how to process it through the work.
Arbugaeva comes from the native Yakut people, an Indigenous community in the region, and lived in Tiksi until she was eight when there was a mass exodus due to the fall of the Soviet Union. Before this, with a population of 12,000, it was an outpost for the Northern Sea Route, a port town and a Soviet Union military base during the Cold War. Today, everything is different, as the northeastern coast of Siberia is facing irreversible change due to the climate crisis. “I feel so much heartache,” Arbugaeva says. “I’m trying to figure out what to do with this pain in myself and how to process it through the work.”
Over the last decade Arbugaeva has made work about a weatherman running a meteorological station in Khodovarikha, lighthouse keepers living on the tip of Kanin Peninsula, the abandoned port town Dikson once renowned for Arctic exploration, and a fragile Indigenous Chukchi community that practices subsistence hunting. During her time with the Chukchi community, she heard about the “haulout keeper,” a young marine biologist who monitors the plight of migrating walruses being pushed to the brink due to melting sea ice.
I want to bring people closer to feeling the soul of the environment, rather than just looking at it.
Historically, walruses rest on ice floes during migration, rarely venturing onto land. Now, the sea has been ice-free due to record temperatures, rendering them no choice but to haul out onto the beach. The impact is devastating; 90,000 walruses tightly packed together, causing daily stampedes that lead to tramplings and deaths as they struggle to survive.
Together with her filmmaker brother Maxim, Arbugaeva spent four months living with the biologist, documenting his work for her debut film “Haulout.” The result is an uncomfortably visceral short that offers an alternative way to think about ecological storytelling, free from climate tropes, and instead holds space for nature to take the lead.
While the film builds upon Arbugaeva’s cinematic compositions—albeit in a muddier and moodier palette than we are used to seeing from her—it’s the soundtrack of the environment that elicits a somatic response from the viewer. Howling winds, breaking waves and bird song collide with a cacophony of raspy growls as thousands of walruses tussle for space in what can only be described as an agonizing cry for help. The only sensory respite comes from the biologist’s observational voice notes that punctuate the Oscar-nominated film, reminding the audience of our responsibility as nature’s caretakers.
Collaboration is central for Arbugaeva, and every project is explored through the isolated lives of her protagonists. She considers this synergistic exchange spiritual—giving something to receive. “Having someone’s life story revealed to you is such a gift. I believe you have to work hard for this. You must sit with them, commit to them, experience all their emotions and grief.” It’s not just people Arbugaeva collaborates with; the work is deeply entangled with the environment. Patience and flexibility are prerequisites for working in the Arctic, as reaching some remote towns can take up to 90 days. Once she arrives, Arbugaeva must wait for the right weather conditions, which can take weeks, but she isn’t fazed by these challenges as she prefers to work in sync with the environment, believing “the harder it is, the better the result will be.”
“My work grows with me,” says Arbugaeva, who is currently studying the Indigenous art form. “I’ve realized I’ve been unintentionally keeping the tradition in my work since Tiksi. It’s rooted in my upbringing believing in the spirits of nature.” With her new work, Arbugaeva is attempting to translate the feeling of the natural work into a visual language.
“People understand the issues with their minds, with intellect, but engaging their inner self, getting them to understand with their heart is much more complex. We are all part of this circle of life, and I want to find a visual language that brings people closer to feeling the soul of the environment rather than just looking at it.”