When my daughter finally cleaned out her sock drawer over the holidays, she presented me with this colorful pile. I wondered what to do with these mismatched dirty old socks. I don't want to add more clothing waste to the landfill, but because they are made of synthetic fibers, I can't compost them. What's a gal like me to do? And when I cleaned out my mother-in-law's house two years ago, I came home with bags of scraps from all the clothes she had had altered to fit her - - At 5" and getting smaller, she needed a lot of hems and cuffs removed and shortened. I love that Pam saved these scraps, perhaps thinking they could be used to mend her shirts or trousers if they needed it. Or, perhaps she had a vision for making a quilt some day. But then she forgot about the scraps & those ideas faded with time. When I originally found her bags of cuffs, hems and other fabric, I wondered if I could compost, recycle or reuse them. That's just how I think. The thought of tossing these remnants of my mother-in-law's life into dumpsters made me really sad. I couldn't do it. It's not that I am a hoarder or that I am overly sentimental. And it's more than the reality that I hate waste. In fact, I found these on a day when I had been ruthlessly sending all manner of things to the landfill. At that moment, though, I had a feeling there was a story embodied in those bags that I would explore someday. So here I am, wondering about my daughter's old socks and my mother-in-law's fabric remnants. The thing that's bothering me most is that they can not be composted because these colorful textiles are made from or contain synthetic fibers. As I have recently learned in Rebecca Burgess's Fibershed, there is more to our clothes than I ever knew. For me, though, these piles of fabric are kind of like the piles of vegetables and other scraps I witness in the compost pile. The colors, textures and shapes seduce me, inviting me to pay attention. I notice Pam's love for blues and greens. I notice the mix of silk, denim, linen, wool, cotton-knit and shining polyester. Although she now needs a wheel- chair to get around, she once swooshed and swished at parties, did errands in town, and dug in her garden. Each of these scraps reveals a different part of her life, a different part of her. It turns out that I am asking the same questions of these scraps that I ask of my compost. Where you do come from, how did you grow or how were you made? Who was responsible for your emergence and ultimate journey to me? Were those responsible for you (fabric or fruit) paid a living wage? Was the soil from which you grew (veggie or fiber) rich with compost, or was it polluted? The Fibershed, it turns out, is like a foodshed or a watershed. Meaning, there is a connection between geography and the health of our food, the cleanliness of our water, and the sustainability of the clothes we wear. Each is part of a system much larger than itself. I started exploring these connections last year when I wrote blog posts about an old t-shirt, old dresses that belonged to my grandmother, and finding new shoes. Ultimately, when I eat yummy, healthy good, I feel better. When I wear well-made, beautiful and natural fibers, I feel better as well. To continue exploring the relationship between re-imagining my clothes and, in the process re-imagining myself, I'm excited to start hosting a community conversation on this very subject. Stay tuned. I have no idea what will emerge from this... Don't worry.
I'm still hanging out with compost, but I'm also seeing where that compost leads me. For the moment, it's inviting time with fabric, because, like food, textiles could be removed from our waste stream if we only knew how.
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I used to like to travel, until I discovered that it wore me out. More recently, though, I have been teaching myself how to sustain myself and find joy even when away from home. So when in Detroit to visit family last week, I explored on foot & in a car, with my camera and an open heart. Taking breaks for treats & coffee may be a cliche, but it's a thing. Delicious coffees and pies in interesting places run by cool people warms my body and my soul. Walking sustains energy, as does witnessing creative Little Free Libraries... and eclectic gardens on street corners inviting me to 'Be Patient.' Once again I found myself between generations, sitting with Aunt Al waiting for the dog walker to arrive and, later in the day, celebrating my godson's 14th birthday on the 14th with a celebrated 'Bumpy Cake.' Who knew? In the midst of it all, I was surrounded by strong women figuring out how to find joy in various messy places - from single-motherhood to compost. You got it. Compost. I just can't not seek it out. In this case, I explored Detroit Dirt, a thriving organization that processes food waste and animal manure between old warehouses and the highway. As I stood among the eight mounds of compost, trying to keep warm as it snowed and the wind blew, I felt the power of earth's capacity to renew itself. It takes energy to create life from waste, but that is just what the amazing Pashon Murray is doing. Three days before the Women's March 2020, I was surrounded by strong feminine energy, the kind of energy that changes the world. Scraps to soil. Soil to plants. Plants to life-giving energy so that we can breath. After Detroit Dirt, I visited the Anna Scripps Whitcomb Conservatory in Belle Isle Park. Anna's story is impressive, but while there, warm and protected from freezing breezes blowing off the Detroit River, I thought about the power of focus - - When we focus on one thing, often something right in front of us, there is clarity and purpose. Trying to see and do it all just gets confusing. It's funny to me how I notice the bird sculpture more when it is blurred in the background, than when I tried to get it and everything else in focus. So when not exploring and playing with extended family, I made time to read and sew, taking a media holiday of sorts. I hadn't planned it this way, but it turns out I read about another inspiring and game- changing woman, Rebecca Burgess and the Fibershed Project. The subtitle "Growing a Movement of Farmers, Fashion Activists, and Makers for a New Textile Economy" connects to, well, everything. It seems that
