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Mermaids and Borders: The Ocean is a Place Beyond Control

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Preface

In this class, we have always joked about the “Science with a capital S,” or the “History with a capital H,” and, funnily enough, Eric Paul Roorda’s “Ocean with a capital O.” Throughout this essay, I decided to take a queue from Roorda and Steve Mentz by deterritorializating my language and stepping away from the terracentric, and thus, “Ocean” is capitalized as Roorda does in his writings. Ironically enough, Google said that the word was grammatically incorrect. But what does Google know, for it has yet to interact with the environment in the same way that humans do.

Introduction

Humans have long tried to dominate and police the land, and all that dwells on it: this includes people, animals, and even going so far as to draw imaginary lines that create “borders.” These so-called “borders” prohibit people from entering territories, goods from being exchanged, and even languages from being spoken. However, there is one thing that humans will never be able to control: the ocean. The Ocean has prevailed boundaries in a physical and metaphorical sense for generations. You can’t draw lines on constantly moving water, and no matter how hard one might try, there will always be resistance from the ocean. Humans tend to see themselves as separate from nature, even above nature. But the truth is, humans are hybrid beings themselves, just like mermaids. They are neither nature nor non-nature. They are a culmination of all things that nature provided and humans innovated. Eric Paul Roorda’s “Introduction” to The Ocean Reader: Theory, Culture, Politics highlights the concept of terracentrism and the Ocean’s overlooked history; meanwhile, Emilija Škarnulytė’s short film Sirenomelia visually explores the relationship and faded boundaries between human and nature. Human attempts to control and define the Ocean reveal a persistent terracentrism that denies its history and autonomy, as Roorda argues in The Ocean Reader and Škarnulytė illustrates in Sirenomelia. Together, these works suggest that the Ocean—and, by extension, nature—ultimately transcends human boundaries and categorizations, challenging us to reconsider where we draw the line between human and nonhuman worlds and to recognize our limited authority over environments we cannot fully control. 

Terracentrism and the Ocean’s Resistance

Roorda’s introduction to The Ocean Reader critiques terracentrism, the human tendency to privilege land over the sea, despite its equal place in our environment. The central idea behind The Ocean Reader is to claim a spot for the Ocean in the “vast realm of World History” (Roorda 3), as humans have pushed it to be a footnote in the historical record kept by humans. Perhaps it is the fact that the Ocean is so vast that humans cannot conquer it, which makes the Ocean so “undesirable” in the eyes of humans. For generations, humans have refused to see the Ocean as a place, seeing it as a void lacking a history, as Roorda writes in his introduction (1). Additionally, he says, “Because the Ocean can’t be plowed, paved, or shaped in ways the eye is able to discern, [the Ocean] has seemed to be a constant, while the land has changed drastically over the centuries” (1). This points to the disproportionate relationship that modern humans have developed with the land. The language that Roorda uses to describe this relationship is interesting, as well. His choice of words to describe the relationship: plowed, paved, or shaped, is innately industrial. They are things that humans do to the land, but in this case, it just can’t be applied to the Ocean as it is an unchanging, unwavering force. While humans take and colonize and poison it, the land ultimately suffers and receives nothing good in return. However, where the land and sea share similarities in context with the way humans interact with them is greed. The rise of industrialism and capitalism has tainted the land and Ocean with greed, as Roorda writes, “Humans interact with that system in many ways […] They study it, find inspiration in it, play on it, and fight over it” (3). What fuels the human desire to conquer is the same for the land as it is for the Ocean: greed. But, as mentioned before, the Ocean is an unchanging and unwavering force. Its borders against the coastline are politicized because humans cannot govern and colonize the waters as they do with land. Therefore, the Ocean resists human categorization and control, undermining terracentric assumptions.  Roorda’s insistence on recognizing the Ocean as a place with history also challenges the way humans construct narratives of progress. Land-based history often emphasizes conquest, settlement, and industrial development, but the Ocean resists these frameworks. Because it cannot be permanently altered in the same visible ways as land, the Ocean becomes a site of continuity rather than rupture. This continuity is unsettling for the human-centered historical accounts, which rely on evidence of change and domination to mark significance. By positioning the Ocean as a historical actor, Roorda forces readers to reconsider what counts as history and whose stories are included in it. Roorda’s framing of the Ocean as both a site of greed and inspiration highlights its paradoxical role in human life. On one hand, the Ocean is exploited for resources, trade, and power; on the other, it inspires art, exploration, and wonder. This duality reflects the broader tension between human desire to control and the Ocean’s refusal to be controlled. By acknowledging this tension, Roorda invites readers to see the Ocean not as a void but as a dynamic force that shapes human history even as it resists human categorization.

