As a carbon sink, seagrass has other benefits too. It’s unlikely to catch fire and release large quantities of carbon back into the atmosphere directly, for instance. But it’s vulnerable to other threats. Increased coastal erosion can muddy the waters, making it tougher for Posidonia to photosynthesize. Cruise ships dropping anchor may cause untold damage. And, in fact, bottom-trawlers can ravage thousand-year-old meadows in a matter of minutes.
Drag-net trawling causes most damage to the plant itself, says José Miguel González-Correa, a professor in marine sciences on the University of Alicante, in Spain. But drag nets can easily damage the matte too, he says, causing “carbon to be released by bacterial motion, and increasing CO2 levels.” Restoring Posidonia meadows generally is a long process, he says. In a paper comparing trawler-damaged meadows to their healthy neighbors, he estimates they could take as much as 100 years to get better fully. Preservation, he concludes, is best than restoration, and creating anti-trawling reefs—by sinking well-spaced obstacles like Paolo Fanciulli’s Casa dei Pesci sculptures—is one in all the only and most cost-effective ways of protecting Posidonia.
DESPITE ALL THESE recent scientific studies backing up his approach, nonetheless, Fanciulli has never received any government funding. In fact, he’s universally scathing about those in authority, lambasting the EU for its fishing subsidies, which he claims only encourage bad practices, and lampooning the local coastguard for his or her inability—or unwillingness—to implement the laws against bottom trawling. “They do nothing,” he says.
On occasion within the Nineteen Nineties, he said, he took it on himself to police the waters off Talamone. “The coastguard at all times used to make use of an enormous light on their boats, so what did I do? I put one on my boat,” he chuckles. “Think about it, three within the morning, you’re fishing illegally, you see a light-weight coming towards you, what would you do? You’d run away.” And they did, he says, but they’d at all times come back—until he began sinking his statues. Casa dei Pesci has now placed enough anti-trawling obstacles to achieve from Porto Santo Stefano to the Ombrone River—a distance of some 20 nautical miles, or 37 km—meaning that some 137 km2 of Posidonia meadow and fish habitat at the moment are protected. “It’s small,” says Fanciulli. But it’s still remarkable given the dearth of any official backing or funds.
“What we do here, we do entirely with the cash that we raise and donations,” says Fanciulli. Early on within the project’s genesis, after sinking just a few test blocks of concrete, he was lucky enough to fulfill the director of the Cave di Michelangelo, the quarry where the famous Florentine sculptor sourced his stone. “I asked him to offer me two blocks of marble. He gave me 100.”
The sculptors, similarly, were friends of friends who offered their time to the cause without cost. “Initially, there have been five foremost artists, however the project quickly grew,” explains Giorgio Butini, an artist whose work now sits on the seabed. An established sculptor from Florence, he would normally expect to sell a comparably sized work for between €50,000 and €60,000 ($49,500–$59,500), but he has been comfortable to contribute several pieces. His latest, called Giovinezza (or “Youth”), is the primary of a planned three-part series called Past, Present, Future that Casa dei Pesci is currently crowdfunding to place into place further up the coast—because while the sculptors might offer up their time and tools without cost, moving the sculptures around isn’t low-cost.
British sculptor Emily Young, arguably the perfect known of the artists internationally, was introduced to Fanciulli because she owns a studio nearby. Initially, she was impressed by his energy and enthusiasm. “He’s really, really focused, he’s form of heroic. I believe he sleeps almost no hours,” she says. But she was also fascinated, on a creative level, by the gallery’s longer-term legacy and what the sculptures will say to future generations. “That’s something I take into consideration quite a bit in my work. When you’re employed with stone, you’re leaving something for the long run,” she says. “We’re altering the Earth very profoundly, and a number of the things we’re leaving are very destructive—but they may also be very beautiful and poignant.”
She hopes that, “within the fullness of time, people won’t even know what these sculptures were. They shall be covered in plants and Posidonia—and that shall be the sign that the project is working.” In the shorter term, there’s little question her work has helped raise the profile of Fanciulli’s cause. “Already I get emails from people saying: ‘We’re happening a dive, are you able to tell us more about your sculptures so we all know what we’re taking a look at?’” says Young. And as an increasing number of artworks have been added to the gallery, word of the project has spread. Recently, the outdoor clothing brand Patagonia decided Casa dei Pesci met its high standards for grant recipients, and awarded a grant of €13,000 ($12,800). A German charitable foundation has promised €15,000 ($14,800). But a lot of the money still comes from fundraisers that Fanciulli runs himself.
ON AN UNSEASONABLY warm Sunday at the tip of October, Fanciulli will be found sweating through his camouflage T-shirt while he mans three BBQs directly. The previous night’s catch—amberjack, dolphin fish, some red snapper—is being grilled fresh off the boat, with an easy mixture of salt and rosemary, for the 40 guests who’ve paid to affix the fundraiser and luxuriate in a delicious three-course meal in the method.
Although ably assisted by his wife within the kitchen, his daughter on the tables, and a few friends, Fanciulli still appears to be doing every part—flipping the fish, pouring the wine, and chatting along with his guests about his next initiative: a house for octopuses, made up of a gallery of hand-painted amphora—narrow Roman jars with handles and pointed bottoms. The only time he stops is to offer his presentation, showing photos of broken Posidonia stems and the havoc wreaked by bottom trawlers. Seated at long tables, his guests are listening rapt as he tells them: “If you desire to eat well, you will have to defend the environment. It’s like a war.”
As the lunch wraps up and his guests depart, Fanciulli finally sits down. There were times over the past 30 years, he admits, where he’d felt like he was fighting a lonely, losing battle. “I’ve been threatened by trawlers, I’ve been threatened by institutions, but I at all times told the reality. For an extended time, nobody listened to me,” he says, but now, with public opinion swinging behind him, each locally and internationally, his message finally appears to be getting through.
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