Pepa Ivanova on Why Humans Might Be the Most Invasive Species

Pepa Ivanova’s practice begins with attention: to ecosystems in motion, to species that migrate and adapt, to invisible forces that shape the living world, and to the traces human activity leaves behind. Working across ecology, technology, research and social observation, she follows connections that are easy to overlook, allowing scientific inquiry, artistic intuition and encounters with different communities to inform one another. Her work often settles in that uncertain space where the smallest ecological shift can reveal something much larger about the way we inhabit the planet.

Her thinking carries a particular fascination with transformation. Marine environments, invasive species, pollution, climate change and human intervention become starting points for questions about survival, responsibility and coexistence. There is curiosity in the way she approaches these subjects, alongside an awareness of the scale of what is unfolding. In this conversation, Pepa Ivanova speaks about ecological anxiety, adaptation, the human desire to control nature, and the possibility of finding hope in attention, collective action and the ability to live with change.

Your artistic practice often sits at the intersection of ecology, technology, and social observation. How would you describe, in your own words, the constellation of concerns that most consistently accompanies you as an artist?

As an artist, a large part of my practice is about observing, researching what has triggered me, and reflecting on what I observe. While this is merely a method, it allows me to look in depth and come closer to interactive and collaborative practices, where interspecies alliances and communities cohabit, care for one another, and create awareness. In my practice, I am concerned with the living and the non-living and their interplay, from solar phenomena and electromagnetic frequencies to the behavioural mechanisms of species acting and reacting to transforming ecosystems.

What do you think we still refuse to accept about the future of marine ecosystems?

I believe that there is a major gap in understanding not only the future of marine ecology but living on the planet that it should be an unified collective effort. Ecosystems are interdependent and symbiotic, when a single grain is damaged it ripples in its entirety.

In your project “Eat that Invasion,” is adaptation a form of intelligence or a form of resignation?

Adaptation is a survival mechanism, in that sense it’s closer to a form of intelligence. To consume an invasion in my project would mean to metabolise a threat and by doing that, to balance or save a damaged habitat and feed oneself simultaneously. To be able to forecast the inevitable changes and to find adapting mechanisms is one of the most important responses in a time when climate change is irreversible.

Do you think art can still generate awareness, or have we already reached a stage where it primarily serves as a way of processing ecological anxiety?

Indeed at times and depending on the individual artistic position it can be either or both. I agree that artists will continue to process or illustrate ecological anxiety. My strong belief is that art can generate awareness, and I state this confidently because I experience a fair amount of examples around me that demonstrate this potential. More often, I observe this happening during the research phases: while meeting with different communities or building new ones, creating frameworks for discussion and collaboration, giving a stage to the unprivileged or voiceless, and, most importantly, taking the time to develop deep connections and understanding. The final artworks in art-science-technology-ecology projects often express only a small section of the entire process and even then, can touch so many.

Invasive species are, essentially, organisms that do not respect human-defined boundaries. Is the problem the invasion itself, or our assumption that ecosystem boundaries should remain stable?

By definition, humans have been the most invasive species on the planet, causing large-scale biodiversity loss, damaging entire ecosystems, polluting water, air, and soil, and, by doing so, inevitably harming ourselves. The way I perceive an ecosystem is never as a constrained geographical terrain, but rather as a system in flux, influenced by many factors rather than only by invasive species. Climate change and anthropogenic factors often transform existing self-balancing conditions by introducing new activities and invasive species themselves.

The comb jelly, Mnemiopsis leidyi, which significantly harmed the Black Sea’s fish populations in the 1990s, and respectively the appearance of its only predator, Beroe ovata, were both introduced unintentionally by humans. There is also a positive form of invasiveness, which can be a sign of ecosystem restoration, such as the golden jackal in the Danube Delta. Although it occasionally threatens local livestock, it actually plays an important role in restoring a previously lost link within the natural food web.

If the scenarios explored in “Eat that Invasion” were to continue unfolding without human intervention, what might the world’s “menu” look like fifty years from now?

