Standing on the Kent coast where centuries of migrants have first touched British soil, Folkestone is a place of constant arrival and departure. This seaside town, shaped by movement, from ancient traders to recent asylum seekers, now hosts a triennial that asks the question: ‘How lies the land?’
Many of the artists have taken this brief and created works that reflect on the lasting impact of humans on the earth, as well as how cultures change as we migrate around the world, learning to coexist and assimilate with one another.
Emilija Skarnulyte’s film is a haunting meditation on Lithuania’s decommissioned Ignalina nuclear power plant. This Chernobyl twin was shut down due to the risk of a similar incident to the one at Chernobyl. Her film captures something both beautiful and terrifying: a snake sliding across abandoned control panels, as nature’s slow reclamation of humanity’s most toxic legacy unfolds. The personal thread running through this work is that, inspired by her blind grandmother, she was always fascinated with the invisible. Radiation is such an invisible force which shapes the world around us through its provision of electricity and its toxicity to the land.
I first saw this work at Riga Art Week in a bunker, which seemed a fitting location. Still, it carries extra weight here, given the decommissioned Dungeness nuclear power station looms in the distance, visible from the Folkestone coast.
Another highlight is Katie Paterson’s extraordinary collection in the Martello tower – 197 amulets spanning human history, each one a small prayer cast in the materials of our planetary crisis. Palm oil, shells from endangered snails, and ocean plastic are transformed into talismans based on scans of historic amulets. Replicas of Ancient Egyptian artefacts neighbour 20th-century Inuit pieces, all categorised by the threats they face: war, wildfire, melting ice, and polluted air. I’ve always been impressed by Paterson’s previous works, and she’s done it again, creating beauty from our collective damage and reminding us of the cost. It’s a sobering reflection of the Anthropocene era and humanity’s devastating impact on the planet.
It’s not all heavy-going, as Monster Chetwynd has placed a giant standing salamander next to a children’s playground – a playful protective guardian, while children use the slide next to it. The salamander also serves as a symbol of regeneration, as it can regrow its limbs, much like the history and evolution of our seaside towns is one of regrowth.
Hanna Tuulikki has found a perfect metaphor for migration in the Marsh Warbler, a bird that once nested here and might return. These remarkable creatures spend their youth sampling other birds’ songs, creating new melodies from borrowed tunes, much like every human who has ever crossed borders, carrying fragments of home and mixing these with the local cultures they encounter. Her ‘Love Warbler’ audio piece is of an imagined human-bird hybrid that samples local sounds to create a new composition that can be listened to on headphones.
The triennial doesn’t shy away from current urgencies. Cooking Sections’ Ministry of Sewers tackles the scandal of water companies pumping sewage into our seas with brilliant directness. Book an appointment, share your story of pollution’s impact, and help build an archive that lawyers can wield in court. It’s a fantastic example of art and activism working together.
Jennifer Tee’s brick path, in the shape of seaweed, is inlaid with references to marine species and surrounded by crushed shells, creating a tactile experience that allows you to walk through it – a reminder of what lives beneath the waves. The triennial often retains works to add to its permanent collection from each edition, and this must be a strong candidate for retention.
Lower down, underneath the pier, sits Dorothy Cross’s marble block with broken feet cast upon it. It’s fully accessible during low tide, and only the feet on top become visible when the water comes in. It’s a perfect companion to Antony Gormley’s submerged figure, which has stood sentry at the waterline since 2017 – both works shaped by the forces of nature. This is undoubtedly another candidate for addition to the permanent collection.
Not every piece hits the mark. Celine Condorelli’s signposts are underwhelming, and John Gerrard’s work on a screen of a monkey in a burning forest feels like it’s in the wrong place, and therefore the concepts behind it feel lost in an outdoor space.
But these are minor stumbles in what feels like the triennial’s strongest edition yet. New director Sorcha Carey has curated an exhibition that is rooted in its location, while posing thoughtful questions about migration, the environmental crisis, and cultural adaptation.
Pick a sunny day, head to the coast, and take in some excellent artworks. Then round it off with some fish and chips and the delicious ice cream Emeka Ogboh has created specifically for the Triennial. That’s the recipe for a perfect art day out by the sea.
The Creative Folkestone Triennial 2025: How lies the land? It’s free to visit and is on until 19th October.
First image of work by Jennifer Tee, second Katie Paterson, third Monster Chetwynd, fourth Hanna Tuulikki and fifth Dorothy Cross. All works were commissioned by Creative Folkestone Triennial 2025, all photos by Thierry Bal.
