When discussing environmental issues, the Arctic is often associated with global warming and melting ice. But how much do we really know about the daily life of its inhabitants in the face of other, less visible threats—such as pollution, which we tend to associate more readily with our industrialized cities? This is the question at the heart of Juliette Pavy’s latest exhibition: the dramatic impact of mercury pollution in these remote territories, particularly among Inuit communities whose survival depends on contaminated ecosystems.
The artist draws on an extended investigation among Indigenous peoples of Greenland and Nunavut, who are exposed to alarming levels of methylmercury in their food chains and ecosystems. Her approach is documentary yet deeply sensory, attempting to make visible what the eye cannot see. Pavy speaks of “a question of survival” for communities forced to live in an environment both mesmerizing and poisoned.
To do so, she presents 40 striking photographs—previously published in French newspaper Libération in 2023 and awarded the Françoise-Demulder Prize, created by the French Ministry of Culture in partnership with the Visa pour l’Image international photojournalism festival. Her work takes us to the frontlines of the ice, where “clean” waters become suspect and the fish that sustain life may carry the toxin.
Combining scientific research, fieldwork, and encounters with local communities, Pavy documents a complex reality: according to Arctic Council reports, mercury levels have increased tenfold since the industrial era, largely released by thawing permafrost. The Arctic is warming four times faster than the global average, accelerating this toxic diffusion—with no signs of improvement.
On the occasion of her exhibition, Juliette Pavy spoke to Blind.
What led you to investigate mercury pollution in the Arctic—a phenomenon both invisible and devastating?
I first discovered this issue through reports published by the Arctic Council and AMAP (the Arctic Monitoring and Assessment Programme). They revealed alarming data on mercury contamination—a pollutant that can’t be seen or smelled, yet deeply affects Arctic ecosystems and the people who depend on them. It was this invisible yet overwhelming presence of poison that compelled me to begin this documentary project.
How did you connect your photographic work with scientific research, particularly regarding permafrost and methylmercury?
My approach developed across several layers. It began with an extensive bibliographic review and the study of scientific papers, something made easier by my background as a biology engineer. I then met researchers in both Nunavut and France. Finally, the project was reviewed by mercury specialists to ensure scientific accuracy and integrity.
You spent time among Inuit communities in Greenland and Nunavut. How did those encounters shape your work?
I’ve been working in Greenland for over three years, and I’ve learned that time is essential. The human dimension has always been central to my projects. The Inuit are the ones who allowed me to tell this story—they’re the most affected, since mercury exposure mainly comes through their traditional diet. Their voices are vital, and I strive to build a genuine exchange. My goal is for everyone involved to find their place and meaning within this collaborative process.
Your photographs juxtapose frozen landscapes with intimate daily gestures—hunting, teaching, transmitting knowledge. How did you find the balance between documentary, symbolism, and intimacy?
I wanted to construct a broad narrative linking environmental issues to deeply human stories. I alternated landscapes, which set the context, with daily scenes and poetic details. The visual rhythm was essential—to create pauses, and to let the scientific, aesthetic, and journalistic layers speak to one another.
Seal hunting and fishing appear as essential practices, beyond sustenance alone. What did you hope to convey through these scenes?
In Inuit villages like Qikiqtarjuaq, hunting is part of everyday life. It ensures food security but also carries a strong cultural and spiritual identity. Mercury poisoning occurs mainly through traditional foods. Showing these scenes was a way of reminding viewers that mercury contamination doesn’t only affect abstract ecosystems—it impacts people, their bodies, and their traditions.
How do the exhibition design and your aesthetic choices reflect the invisibility and silent threat of this poison?
Photographing the invisible is a challenge. I began by documenting industrial pollution in lignite mines in Germany, then followed the trail to the Arctic, where Inuit populations record the world’s highest mercury levels. I lived with a family, accompanied hunters and fishermen on the ice, and met doctors, scientists, and policymakers dealing with the issue. With Karine Aboudarham and Élodie Riguidel, we designed a scenography in which the scientific articles that supported the project hold a central place. We envisioned it as a kind of scientific agora—an open space where the public can engage with data, research, and images as one interconnected whole.
Your previous work tackled sensitive topics such as the forced sterilization of women in Greenland. What connects these investigations into the body, the land, and colonial legacies?
What connects them all is a commitment to addressing systemic injustices. Mercury pollution represents a form of environmental colonialism: the contamination largely stems from European and Asian industries, yet it’s the Inuit who suffer the direct consequences—in their food, their health, and their way of life. Just like the history of forced sterilization, it reflects a logic of dispossession where both the body and the land become the sites of enduring colonial legacy.
“Beneath the Arctic Ice, Mercury,” by Juliette Pavy, is on view until November 23, 2025, at Le Kiosque, Vannes (France).