Nature’s Autonomy in Sirenomelia

Mermaid wearing scuba mask in Sirenomelia, Emilija Škarnulytė

In a similar way that details the relationship between humans and nature, Škarnulytė’s short film Sirenomelia visually demonstrates nature’s independence from human intervention through the use of sound, visuals, and the complete lack of human interaction throughout the entire 6-minute film. In her film, viewers are introduced to a lone mermaid venturing through an abandoned submarine base. The film is eerily silent, with only the electronic, artificial “bloops” coming from the submarine. In this post-human world, there is only this singular mermaid, who is, interestingly, wearing a scuba mask: something that one might presume mermaids don’t need to have. This then begs the question: is she not fully mermaid? Was she human before, and did she become something else after years of war and desecration of the land and Oceans? This mermaid is already a hybrid being, but she also represents a blending of two realms: the “human” realm and the “nature” realm. So, beyond being a hybrid being of fish and human, she then represents a further enmeshment of humans being a part of nature. In the post-human realm of Sirenomelia, it is clear that humans no longer have a place in the environment; they came and went, leaving nature to prevail. This mermaid now represents something that came from human intervention, due to the human-like mask she uses instead of purely being a marine creature. Instead of communicating that humans and nature are completely separate entities, Škarnulytė uses her mermaid to communicate that humans were never meant to be separate from nature; they were always a part of it. But, because they were consumed by greed as discussed in the Ocean’s neglect in the historical record and focus on terracentrism, they eventually ceased to exist. Now, hybrid beings like the mermaid govern the Ocean that humans once tried to take control of. What makes this imagery so compelling is the way Škarnulytė positions the mermaid as both a survivor and a product of human failure. The scuba mask becomes a symbol of adaptation, a reminder that even in a post-human world, traces of human technology remain embedded in nature. Yet, rather than signifying dominance, the mask signifies dependence: the mermaid’s survival is tied to a human artifact, but she uses it in a way that transcends its original purpose. This inversion of meaning highlights how human creations, once designed for control, can be reabsorbed into nature’s systems and repurposed for survival. The silence of the film also plays a crucial role in reinforcing the Ocean’s autonomy. By stripping away human voices, dialogue, or even recognizable human sounds, Škarnulytė creates a soundscape that feels alien yet natural. The electronic “bloops” of the submarine are artificial, but they fade into the background, becoming part of the Ocean’s rhythm rather than dominating it. This auditory choice underscores the futility of human attempts to impose order on the Ocean: even the remnants of technology are swallowed by its vastness, transformed into echoes rather than commands. The post-human setting of Sirenomelia dramatizes what happens when greed and terracentrism sever that entanglement: humans disappear, leaving behind hybrid beings who embody the interconnectedness that humans once denied. In this way, Škarnulytė’s film not only critiques human exploitation of the Ocean but also imagines a future where nature reclaims authority, and where survival depends on embracing hybridity rather than resisting it.

