Review: Astronomy Photographer of the Year at the National Maritime Museum, London

Source: NASA

Life imitates art; apparently, so does the cosmos. Our skies are riddled with shimmering galaxies, turbulent nebulae, serene planets; it is as if the heavens had been used as a personal canvas by an inspired god. But for the amateur, this celestial museum remains mostly hidden away in the depths of the universe. With space being so vast, imposing, and remote, it takes a special vision to understand and capture its beauty and grandeur in a way that enchants everyday viewers.

At the annual Astronomy Photographer of the Year Exhibition at the National Maritime Museum in Greenwich, London, such photographs are the focus, hand-picked every year by a panel of judges whose areas of expertise range from art to astronomy. This year’s exhibition just opened its doors to the public; during my visit of the previous one, 32 photographs were displayed, selected from over 4,500 submissions (from 75 countries). The exhibition is divided into eight categories, each with its shortlists, runners-up, and winners (as well as the overall winner). Entry is open to anyone, whether you have only a smartphone or a whole observatory at your disposal; the competition aims to highlight the ‘passion and ingenuity’ of the photographers and show ‘how they see the universe’.

What is strikingly clear throughout the exhibition is the sense of scale, and contrast between the vast cosmos and our tiny little lives on this planet. The first picture I saw during a visit – Derek Horlock’s No New Worlds – immediately reminded me of the universe’s wickedly large sense of time. The artist notes that the image was taken 400 years after the Mayflower’s voyage; the light from the star Polaris (used by Horlock to calibrate his instruments) was produced during the voyagers’ lifetime and is only now reaching us.

In a similar fashion, James Rushford’s Comet Neowise over Stonehenge shows us the ancient stones with the comet above it; though Stonehenge seems inconceivably old to us, the last time the comet passed over the site - 6,800 years ago – it had not yet been built. In fact, writing had not yet been invented. But against the 13.8-billion-year-old universe, 6,800 years is nothing; in the cosmic timescale, entire human lifetimes take no more than a blink of an eye, and these images give us a dizzying sense of this.

This perception of time also makes one realize the sheer scale of the universe, which grants viewers a unique perspective on the world. Astronauts in space often credit the ‘overview effect’ – seeing the Earth as a whole, sitting in an infinite sea of black – as truly inspiring their awareness of our planet’s fragility and the insignificance of its problems. Some images in this exhibition evoke the same feeling by depicting Earth’s most violent of tantrums and contrasting them against the background of space. Dario Giannobile’s Moon over Mount Etna South-East Crater shows the fiery mountain spew out red-hot molten rock, but the full moon above it watches on, looking serene, mysterious, and all-knowing. Yulya Bakirova’s Comet Neowise and Thunderstorm depicts a furious storm, but it only takes up the lower quarter of the image; the rest is filled with a sparkling of stars and, of course, the comet. These images seem to tell us that the most frighteningly brutal outbursts of rage that our planet can possibly produce are cosmically insignificant.

But while the universe seems so incredibly peaceful, space has a temper of its own, and a mighty one at that. The most direct example is our sun; though we owe our lives to it, the star has a streak of violence that we get to experience here on Earth. Aurorae, such as depicted in Dmitri Rybalka’s Polar Lights Dance, are charged particles – solar wind – emitted from the sun that interact with chemicals in Earth’s atmosphere, creating the lights. Stronger lights result from coronal mass ejections (CMEs), or raging eruptions of plasma from the sun (more on the subject in this post). Our planet’s magnetic shield wards these particles off, which protects our atmosphere, though they are briefly redirected to the poles. The resulting aurorae, while hauntingly beautiful, show the ferocious power of the sun. CMEs are elegantly depicted in Vincent Bouchama’s The Sun sharing its Crown with a Comet, taken during a solar eclipse. The photograph clearly shows the sun’s tumultuous nature, with its corona – outer atmosphere – whipping around it like waves during a storm at sea. And the sun is just the closest example of this vigor; the universe is so unimaginably large that while deathly calmness seems its dominating feature, in reality, it is alive with passion, fury, and energy.

Seeing this simultaneous beauty and destructive power that space holds is like holding up a mirror to ourselves; our planet and its life – including us humans – is beautiful in many ways, but also has a tendency towards violence and darkness. The relation between these opposites is ancient, complex, and perhaps inextricable; this ongoing duality fuels copious amounts of philosophy, religion, and creativity in an effort to better understand it or even define it. For example, in ancient Chinese philosophy, Yin and Yang represent two halves that complete each other, but neither is purely good or evil; in other religions such as Christianity, good and evil are separate entities.

