Sea level rise is far too ephemeral to have any relevancy in the here and now. It moves too slowly, operating on deep historical, epochal scales. Like all hyperobjects, it is all withdrawal and no object, and therefore suffers from a fundamental crisis of representation. The only means of realizing it effectively is the time-lapse map.
In an attempt to properly realize the phenomenon, I propose our coastlines, or at least their hallucinated geopolitical versions, be built on the landscape itself. In translating the map to the territory, the coastline will be made visible, and in its enclosure, made spatial. Inside, the coast will be arrested forever, making of the fluid geography a static megalith, a gravesite, a museum, a memento mori.
Outside, the seas will rise and acidify, fed by melting glaciers and a carbon cycle gone violent. The museum will continue to be, fundamentally, a hollow, a void, a line in the sand long ago overwhelmed.
Perhaps future travelers will gain access and walk down its long hall, wondering all the while about the importance of this strange diluvian thread hidden in the waves, and what it meant to its builders, if anything.