Hybridity and Transformation as Challenges to Human Categories

Mermaid swimming to sonor sounds, Sirenomelia, Emilija Škarnulytė

The figure of the mermaid swimming peacefully throughout the submarine base in Sirenomelia embodies hybridity, complicating human attempts to categorize nature, thus reinforcing Roorda’s claim that the ocean resists fixed definitions. The mermaid’s hybrid body in Sirenomelia blurs boundaries between species and environments. Not only is she a half-human, half-fish being, but she is also a blend between the land and ocean that has become overused and exploited by humans. Her purely “nature” body meshed with the pairing of a distinctly human scuba-diving mask communicates the human penetration of the land and environment. Humans are innately nature, but their destruction and greed have left a permanent mark on the land, not now, it has bled onto the hybrid bodies of the mermaids in the post-human environment of Sirenomelia. Her mask presents an image of mutation, which suggests ongoing transformation beyond human control. This shows the futility of humans trying to govern and control the environment—no matter what we do, there are ways nature will prevail. One day, humans will cease to exist, and they will no longer do harm to the environment. Just as Roorda argues that the Ocean cannot be “plowed, paved, or shaped” (1) into human categories, Škarnulytė’s mermaid resists classification as either human or nature; this hybridity destabilizes terracentric assumptions and highlights the Ocean as a space of fluid identities and histories. By foregrounding transformation and hybridity, both texts emphasize that the Ocean is not just a static backdrop before the dynamic force of human authority, but it demands new ways of thinking about boundaries. This hybridity also forces us to confront the uncomfortable truth that humans themselves are hybrid beings. Just like the mermaid, humans are neither fully separate from nature nor entirely outside of it. They are a culmination of what nature provides—air, water, food, ecosystems—and what human innovation creates—technology, infrastructure, and culture. The mermaid’s mask becomes a metaphor for this entanglement: a human artifact fused with a natural body, symbolizing how human existence is always dependent on and intertwined with the environment. In this way, Sirenomelia does not simply depict a fantastical creature, but rather holds up a mirror to humanity, reminding us that our identities are inseparable from the natural world we often claim to dominate. Furthermore, the mermaid’s hybridity destabilizes the very categories humans rely on to assert authority. If she is both human and nature, then the boundary between the two collapses, exposing the artificiality of terracentric assumptions. This collapse demands a new way of thinking about boundaries—one that acknowledges fluidity, transformation, and interconnectedness rather than rigid separation. By presenting hybridity as both a survival strategy and a critique of human greed, Škarnulytė and Roorda together argue that the Ocean is not a passive backdrop but an active force that reshapes human history and identity.

Rethinking Boundaries Between Human and Nature

Together, Roorda and Škarnulytė challenge us to reconsider how we define and separate humans from nature. Humans have a natural tendency to place themselves in a separate category from nature, even going so far as viewing themselves above nature. They position themselves in a way that strips care and respect from the environment in the name of  humans being the “superior species.” But, as Roorda and Škarnulytė point out in their works, humans are just as much nature as they are non-nature. They are hybrid beings, despite their attempts to distance themselves from the environment. As Roorda points out, the ocean is a historical place beyond human shaping, and he decides to deviate from the conventional approach of lowercasing “ocean” to capitalizing “Ocean,” as I have done throughout this essay as well. He writes, “To capitalize Ocean is to challenge the conventional wisdom that the seas can be taken for granted. They cannot” (3–4). By adhering to this approach, humans can attempt to lean back on their vision as “superior” beings and instead lean towards a more ocean-centric approach that invites their hybrid state. Additionally, Škarnulytė’s mermaid complicates definitions of “nature” and “human,” as she is both and takes up space in both environments. Both works highlight the complexities and futility of rigid boundaries, urging recognition of interconnectivity and humility in the face of environments that we cannot dominate. This recognition of hybridity is crucial because it forces us to confront the false binary humans have created between themselves and the environment. By insisting on separation, humans have justified exploitation, pollution, and domination of the natural world. Yet Roorda’s capitalization of “Ocean” and Škarnulytė’s depiction of the mermaid both remind us that humans are not outside of nature but deeply entangled within it. The Ocean, with its vast history and resistance to human shaping, becomes a symbol of continuity that humans cannot erase. The mermaid, with her hybrid body and human-like mask, becomes a symbol of transformation that humans cannot fully define. Both figures destabilize the illusion of superiority and instead invite us to see ourselves as part of a larger, interconnected system.  The act of capitalizing “Ocean” is more than a stylistic choice—it is a political and ethical statement. It demands that readers treat the Ocean as a proper noun, a subject with agency, history, and significance equal to land. In doing so, Roorda challenges terracentric assumptions and insists that the Ocean deserves recognition in the same way humans recognize nations, cities, or landmarks. This shift in language mirrors Škarnulytė’s artistic shift in representation: by centering a mermaid in a post-human world, she forces viewers to acknowledge that categories like “human” and “nature” are porous and unstable. Both choices—capitalization and hybridity—work to dismantle the hierarchies humans have built to elevate themselves above the environment. If humans are hybrid beings, then their survival depends on embracing that hybridity rather than denying it. The Ocean cannot be conquered, and nature cannot be endlessly exploited without consequence. By foregrounding hybridity, Roorda and Škarnulytė remind us that the boundaries we cling to are illusions, and that our future depends on recognizing interconnectivity. In this sense, both works are not only critiques of human arrogance but also invitations to imagine a more sustainable and respectful way of living—one that honors the Ocean as a historical force and embraces hybridity as the truth of human existence.

