No Escape: Painting, Conversations, and the Cries of a Burning Planet
By Tina Winterlik aka Zipolita
I’ve been painting my mural these past few days, and something unexpected keeps happening. People come talk to me. Strangers. People who’d normally never say a word on a bus or in the grocery store. We’re all usually plugged in, heads down, scrolling endlessly. But here, in front of this wall, something breaks through. Maybe it’s the colors, maybe it’s the openness. Whatever it is, it’s been beautiful—and enlightening.
One man I spoke with was originally from South Africa. He works in cybersecurity now. We talked about how much the city has changed—how cold and disconnected it’s become. He agreed. Told me where he came from was so much more beautiful. And then, almost casually, he said when things get bad here, he'll just move to some far-off place.
I stopped him right there.
I asked, where are you going to go?
Because the truth is: Indigenous people who have lived in harmony with the land for generations—their islands are sinking. Their lands are flooding. Or burning.
So really… where do you think you’ll escape to?
This is the crux.
People are still asleep.
Still believing in tech-bro dreams.
Still thinking they can run away from a collapsing planet as if the consequences won’t catch up.
Elon Musk has sold everyone on this hyped-up, drugged-out Ketamine-fueled fantasy about going to Mars.
Magic mushrooms and space ships.
Blow up another rocket and sell it as progress.
Sell tickets to nowhere and call it the future.
And people eat it up like it’s salvation.
Meanwhile, Manitoba and Saskatchewan are burning.
Over 1,000 people trapped.
No planes can get to them. The airstrips are burning.
The smoke isn’t just staying put—it’s traveling.
My friend in the Azores sent me a photo.
The moon looked eerie. Smudged. Alien.
That’s the butterfly effect.
You poison one place, and another place weeps.
You light a fire here, and it chokes a child there.
You dam a river, and a forest dies down the line.
When will people wake up?
When will we stop pretending we can buy our way out, escape to a digital utopia, or colonize another rock?
There is no escape.
We have one Earth.
One precious, burning, drowning, gasping Earth.
And she is screaming for us to listen.
Respect her.
Protect her.
Because there is no Planet B.
There’s no shuttle waiting to carry you to a better life.
This is it.
