Is it too late to save the planet?

A single still image, 16:9, painted in oil on coarse linen. A low, wide view of a coastal settlement being deliberately withdrawn from the sea. In the foreground, shallow saltwater fills the foundations of a demolished house. A few blue kitchen tiles remain attached to the concrete; beneath the water, the outline of a small room is unmistakable. Nothing grows here. Across the middle distance, five workers in mud-stained protective clothing are dismantling a concrete embankment. A small crane holds one enormous broken section just above its former position. Its exposed reinforcing steel is rusted, its underside wet. The workers are occupied with the difficult weight, not looking toward us. Through the opening, tidal water moves into a broad, damaged marsh. Sparse reeds survive among bare mud and dead stalks; farther inland, a substantial bed of reeds bends in the wind. Overcast daylight, without a radiant break in the clouds. Water reflects the same pale grey over the ruined room and the living marsh. Restrained earth colours, cold concrete, dull blue tile. Thick, scraped paint on the broken wall; thin translucent paint over the submerged floor. Give the lost house and the unfinished work equal visual weight. No lettering, symbols, or words anywhere.