Conclusion: “We’re all mermaids already…”

Philosopher Timothy Morton once said, “We’re all mermaids already, we just don’t know it yet.” What Morton might be pointing to is the hybrid nature humans have within the environment—they are simultaneously a part of nature, and their own entity as well. They have separated themselves from nature and, by extension, the Ocean by policing the lands and (attempting to) politicize the borders and coastlines of the Ocean, but it resists human control, both conceptually and visually, as shown in Roorda’s theory and Škarnulytė’s artistic short film. These works remind us that human authority is, ultimately, limited, and that by acknowledging the ocean’s autonomy, we may reshape our relationship with nature and the environment. By confronting our attraction towards terracentrism and embracing the ocean’s independence, we open ourselves to the more ethical, sustainable ways of engaging with the world. We may also recognize that we are mermaids—neither wholly separate from nor above nature, but a culmination of what nature provides and what human innovation creates. Recognizing this hybridity forces us to confront our limited authority over environments we cannot fully control and to reimagine our place within the natural world.

Final Proposal: Sirenomelia

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Thesis: The mermaid, from Emilija Škarnulytė’s short film Sirenomelia, bridges nature and human isolation from nature, through her hybrid existence and her ability to explore the human civilization’s remnants in the Arctic Circle. She explores the tunnels that once docked submarines, and views the facility’s equipment from the water, but she also observes the way the base of the facility has become part of the underwater ecosystem. The human facility she explores used the ocean as a means of exploration and a strategic location to conduct submarine intelligence and warfare during the Cold War. Her hybrid existence, however, supersedes what the mechanizations of war were capable of discovering. She can explore this facility through the water, through sight and sound, but this comes at the cost of what is seemingly an apocalyptic post-human world, where humanity has left behind its legacy of destruction by evolving and becoming a hybrid creature. Her existence bridges the human and underwater realms, and is important because it suggests a future in which our evolved selves can grow from the issues of the present and past and learn from humans’ self-destructive tendencies and the imprint they leave on the earth. 

I will be using Twine to present my creative essay through non-linear story telling. Within this non-linear storytelling mode, I will discuss the history of submarine warfare in the arctic during the cold war, as well as citing not only the imagery and sound in the short film, but Emilija Škarnulytė’s commentary on this project: https://www.vdrome.org/emilija-skarnulyte/ 

I was interested in incorporating some creative writing through this non-linear method, by weaving in the thoughts of the siren as she explores the NATO base, which I would write myself.

Wk 14

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I wanted to make a creative and immersive project by creating a twine story/game, which I saw an example of in the sample project tab. I thought I might use sirenomelia to develop a type of sci-fi, futuristic mermaid’s day-in-the-life. It would culminate with her exploration of the base, and perhaps a discovery of her/and humanity’s past. Because we know so little about the mermaid, I thought I would create a storyboard that you could follow, exploring who she (you) might be and her process that leads her to explore the abandoned NATO base. I want to incorporate sound in this experience, as I was really drawn to the video’s entrancing use of sound and the exploration of space through sound.

I want to incorporate the little mermaid’s fascination with humanity, and what it might mean to the mermaid to view such a different landscape and environment. I also wanted to explore some of the prompts from Helen M Rodzadowski’s Vast Expanses: A History of the Ocean’s

“The opacity of the ocean
guarantees that we see reflected back from its surface our fears and
desires.”

“The connection forged between people
and oceans has changed both and tied their fates together. Our future
may depend on acknowledging the ocean as part of – not outside of – history”

I want to focus the mermaid’s story on these passages, as well as Rodzadowski acknowledging scientific advancement as a way that humans explored and used the ocean, thus interacting and becoming a part of the ocean’s history. The mermaid in Sirenomelia is our future, calling out to our past selves, telling us that we’ve gone about it all wrong, and that there is a wealth in acknowledging that our relationship with the ocean is not one-sided

Sirenomelia: Nature Always Prevails

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Humans have a long-standing desire to conquer—this includes lands, oceans, and even people. But what would a world look like with the absence of humans? Emilija Škarnulytė’s short film Sirenomelia attempts to answer this question, as it portrays a mermaid swimming through an abandoned arctic submarine base in silence, with no human interaction. In Sirenomelia, Škarnulytė uses the haunting image of the mermaid gliding through an abandoned submarine base to deafening silence to suggest that while human presence is fleeting, nature endures. By staging this encounter in a space once designed for human dominance, the film underscores the futility of humanity’s attempts to conquer the ocean and reminds us that the environment will ultimately prevail.

