Many have known it for ages, and some have even dared to admit the fact. Only now it has become mainstream but still there are people who refuse to accept it, while some pocket all the money there is to be made with it. Namely, if we burn all the fossil fuels there is in the ground, all the coal, oil, gas – the world is going to burn.

Firehead is an obituary for fossil fuels, and a self-portrait of the emperor of the world, white, middle-aged, cis male. What has he done? Does he regret, feel shame? Does he still think he is immortal?

In his novel, The Overstory, Richard Powers writes, how a journalist once asked Rockefeller, what is enough. Rockefeller answered, if I could get a little bit more.

Firehead is a performance, a street poem, a tombstone, a creature that appears. It is the stage name I never started to use (my family name is translated usually as whitehead but it can be translated as firehead, too). It is burning oil roaring in the midst of wealth. Firehead knows he’s going to perish but he refuses to accept it, refuses to admit that he’s been defeated. Firehead mixes passionate unpredictability of Toshiro Mifune’s samurai and vicious greed of Daniel Day Lewis’ oil baron in the movie There will be blood, with Donald Trump’s arrogant stature.

The majority of Firehead’s vocal expression is wordless but now and then he grabs his megaphone and speaks out, recites, yells, whispers obituaries for fossil capital(ism). Various writers – authors, researchers, journalists – are writing obituaries for Firehead to perform.

In the streets, at close proximity of parliament buildings and those of big oil, public indoors. At various festivals and without festivals. On the anniversaries of the fossil world.

Starting in 2022 and going on until we don’t burn fossils anymore.

Image: Tero Nauha