Art, as an essential part of being human, naturally incorporates much of this inborn dichotomy; for example, Hieronymus Bosch’s The Garden of Earthly Delights is a direct juxtaposition of (the Christian interpretation of) good and evil, and warns the viewer of what awaits when the path of temptation (evil) is chosen. Other artwork may focus on one side more than the other; Edvard Munch’s The Scream, for example, depicts the disturbing ‘anxiety of the human condition’. It is therefore clear that art imitates life; however, as argued by Oscar Wilde, life also imitates art, as art has taught people how to see the world (and everything around it) in a certain way.

Thanks to the photographs at the Greenwich exhibition, we can see how the universe, like us, is both a beautiful and violent creation, mirroring ourselves. But, as predicted by the philosophy of life imitating art, some entries seem like downright artistic creations rather than photographs of nature. Bogdan Borz’s Clouds in IC2944, depicting a nebula 6,000 light years away, is a prime example of this. With the cloud’s almost Fibonacci-esque structure, the softness of the lines, and the depth of color, this image could have jumped straight from an oil-on-canvas renaissance painting. Even more uncannily, the dust shown in NGC 6188 SHORGB by Cielaustral team is stunningly similar to Michelangelo’s The Creation of Adam on the Sistine Chapel ceiling. And A colourful quadrantid meteor by Frank Kuszaj, with its primary colors and geometric alignment, has similarities with works by Piet Mondrian.

Another nebula photograph, The Colour Splash of Cygnus Loop by Min Xie, is reminiscent of modern art and texture; it is almost fabric-like. This photograph is violent and full of motion, not only showing off the nebula’s nature but also symbolizing its duality particularly well; this nebula was born from the explosive death of a star – a supernova – and is a sizzling hot collection of dust. But nebulae often serve as so-called stellar nurseries where new stars are born. It is emblematic of the circle of life, and life after death (in this case, that of stars), which is a topic that has weighed on humanity’s thoughts for as long as we could think.

These innate similarities between our nature and that of the cosmos suggests that while space seems so vast and unapproachable, it is only a reflection of us, and we a reflection of it. In other words, we are one and the same. As famed astronomer Carl Sagan said: ‘The cosmos is within us. We are made of star-stuff. We are a way for the universe to know itself.’ This must be why we are similar not just in terms of our complex character, but in our creations, too.

But it is thanks to the photographers with their skills and talents that we are able to see and enjoy the artwork that is the universe. They bring these wonders down to Earth and build a bridge between humanity and space that does not require any knowledge or training whatsoever; one merely has to drink in the images. The exhibition’s visitors, ranging from involved space fans to casual observers, appreciate this ease of inspiration. Lloyd Hughes of Mildenhall, Suffolk, a member of an astronomy group, marveled at the work that went into creating these pictures, but said he wished it were easier and less intimidating to create them; ‘when you look at the results from an armory of cameras, it’s difficult for people [to understand the process]’, he said.

The exhibition nevertheless serves as a source of inspiration for the next generation of space fans and photographers. Amelie, a student from the Lake District and an aspiring photographer, said she appreciated the ‘incredible photos and amazing skill’ of the artists, and how the connection of space and nature, exemplified by the ‘trees and mountains blending into space’, inspired her to consider trying astrophotography. Stewart, a student from Virginia, USA, became interested in space during the pandemic and would like to work in the field – he left the exhibition saying ‘I’m inspired by things I could do in the future’.

This shows that the exhibition not only displays magnificent artworks, but also provides a stimulus for people to work in space. Dawn Humm of central London, who established and ran a technical information unit for engineers and is now retired, visits the exhibition every year and feels that this is its most vital aspect. ‘It’s to see whether it excites young people, because they are the future,’ she says. This is becoming increasingly important in a new era of spaceflight and humanity’s ambitious goals of reaching the moon, Mars, and more.

The exhibition is clear about its objective of inspiring visitors for the future. A foreword at the entrance states that ‘advancements in technology mean that space tourism is edging closer’ and how the aim is ‘bringing together art, science, and technology’ and to inspire ‘possibilities for the future as we continue to think about our world and our place in the cosmos’. Especially in its newcomer and innovation categories, the photographs hint at this future. John White’s Martian Sunset shows the blue sun setting on the red planet: the sunset of future venturers. And Paul Eckhardt’s Falcon 9 soars past the Moon embodies our fiery efforts to one day get there.  

In 32 photographs, this exhibition tells the story of humanity and space in the context of a new space age. Though the work behind the photographs is mindbogglingly technical and difficult, they show viewers the importance and wonder of space not through massive amounts of facts and data, but through something every person can connect to: art. And with that, the most obscure aspects of astrophysics that require years of training to completely understand are laid out for everyone to see, connecting the seemingly opposite fields of science and art. Perhaps they are not that different; after all, life imitates art.