Mermaid wearing scuba mask in Sirenomelia, Emilija Škarnulytė

The film blurs the boundary between human and natural worlds, questioning where one ends and the other begins. The presence of the mermaid complicates this relationship—her hybrid form could indicate that she could lean either human or fish (nature). Interestingly, the mermaid sports a scuba mask (Škarnulytė 4:13), which would mean she could potentially lean more “human.” However, her unnatural abilities—swimming through water for long periods of time and her fish-like tail— would separate her from the humans we know of today. So, her appearance and capabilities raise the question: are humans a part of nature or are they separate from it? Perhaps Škarnulytė suggests that attempting to separate ourselves from nature is artificial and unstable, just like the creations we brought to this world, which are now left behind in a world devoid of humans. The hybridity of the mermaid seems to represent that humans have a place within nature; however, in the grand scheme of things, they will eventually die out and leave behind a world tainted by their presence.

Humans have always tried to conquer, but in Škarnulytė’s film, it seems that they have failed to do so. Thus, the abandoned submarine base represents humanity’s failed attempt to dominate the oceans. Humans have been trying for generations to conquer lands and draw borders, even in the water. Not only does the base represent their failed attempt at conquering the oceans, but it also represents failed ambitions and the humiliation that came with their failure. The film has multiple shots of empty corridors filled only with water, with no sign of human life. What once was likely a bustling and deadly submarine base catering to the human desire to conquer is now the playground for a mermaid who might not have ever interacted with a human. In essence, the base becomes a relic of human ambition, which is now reclaimed by nature. With no humans to operate it, her world lacks conflict and danger. The absence of humans highlights the temporality of human structures compared to the endurance of the environment.

Mermaid swimming to sonor sounds, Sirenomelia, Emilija Škarnulytė

Of course, the absence of human life has a significant impact on the messaging within the film, but the soundscape also reinforces the counteracting balance between humans and nature. The closing scene shows the mermaid swimming from a birds-eye point of view, looking down on her in the vast expanse of the ocean (Škarnulytė 5:15). In the background is the unsettling sound of what might be a sonar system. As the mermaid swims past, she leaves behind a trail of “waves,” in both the literal sense and a symbolic sense. As her tail flaps against the water, it creates waves both physically through the water and sonically through the soundwaves, almost like she is sending a message. She is the siren alerting humans of her presence, if there are any remaining. This strange and interesting combination of human devoidness but also human influence hints that even if this post-human landscape sees no humans, it still has that touch of human influence.

Although humans may strive to conquer nature by any means possible, whether that means policing borders or drawing lines non the oceans, nature will ultimately prevail. Humans are at an interesting cross-section between nature and something separate from nature. Though they have a place within nature, their ambition will ultimately be their demise. They will one day cease to exist, and all that will remain are the oceans and the lands surrounding them, and perhaps a post-human mermaid wearing a scuba mask. By showing us nature’s quiet endurance, Škarnulytė invites us to reconsider our place within—not above—the natural world.

Works Cited

Škarnulytė, Emilija. Sirenomelia. Nowness Video Art Visions, 2017. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=foH0QGuC3kY

The War of the Water

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Derek Walcott’s poem The Sea is History rounds out a really beautiful image that was begun by the first short film we saw, Sirenomelia. They both utilize the ocean in such an intricate way to point out human emphasis on violence as something of value, rather than destruction.

His opening of the poem, asking the sea, “Where are your monuments, your battles, martyrs?” (Walcott, line 1) reflects so much more than just his question as to why the ocean isn’t appreciated. The questions feel somewhat rhetorical, that there’s nothing to memorialize the ocean when it does so for itself. It stretches on for miles and miles; so much of this never ending mass existed long before human record, or humans themselves, did. It is his choice of wording though, that seems to trigger this idea of more than just being about the sea’s need to be recognized for its totality. He asks about monuments, these statues and physical representations of what once was in order to be faced by every following generation for its bravery; he asks about battles and martyrs, these incredibly discussed and revered objects of discussion because of their sacrifice. All of it though ties together when analyzing all of the terms base themselves in violence, in war-like imagery.

