The Intersection of Art and Climate Change: How knitting transforms climate data into art

Climate change can feel abstract. We hear statistics, projections, and phrases like "global average temperatures," but for many, it doesn’t click. Translating data into something tangible—something you can hold, see, and feel—bridges the gap between science and everyday life. That’s where art comes in. Art is approachable, universal, and inherently human, making it a powerful tool for engaging people with big, overwhelming issues.

In my case, I chose knitting. My project—knitting 110 years of climate data for Kentville, Nova Scotia—turns temperature records into a physical, visual story. And the best part? People respond. Whether it sparks curiosity, conversation, or creativity, art has this incredible ability to make climate change personal.

Why Knitting?

Knitting isn’t just a cozy hobby; it’s functional, creative, and deeply repetitive—qualities that, strangely enough, reflect my experience with climate work. I was inspired to start knitting after seeing a “temperature blanket” on social media. It showed a year’s worth of daily temperatures, row by colourful row. I thought, what if I could do something like that for my town—and go even further?

So, I learned to knit (a win-win scenario where a friend taught me in exchange for a crash course in climate change) and began with 2023. I tracked the daily average temperature and knitted a line of yarn each day. Soon, I wondered how blankets might change over time, so I expanded the project: one blanket for each year going back to 1914, using a dataset I found. This will take years to complete—decades, even—but that’s okay. Patience is something you learn to value when you work on climate change.

In a way, the slow, repetitive nature of knitting mirrors the repetitive conversations we have about climate change. We repeat the same messages over and over until, hopefully, they begin to resonate.

Transforming Data into Storytelling

Data requires specific skills to interpret; not everyone can look at a spreadsheet and see meaning. But colours? Patterns? Those are universal. Knitting transforms data into something tangible—something people can engage with on their terms.

What’s fascinating is how the blankets highlight both trends and anomalies. Warmer winters, hotter summers, shifts in the seasons—they become visible. I can even point to specific weather events in more recent years. For instance, the polar vortex of 2023 is right there, knitted into the rows. It’s exciting because it connects me (and others) to the data in a personal, lived way.

Art as a Softer Starting Point

I’ve always believed that art is a less jarring entry point to conversations about climate change. It doesn’t overwhelm. You don’t need a science background to understand it. Instead of numbers on a screen, you’re looking at colours and patterns—something familiar, even beautiful. That makes people curious. It opens the door to bigger conversations.

For younger people, art can also be a form of climate action. They’re growing up with climate grief and burnout; the weight of an uncertain future is something they feel deeply. I think creative outlets—whether it’s knitting, painting, writing, or gardening—are powerful ways to process those feelings and reconnect with the natural world. For me, knitting is often relaxing, even meditative. Sure, there are moments of “rage knitting,” where I channel frustration about denial or inaction, but most of the time, it’s grounding. I’d love to see more people, especially youth, explore creative approaches to coping with the challenges ahead.

Keeping it Local

While the project focuses on Kentville, Nova Scotia, its reach extends beyond my town. There’s something deeply relatable about local data. People know Kentville. They’ve been here, heard of it, or know someone who lives nearby. That connection matters. If I worked with global data, the project might feel more distant—easier to dismiss, even. But when it’s about a place you know, the reality of climate change hits closer to home.

And maybe, just maybe, it inspires action. I’d love to see this project spark something for others—especially younger folks. Whether it’s a personal creative project, a community initiative, or simply sharing their voices, the closer we tie climate change to our homes and communities, the more motivated we are to act.

Takeaway

Knitting my climate data project has shown me how art can turn something intangible into something that resonates. It’s not just a visual representation of temperatures—it’s a conversation starter, a tool for connection, and an invitation for others to find creative ways to engage with climate change.

For me, this project is as much about the process as it is the final product. It’s about patience, reflection, and finding meaning in the patterns that emerge. And while the road is long, the work feels purposeful—because sharing these blankets with others, whether in a gallery, classroom, or community space, means sharing a story we can all relate to: the story of change happening right here, in our own backyards.

Climate change can feel overwhelming, but creativity gives us a way in—a softer, more personal way to understand what’s happening and respond to it. So whether it’s knitting or another outlet, my hope is that others feel inspired to start something of their own. Because even small, local stories have the power to move people.