I stepped through the doors of Cornwall’s old textile mill just as the September sun began to cast long shadows across the St. Lawrence River. Inside, the abandoned industrial space had transformed into a vibrant ecosystem of creation—climate activists, students, and artists mingling between towering sculptures built from reclaimed plastic and projection installations mapping rising water levels onto factory walls.
“People understand data differently when they feel it,” explained Marisol Chen, an environmental artist whose large-scale installation dominated the mill’s main floor. She guided me through a corridor where recorded voices of local elders described seasonal changes they’ve witnessed over seven decades. “Memory is more powerful than statistics for many people.”
This gathering marks the third annual Cornwall Climate Action Through Arts festival, an initiative that has grown from a small community event into what organizers now call “the creative engine of climate response” in this historically industrial city.
Cornwall, like many small Canadian cities with manufacturing legacies, has struggled with economic transitions while facing increasing climate pressures. Warming temperatures in the St. Lawrence River watershed have altered ice formation patterns, affecting winter recreation and ecosystems, while more frequent extreme weather events have tested aging infrastructure.
“We tried traditional climate education programs for years,” said Daniel LaRose, Cornwall’s climate resilience coordinator. “But the workshops always attracted the same twenty committed environmentalists.” He gestured toward the hundreds of visitors moving through the exhibition. “Look around—you see families, teenagers, seniors, business owners—people who might never attend a lecture on carbon emissions.”
Research from the University of British Columbia suggests LaRose’s observation reflects a broader trend. A 2023 study found that arts-based climate engagement increased community participation by 68% compared to conventional information sessions, particularly among demographics traditionally underrepresented in environmental movements.
As I wandered between exhibits, I found Miranda Johnson, a Grade 11 student, guiding visitors through her school’s contribution—a sound installation where listeners could hear audio recordings of local habitats alongside projections of how those ecosystems might change under different warming scenarios.
“Last year I didn’t really think about climate change,” Miranda admitted. “But working on this project, interviewing biologists, and listening to these sounds for months—it stopped being abstract. Now I’m planning to study environmental science.”
The festival didn’t emerge spontaneously. It grew from collaboration between the Cornwall Arts Collective, the St. Lawrence River Institute, and the municipal sustainability office. What began as a weekend exhibition has expanded into a year-round program that includes artist residencies in schools, climate storytelling workshops, and community-based adaptation planning that uses creative methods to engage residents.
“Traditional planning processes exclude so many voices,” said Dr. Sarah Williams, an environmental psychologist who studies climate communication at Queen’s University. “When communities integrate arts and culture into climate action, they access emotional and cultural dimensions of change that technical approaches often miss.”
Williams points to success stories from communities across Canada where arts-based climate initiatives have measurably increased public support for adaptation projects. “The data shows that when people engage creatively with climate futures, they’re more likely to support infrastructure investments and policy changes.”
For Cornwall, these creative approaches have yielded concrete results. Last year, after the festival featured a water-themed installation highlighting stormwater management, residents overwhelmingly supported a municipal bond measure funding green infrastructure—a proposal that had failed twice before.
“The difference was that people could visualize and emotionally connect with solutions,” explained Councillor Nadia Thompson. “The arts festival didn’t just make climate change feel important—it made climate action feel possible.”
Not everyone in Cornwall embraces the festival’s approach. Outside the mill, I met Robert Garnier, a former factory worker who questioned the practicality of arts-based climate initiatives.
“Pretty sculptures won’t stop floods or create jobs,” he told me, though he acknowledged attending the festival for the first time after his grandchildren participated in a school project. “But I’ll give them credit—they got me thinking about climate change in a way those government pamphlets never did.”
Navigating between exhibits, I found myself drawn to a quiet corner where elder Margaret Rennie from the nearby Akwesasne Mohawk Territory sat demonstrating traditional sweetgrass basketry. Around her, visitors added written climate hopes to a community installation.
“Our people have always understood that art isn’t separate from life or from our relationship with the land,” Rennie explained as her fingers worked the grass. “These young people are rediscovering something important—that creativity helps us imagine different ways of living with the earth.”
As the festival’s third day concluded, organizers and artists gathered by the river for a community meal featuring locally grown food. Solar-powered lights illuminated long tables where former factory workers sat alongside environmental activists, municipal officials, and young families—conversations flowing between talk of renewable energy projects and upcoming community arts initiatives.
Chen, the environmental artist I’d met earlier, joined me as twilight settled over the river. “Climate change is a failure of imagination as much as policy,” she reflected. “Before people can build a different future, they need to see it, feel it, believe in it. That’s what we’re doing here—creating spaces where people can rehearse new ways of living.”
Cornwall’s experiment in connecting climate action with arts and culture points toward models emerging across Canada, where communities are finding that technical solutions alone haven’t generated the social momentum needed for transformation. The festival demonstrates how arts-based approaches can bridge divides, engage broader audiences, and translate abstract climate concerns into tangible local actions.
As darkness fell and projection art illuminated the old mill’s façade, I watched children race through interactive light installations while their parents discussed community solar initiatives. The festival had accomplished something remarkable—it had made confronting climate change feel not just necessary, but possible, even joyful.
“We’re not just making art about climate change,” LaRose told me as we watched the community gathering. “We’re using creativity to rebuild our relationship with this place and with each other. That’s where real climate resilience begins.”