Monuments of the modern day often depict leaders of military, or political figures who incited some sort of change that often resulted in violence because of the overwhelming resorting measures to it in our culture. Battles are the most obvious, with the heavy denotation towards wartime activity, with martyrs often being seen as those involved in these battles. Relating these images, of what society often describes as frightening and gory when looked at in the present tense, to something as gentle and peaceful as the sea creates this greater comparison of how society views appreciation. It ties itself to violence; we crave it to prove our superiority and simultaneously, our appreciation for it. In order to truly be seen as an object of affection or of worth, we must prove we’re worthy through our ritualistic behavior.

This emphasis we place on it additionally seems to prove the reason that Walcott must ask the question at all: the way we view the ocean is the main reason we do not consider it an incredible source of life. In describing it as this peaceful and beautiful place, in the phrases we use of its gentle ebbing and flowing, it becomes associated with this antithesis of our culture demand for aggression. It cannot be fathomed that the ocean is a valuable part of day-to-day life and habit if it does not revolve around these primal needs to prove dominance over the rest of the beings on our territory. In order to ever have a place, it must be a part of this torturous ideal; it must carve out its name in death.

Sirenomelia

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In the short film Sirenomelia, there is a mermaid that is seen swimming in a decommissioned NATO base. The part that I particularly found interesting was the noise and camera angles of when the mermaid was in vision. The beginning of the video states the sound is “white noise” but I noticed that when the mermaid was in frame it sounded like a disruption in audio. Exemplifying a disruption in reasoning and belief of the reality that mermaids could exist.

The changes in audio and video quality was evident throughout the whole film, another notable change was when the camera was closer to the water/ in the water the video quality was blurrier or not as clear and the audio was stronger—in a almost eerie kind of way. Where as the beginning and the end of the film, once the camera was panned out or in aerial view the video quality was more clear and the audio was more of tranquillity. This detail in the film definitely ties into the description of the film stating that the creators wanted to show “The Future is Certain; It’s The Past Which is Unpredictable…history can both be rewritten and imprint itself on the future.”

The contrast of blurrier images and sounds replicate the past that was something the present could only understand through the lenses of others that show unclarity. Where as the clearer images show the future and the progression that future is advancing in.

Week 11: Sironomelia; Nature Prevails Human Beings

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Watching the first few minutes of Sironomelia was rather confusing to me, as we only got small glimpses of what was labeled to be an Arctic Nato submarine base with some underwater shots. But as the video progressed, we see a mermaid figure swimming around the waters of the base, completely alone.

I think back to the lessons we have discussed in class before, specifically on the relationships humans have with the ocean. Humans have historically neglected the ocean’s past, treating it as a history-less abyss devoid of life. However, that is far from the truth. Not only is it a historical wonder that holds all the secrets to life from millions of years ago, it is also full of life. However, if there is one thing about humans, they will do anything to conquer and politicize land that isn’t theirs to begin with. We talked about borders with coastlines in Eric Paul Roorda’s The Ocean Reader and in Helen Rodzwadoski’s “Introduction: in Vast Expanses: A History of the Oceans. Both of these readings emphasize the relationships humans have cultivated with the oceans. Dismissive, but also aggressive. What I notice in Sironomelia is the absence of humans—and with it, the absence of destruction and greed. We see a mermaid traversing this abandoned base, and I speculate that the intention of the film was that it takes place in the near future, devoid of humans.

Sironomelia tells the story of what kind of life prevails: humans are but a speck in comparison to the geological history of the Earth. But what does prevail is nature. What will prevail is the oceans. The mermaid we see is at peace because she doesn’t have to worry about the destruction that humans once brought to her world.

Week 11: Sirenomelia; She Swims Away

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Emilija Škarnulytė’s film Sirenomelia explores a distant imprint of humanity on the world’s surface. In siren form, her exploration of the decommissioned NATO base in the Arctic circle, is as beautiful as it is haunting. This human construction is an abandoned effort by northern powers to position itself, and control movements between the northern nations. But it appears to us as remnants of an alien world, accompanied by quasar sounds, or noises of distant objects.

Like whales who can echolocate distant objects through their sonar, this siren creature might have similarly found this distant human construction. Though, now devoid of human life, but encrusted upon its submerged foundations is ocean life growing upon it, even in frigid temperatures, as seen through the eyes of the mermaid.