2020 is turning into a year for making connections among people, places and possessions, in particular, clothes. Compost remains the focal point, but clothes and their relationship to our identities may be a parallel story line...We'll just have to see. But I'm having fun being with people I love, meeting people who inspire, and feeling the power of the feminine spirit wherever I go. This week I have been thinking about fixing and mending. To me, fixing involves a tool kit used to solve a specific problem which, when repaired, provides a clear solution. Once fixed, we move on, glad that the problem has been resolved. This was what happened a few days ago when our furnace stopped working and two guys came to repair it. It took some time to diagnose the actual problem, but with their tool kit in hand, they solved the issue. Done. House warm again. We move on with our day. A day which, for me, involved mending - an act that feels different from fixing. Yes, there is a problem to solve - a lost button or holes in a pair of joggers - But the problem does not feel urgent, like a furnace not working in the middle of winter. The contents of yesterday's mending pile, for example, consisted of things with problems we had been living with for years...literally. This tie on this vintage duvet cover had been broken for longer than I can remember, as had the missing button on another duvet cover in the pile. Mending does not have to be perfect, either. Clearly, my stitches on the duvet are a bit messy and the button and thread color do not match what was there before on this night shirt. My goal was simple: Get the job done & move on. That's what I do in January. Finish projects, clean up, clear out, and, as if often the case, mend things, whether a missing button, a huge rip in my favorite gardening clothes, my son's joggers, or, perhaps, even the climate... But when I started to mend the huge rip on the back side of these overalls, I got distracted, as can happen sometimes, and decided to add some color, because, as it turns out, I had been consolidating our thread collection earlier in the week and happen to have found this fabulous green (ooh I love run- on sentences). And I thought it would be fun to add some curves to this otherwise set of straight lines. So suddenly my 'get- the job done' mending turned into something else entirely. I became entranced by the colors, shapes and textures that emerged. I know. These joggers are completely absent of color. But the shapes and textures were so cool and the feeling of the wool fabric I used to repair the holes so soft, I just had to share these images and this project with you. Because I realized, in the midst of it all, that mending is about tending to an ongoing relationship with something or someone, whether it's a piece of clothing, your dog or your son. Yes, there is a particular problem that emerges at the moment, but in the process of mending it, you change the actual structure of that which is being mended by adding thread, new fabric, new colors or new shapes. And, it turns out, you can change the structure of yourself as well. Or at least, that's what happens to me when I sit and sew. I hang out with my dog, who hangs out with me. We both breath more slowly. I have no idea what he thinks about, but I stay focused on each stitch, mindfully mending in that moment. But even
as I sew on buttons and patch holes in joggers, I'm thinking, always thinking, about all those big issues out there in the world for which we want a quick a fix, but which, in my heart, I know may not be able to be fixed with a single tool box at a single moment. The problems we face are just too big. But it helps me to address them when I adopt a mending state of mind. Knowing we will be in this for a while, I focus on relationships of all kinds and not worry about perfection by knowing what is good enough and by making sure I am open to altering my plans by adding color here and curves there. People ask me what's next in 2020? Well, I respond, I'll still pay attention to my compost pile & notice things like that purple yarn & the placement of those grapefruit in relation to the torn up bread bag & clementine peals. And I'll still explore text & words & that SAT project, which I began in 2019, but which continues as my college-bound children clean out their rooms & purge those dreaded practice test books. And I'll continue to wonder at what emerges from those 5 gallon buckets I collect each week from Umpleby's Bakery & Cafe & honor their waste by giving it new life both in the ground and in my camera. Every week it's something new but familiar. And I will be
motivated by the novelties, like these three croissants, but also grateful for the familiar smells of spent coffee grounds & eggshells. Who knows what 2020 will bring, but I will keep exploring what my compost has to teach & hopefully, in the process, inspire joy and transformation for you and me. |
Lyn Swett Miller
reframing the narrative, one day, one image at a time Let's ReFrame: By Degrees
A place where photographer Lyn Swett Miller considers wonder, joy and transformation in a complex world. Archive
September 2021
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