Imagine standing beneath a colossal, pulsating sun, its surface alive with what appears to be a million tiny explosions. It’s both mesmerizing and unsettling—especially when it seems to mirror your every move. This is the experience Olafur Eliasson, the Icelandic-Danish artist, crafts in his latest exhibition, Presence. But here’s where it gets controversial: Eliasson doesn’t just want you to marvel at his art; he wants it to jolt you into confronting the world’s most pressing issues. Can art really save the world?
At the Gallery of Modern Art (GOMA) in Meanjin/Brisbane, Eliasson’s 30-year career unfolds across an entire floor, a sprawling testament to his ability to challenge perception and provoke thought. Among the highlights is Riverbed (2014), a room filled with 100 tonnes of sand, pebbles, and rock, which feels like stepping into a post-glacial landscape. Alongside it are immersive works that play with light, color, and movement, as well as photographs that starkly highlight the climate crisis. And then there’s Presence, the sun installation, which echoes his 2003 masterpiece The Weather Project—a work that turned strangers into a community, fostering what Eliasson calls ‘we-ness.’
‘When you move, it moves,’ Eliasson explains. ‘The sun is asking you to notice that your presence makes a difference. It’s a reminder that your actions have consequences.’ But this is the part most people miss: Eliasson sees his audience not as passive observers but as ‘active co-producers’ of his art. Your perspective shapes what you see, a powerful metaphor for how we perceive the world differently. Take Your Negotiable Vulnerability Seen From Two Perspectives (2025), where polarized light shifts colors and shapes as you move, turning black to white and dull to vibrant. It’s a visual metaphor for the fluidity of truth and the fragility of our perceptions.
In Beauty (1993), a simple curtain of dripping water becomes a transcendent experience, almost magical. Stand in the right spot, and a rainbow appears—a fleeting moment of wonder that feels otherworldly. Yet, it’s not magic; it’s science and artistry combined. Eliasson’s genius lies in transforming the ordinary into the extraordinary, inviting us to see the world anew.
The exhibition itself is a journey through extremes. Some rooms are so dimly lit your eyes struggle to adjust, while others are blindingly bright, almost clinical. It’s like stepping into a TARDIS, each turn revealing something unexpected. Eliasson’s photographs of Iceland ground the exhibition in stark reality, showcasing the devastating effects of climate change. The Glacier Melt series, with its paired images from 1999 and 2019, is particularly haunting—a visual testament to the rapid loss of our planet’s ice.
Riverbed, acquired by GOMA after the 2019 Water exhibition, takes on new meaning here. A trickle of water winds through the rocky landscape, a poignant reminder of what remains when the glaciers are gone. Eliasson doesn’t sugarcoat the crisis: ‘The collapse is now,’ he says. ‘It’s our inability to deal with how it’s collapsing.’ But he also offers hope, rooted in Indigenous philosophies that view nature as kin and movements granting legal rights to natural features like rivers and mountains. ‘It’s comforting to know people have the capacity to change how they see things,’ he reflects.
Presence isn’t about providing answers; it’s about fostering connection and possibility. In one interactive piece, visitors collaborate to build a dream city using 500,000 white Lego pieces, part of Eliasson’s 2004 work The Cubic Structural Evolution Project. ‘How do we spark off each other and dream of a city where energy, materials, and creativity cycle in new ways?’ asks curator Geraldine Kirrihi Barlow. It’s a question that lingers long after you leave the gallery.
Barlow’s collaboration with Eliasson’s studio is unprecedented, offering her a unique glimpse into his creative ecosystem. ‘Where am I blind? What can you see that I can’t?’ Eliasson asks her, a testament to his openness and generosity. This philosophy extends to his art, which encourages us to question, reflect, and reimagine. As our conversation runs twice its allotted time, Eliasson smiles and exhales—a gesture he hopes visitors will mirror after experiencing Presence. ‘This gallery, like Iceland, is a place where I can exhale,’ he says. ‘That softening is the currency of tomorrow. That tenderness is fierce. And that is presence.’
But here’s the question for you: Can art truly change how we act toward the planet? Or is it just another beautiful distraction? Share your thoughts below—let’s spark a conversation as transformative as Eliasson’s work itself.
Olafur Eliasson: Presence is at the Gallery of Modern Art (GOMA) in Meanjin/Brisbane until 12 July 2026. Don’t miss it.