The mermaid is perhaps our future selves, wading through our past and trying to decode our creations; our legacy. As the namesake of this film, the condition called sirenomelia, are we viewing a potential future of humanity, adapting to the rapid change of the climate by returning to the water. And what is the cost of this evolution, but to view our past through an alien lens, of a collapsed civilization from a bygone era.

The siren explores the base, but unlike the lively civilization that entrances the little mermaid, there is nothing to truly hold her attention. She swims through its canals and docking bays, past it, away from some human archeological site; remnants of old empire, and back to the open Ocean. She swims away. Perhaps our future is no longer on land.

Sirenomelia: With or Without humans, something happens

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While watching Video Art Visions: Sirenomelia, what came to mind was how we discussed in class how many people perceived the ocean as unchanging. Which by the modern age due to advancements in technology alongside a change of understanding, debunks this. The part I would like to focus on is the shot where the mermaid can be seen swimming in a canal (I think) marked with human influence. From the railings and inside the obviously man-made tunnels to it suddenly cutting to the greater ocean, devoid of anything but itself and water. It goes to show that things are happening away from human eyes. It goes on to show that with or without human influence history is still being made. Nature is an evermoving force and like time itself won’t stop. The mermaid exploring the NATO base before going into the ocean is like a view of our history.

But at the same time we humans still have a part in it. Showing the decommissioned and abandoned NATO base alongside multiple shots of the nature around it, harkens to the idea humanity and its legacy isn’t separate from nature. The ice and show blend in with the man-made things in a way that doesn’t necessarily try to cover or get rid of the constructs. Rather its like nature is accepting humanity’s creations before it eventually falls apart and rejoins with the Earth. In a similar manner to how when humans eventually die we’ll return to the same starting point once again.

The Mermaid and the Base

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In Emelijia Škarnulytė’s short film “Sirenomelia,” around minute four and a half, there is an incredibly evocative moment when a mermaid is sen very quietly moving through the long, deserted passage within an unused NATO submarine base. The juxtaposition of the fluid and organic form of the mermaid with cold, mechanical environment generates such a compelling image of form, vulnerability, and strength all at once. This challenging moment converts a space that was designed to uphold military strength into a space of positive beauty that one does not expect. This important moment encapsulates the film’s central message; that new forms of life (even if mythical) or historically based realities can reclaim and reimagine spaces that have been socially and culturally shaped by conflict and human history. Furthermore, “Sirenomelia” argues that spaces clearly marked by human violence and power need not remain stagnant, but can be reimagined by beings with adaptive capabilities as species of newfound meaning, intersectionality, resilience, and hope.

The film engages audiences in exploring how spaces devoid of human action might not remain empty but could contain possibilities for other forms of life–with ecological adaptation and mythological re-enchantment in mind. Škarnulytė makes use of the mermaid–a reference to both the rare congenital condition of sirenomelia and also myth–as a symbol of transformation and survival that extends beyond notions of the human. By situating this character, the mermaid, in an abandons Cold War military base, the film proposes a challenge to the prior human power of the past, raising the possibility of surpassing internecine conflict and the potential for coexistence and meaning beyond the human.

For different moments in the film, the absence of human actors compels the audience to reflect on anthropocentric narratives, stating alternate futures in which the human and nonhuman worlds cohere. The wordless mermaid drifting through this antagonistic, masculine landscape signifies the influence of flexible, creative beings (in this case–a mermaid) to mend the wrecked worlds–turning violent spaces in trauma zones to places of stillness and hopeful transformation. The films cinematic techniques with lighting and sound are appropriated and employed within there stagings to amplify the transformation. For example, the harsh shadows and resonating silence emphasize the desolation in the spaces; the gentle gestures of the mermaid’s movement operate as a contrast and bring some humanity back to the old spatial base it passes through.

Additionally, the movie also employs symbols and setting to express how human legacy has the capacity to be both devastating and a source of potential for new life. The retired submarine base, a symbol of Cold War militarism, stands in as a monument to the remains of human warfare and a biocultural imperialism of technology. The mermaid’s representation, however, offers a promise of regeneration and transformation–a future where myth and the natural milieu can exist alongside remnants of human history. This scene at 4:30 especially serves as a metaphor for the larger theme of “Sirenomelia”: that remnants of human conflict can be reimagined anew, through more complex stories, and imaging of life beyond binaries of power and dominance, with a vision of the future based on adaptation and interrelation.