The working title of the collective book, in which all recipes and the corresponding ecological scenarios they speculate upon are presented, is “Stories of Seas Designed by Humans / Where No Humans Exist.” The recipes are divided into two general concepts: those in which humans adapt to and consume them, and those that could be consumed but have no one left to prepare them. The recipes move between utopian and dystopian Black Sea scenarios, speculating on climate change forecasts, statistical data, and science fiction.

Do you believe the future will be defined by ecological restoration, or by learning to coexist with permanent imbalance?

At this point of human existence an ecological restoration in a large-scale is impossible, though it’s been observed that sea has a great power to restore itself once limits on the waste pumped into it is regulated. Steps towards restorations and restoring small habitats are possible with collected long-term efforts. Unfortunately there is global warming and large scale terraforming actions will always cast a shadow of uncertainty. Therefore to make a peace with change and strategise surviving mechanisms is life-saving.

When we transform pollution into artistic material or a conceptual resource, are we still addressing the problem, or are we acknowledging its inevitable integration into our world?

I agree that we are doing both. Waste, pollution, and excess have proven to be resourceful materials for addressing problems and, sometimes, even finding solutions, as they have become omnipresent.

Who bears responsibility in an ecosystem where “blame” can no longer be clearly attributed to a single species?

The question makes me think of Hannah Arendt’s “Banality of Evil,” where shared monstrosity is somehow diluted: blame becomes a collective concept when a single source of wrongdoing cannot be isolated. I think this has given rise to the shared ecological anxiety we sense today across all levels of society, and it has drowned us even deeper in the problem.

Do you think the term “invasive species” describes a biological reality more than it reflects a human anxiety about losing control?

To me, invasive species are a biological reality and a phenomenon that predates human existence on the planet. With or without human influence, species have always migrated, seeking adaptive mechanisms and strategies for survival within continuously changing habitats. Humans are also a species participating in these ecological movements and transformations.

The attempt to control ecosystems that exist in a constant state of flux is a profoundly anthropocentric approach and is inevitably harmful to the complex networks of life within them.

What changes in the human–nature relationship when something once considered “foreign” becomes an ingredient?

In the project, I speculate on different scenarios in which the “foreign” — in this case, a variety of marine species often considered harmful — can become a potential solution. These scenarios include a plankton species that increases its biomass and absorbs significant amounts of CO₂; a seaweed overgrowth that becomes a major economic and food resource; or a new jellyfish population that attracts a variety of ocean fish feeding on it, eventually leading humans to consume these newly established species.

Although my recipes are speculative and not necessarily edible at this stage, I have invited chef Kaloyan Kolev from Varna to experiment with a variety of alien and invasive species, as well as seaweeds. He develops new edible recipes using these underlooked species currently present in the Black Sea. Through his culinary practice and my artistic presentations, we aim to raise awareness and encourage a different perception of these organisms.

Many would ask: what form of hope can exist within a project that begins from crisis and contamination?

In my project, hope emerges from the attempt to imagine forms of predictability, resilience, and adaptation within uncertain ecological futures. Consuming the problem is only one possible response; another lies in prevention, care, and the transformation of human practices. This includes reducing the amount of anthropogenic waste entering marine ecosystems, limiting destructive fishing practices and protecting seafloor meadows, reconsidering the construction of artificial dams, supporting small-scale local fisheries, preventing the discharge of ballast waters and waste from vessels, and recognising the role of rivers as pathways through which pollutants reach the sea.

Ultimately, hope is not found in a single solution, but in a collective shift toward responsibility, attention, and care. Through action, new possibilities for adaptation and coexistence can emerge.

What troubles you more: the idea that nature changes without us, or the idea that we believe we can control it?

I see myself as an observer of this large-scale transformation. This is a pivotal moment within my lifetime, and I approach it with curiosity and a sense of possibility. I cannot stop or control these processes, and I choose not to respond with anger or despair. What is unfolding is a form of human-driven terraforming that has initiated large-scale evolutionary processes.

My role is to raise awareness, build communities, share stories and experiences, cultivate gardens, fish, dive, and engage with the living systems .I can listen and that’s hopeful too.