Whale evacuation plan

This is Charlie Callahan at his most urgent and mythological — a hallucinatory landscape in acrylic, reflective paint, ink, green tea, and found styrofoam, where miniature human figures scramble across the surface of something vast and alive. A brain-coral mass, rendered in shimmering gold and cracked umber, dominates the composition like a living planet, flanked by toothy sea-creature rings pulsing with chartreuse and electric blue. The figures are tiny, purposeful, and lost all at once — and that tension is everything. Painted on found styrofoam, the very substrate carries meaning: castoff, disposable, yet enduring in the ocean for centuries. The reflective paint catches light unpredictably, making the work shift and breathe as the viewer moves — it is never the same piece twice. This is the kind of work that commands a room and starts a conversation that doesn't end when you leave. For collectors drawn to the intersection of ecological urgency and visionary imagery, this piece sits at a rare crossroads. It carries the full weight of Callahan's Bolinas mythology — sea creatures as gods, humans as accidental tourists in a world they did not make and cannot control — while delivering maximum visual impact. A singular, irreproducible object made from the sea's own refuse.