New York City—the Big Apple, the city that never sleeps, perhaps even, a city among the greats on the world stage—becomes the focal point for contemporary photographer Edward Burtynsky’s return this summer with citywide programming centered on the artist’s climate mission. The International Center of Photography will exhibit Edward Burtynsky: The Great Acceleration from June 19 to September 28. In addition, Metrograph will screen The Anthropocene Trilogy, a collaborative project between Burtynsky and filmmakers Jennifer Baichwal and Nicholas de Pencier that took nearly two decades to complete, on June 20, 21, 28, and 29. And finally, the Howard Greenberg Gallery will present Natural Commodities, another solo exhibition featuring previews of Burtynsky’s forthcoming project Mining: For the Future, from August 7 to September 20.

Burtynsky, long regarded as one of the world’s most accomplished contemporary photographers, uses his lens as both witness and warning through transformative works that expose the fragile intersection between humans and the environment. His photographs of human industrial landscapes represent over 40 years of his dedication to documenting the manmade impact on the planet. One of the three inaugural recipients of the TED prize, Burtynsky credits early exposure to the General Motors plant and the passing ships in Welland Canal in his hometown as the source for his curiosity on the scale of human creation. He finds those very industries that humans have shaped society’s normalcy to rely on and creates a dialogue between good, modern living and the planet’s consequential suffering through visual art. His works are meant to reckon with the contradiction of the consumer’s materialistic dependence and their simultaneous concern for environmental wellbeing.

Marking the artist’s first solo institutional exhibition in New York City in over 20 years, The Great Acceleration features more than 70 of Burtynsky’s most powerful images, several never-before-seen works, and ultra-high-resolution murals that all force the viewer to reckon with the profound impact of human activity on the planet. His recent work Rainforest #2 will be available for purchase, with 15 limited-edition prints for sale to fundraise for the LA wildfire victims—the aftermath of which will also be featured in one of the works in the exhibit. The Great Acceleration is a call to action, titled after the established term that describes the rapid increase in human industrial impact on the planet.

The Anthropocene Trilogy consists of three films—Manufactured Landscapes, Watermark, and ANTHROPOCENE: The Human Epoch—that all testify how humanity has radically reshaped the natural world. Each film explores a vital aspect of Burtynsky’s past photographic subjects: industrial globalization, water use and abuse, and the resulting environmental scars and tragedies of mankind’s greed.

Accustomed to our convenient lives of passive consumption, humans can choose to continue this way of life—blissfully unaware or perhaps not compelled—or decide to protect the precious planet through individual and systemic change. Burtynsky speaks on his work, discoveries, intentions, and hope.

How does it feel to return to New York City, one of the most densely populated US cities that generates nearly 50 million metric tons of greenhouse gas emissions and a major source of building air pollution, with an exhibition that directly highlights how humans have impacted the planet? Was there a sort of comparison intentional in terms of setting?

I’ve always loved New York. It’s a city that has played a big role in my career—I’ve spent a great deal of time here over the years, and I’m thrilled to be returning with a major exhibition after two decades. There wasn’t a deliberate intention to draw a comparison between the city and the themes of the show, but presenting The Great Acceleration here certainly resonates. New York is one of the most important cities on the world stage. It’s where millions of people live, work, create, and engage with the world around them. That density—of ideas, energy, and population—makes it a powerful place to open up a conversation about our impact on the planet. The more people who can access this work, the more meaningful it becomes. If it can shift even a fraction of those minds toward greater awareness or positive change, then it’s doing what it was meant to do.

Now, more than ever, climate and environmental advocacy are extremely important—especially in the polarized state of American politics and the way this issue is being handled. What do you hope viewers take away from this exhibition? 

I hope The Great Acceleration gives people a sense of scale—both of the problem, and of our place within it. The photographs in this show and the films screening at Metrograph aren’t meant to prescribe solutions, but to provoke a kind of seeing that’s deeper and more reflective. We’re living in a time where data is abundant, but emotional connection is harder to come by. I believe art can fill that space. If viewers leave with a renewed sense of awe, urgency, or even discomfort—then the work has found resonance with the viewer. Change often begins when we truly see the systems we’re embedded in.

How have the rapidly increasing temperatures and rise in climate related issues and tragedies affected your craft and livelihood?

‍In some ways, it’s intensified the urgency of the work. Sites I might have photographed a decade ago no longer exist in the same form—or at all. Fires, floods, droughts, even wars over resources—these aren’t distant possibilities anymore. They’re here. They shape the logistics of making this kind of work. But they also reinforce its importance. Bearing witness to and sharing these transformations has never felt more necessary. I’ve always said that I’m not trying to make environmental propaganda—I’m trying to make compelling images of where we are now. But that “now” keeps evolving, faster than ever.

What has been the most interesting juxtaposition of nature and human industry that you have witnessed or captured in your years as a photographer?

There are many, but one that stays with me is the lithium evaporation ponds in the Atacama Desert. From above, they’re these impossibly vivid geometric fields—turquoise, green, yellow—like a stained-glass window laid across the earth. Beautiful, almost painterly. But they’re also part of the push for global electrification— critical minerals drawn from one of the driest places on Earth. That tension between aesthetic allure and ecological consequence is central to my work. It’s where I think photography can hold that kind of complexity.

Do you believe that art can reach people? How do you hope to incite change and motivation for change in an age where people may feel hopeless about national and global issues?

I do believe art can reach people—especially when it’s revelatory not accusatory. There’s something in the act of looking—really looking—that opens up space for reflection. And reflection is the seed of change. When people feel hopeless, it’s often because they feel overwhelmed or disconnected. I try to reconnect them—to show the web of activity that underpins modern life, and the costs that come with it. My hope is that this awareness leads not just to despair, but to engagement and positive action.

The Anthropocene Trilogy was literally a decades-long project. What were some of the most intense escalations of climate-related issues that you witnessed during the years of working on this trilogy? Did you reach any epiphanies along the way?

Over the course of The Anthropocene Project specifically, which includes the last film in this trilogy, what struck me most was the acceleration of change. In Indonesia, I saw entire rainforests razed for palm oil plantations. In places like Lagos or Mumbai, we witnessed the human consequences of climate migration. These aren’t abstract phenomena—they’re visible, physical, and unfolding in real time. The epiphany, if I can call it that, was this: humans now rival natural forces in shaping the planet. We’ve become a geological agent. That realization continues to haunt—and motivate—my work.

‍What are some of the practices you use to reduce your individual impact on the environment at an everyday level? Do you think individuals can have an impact or must we rely on the governing powers to take that responsibility?

I try to be mindful in my daily life—how I travel, what I consume, where I invest. I also constantly support organizations doing critical environmental work. And in my studio and when I’m producing new work, we’ve taken steps to reduce our footprint wherever possible including having the space powered by Bullfrog Power and purchasing gold standard carbon offsets. But I also recognize that individual action, while meaningful, is not enough. We need systemic change—especially from governments, industries, and financial institutions. That said, individual action can be a gateway to collective momentum. When enough people start shifting their values, systems eventually follow.

How are you staying hopeful for the future? 

Hope, for me, isn’t passive. It’s a practice. I find it in young people demanding better, in scientists pushing boundaries, in artists making meaning out of chaos. I find it in the resilience of ecosystems and in the global dialogue around these issues finally gaining traction. But most of all, I find it in the act of creating itself. To photograph is to bear witness—but also to care. As long as I can make work that contributes to the conversation, there’s still a reason to keep going.