In contrast to these busy, colorful images, the austere, blind-embossed cover centers the themes of memory and loss. The effect is reminiscent of a B-roll montage in some documentary film meant to celebrate the endless variety of humankind – but not saccharine or preachy. They capture a broad albeit idiosyncratic slice of life. They read convincingly like snapshots and memories without trying too hard to be gritty or authentic. The images are Robertson’s personal photographs and outtakes from previous projects. As one reads, it is difficult to retain the unfolding meaning of the quote against the richness and sheer variety of the photographs. The text and image have entirely different paces, creating an interesting temporal tension. The occasional period reminds the reader that they are reading a linear text and not just a cryptic caption below each image. By setting the text entirely uppercase, Robertson further disconnects each word from its place within the sentence. The stability of each image pair would threaten the momentum of the book, but the unresolved text propels the reader forward. A shirt picks up on the pyramidal form of a bonfire. Illuminated by Robertson’s flash, the gold of a dead fern mirrors that of a faux-Corinthian capital. He compares textures, as in a spread with a tree bark verso and footprint recto. He contrasts warm and cool colors across the gutter. Robertson deftly uses the formal elements of design in this arena. Each page has the same composition – a vertical image inside white margins – which enhances the stability of the spread as a unit. Indeed, Robertson plays more with the possibilities of the spread as a space than as a sequence. Since the full quote is not readily apparent, the reader focuses on the text-image pair on each page and on the verso-recto relationship in each spread. This creates a powerful one-to-one relationship between the word and image on each page. The quote runs the entire length of the book, progressing essentially one word per page. This is a place to pause and to think.” Guided by this reverential tone, Robertson successfully weaves together the global and the intimate, seeds and memory. Every time I come here I feel like I’m in a cathedral. The photographs are accompanied by a single quote from a member of Crop Trust, the organization behind the Svalbard vault: “This vault is built for humanity to survive. Rather than food, artist Tim Robertson has imagined a vault of memories to “regenerate life in present and future times of trouble and loss.” The book itself could be the vault, but more likely each of its thirty-four images is a door into an infinitely larger, more complex collection. Chang La has a prevalent temperature in this sub-zero range.Seed Vault is inspired by the Svalbard Global Seed Vault in Norway, which exists to safeguard the genetic diversity of crops against natural and man-made disaster. But in the long run, for 10 to 20 years, they need to be kept at a minus 15 to minus 20 degree Celsius (range). An official from the Defence Institute of High Altitude Research said, “When a seed needs to be stored for few years, maintaining it at just 10 degree Celsius is enough.This is a first step in safeguarding the crop diversity and agricultural wealth of our country. Pigeon pea is a high source of protein and India is one of the highest producers of the pulse crop.The vault is a joint venture of the National Bureau of Plant Genetic Resources (which comes under the Indian Council of Agricultural Research) and the Defence Institute of High Altitude Research (under Defence Research and Development Organisation). One accession consists of a set of seeds of one species collected from different locations or different populations.
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