So here they are. More coffee filters. In the raw, straight from the pile and into the bucket. Salvaged once again. I wonder if the original cup of coffee or frothy cappuccino was as compelling to look at and as sumptuous to smell as these filters getting their first rinse? I love working with these strange pieces of paper. When we have coffee at our house, which is rare, we use a French Press. So for me, these are an entirely new material which have, until recently, just been part of my decomposing compost. Now, though, with my sister's inspiration, they have become yet another invitation to explore our material world. When I take them out of the 5-gallon compost collection bucket and move them into the rinsing tub in our sink, these dirty filters become precious materials filled with creative potential. These coffee filters are soft between my fingers when I pull them out of the tub and hang them up to dry. Once on the rack, all I notice is the play of light on their textured fiber. All I want to do is move in closer to explore these materials about which I know so little. Once again, my compost invites me to consider more than meets the eye. While I have an idea of what my sister, Sarah C. Swett, might create out of these filters, their back story, like so many back stories, remains a mystery. Clearly, this narrative is unfolding as I write, Sarah's imagination leading her and my investigations taking me where they go. But here we are, unfiltered, making it up along the way. It does seem, however, that ours is a circular narrative, filled with the ebbs and flows of our lives and curiosities. Stay tuned for more...
Years ago, my sister and I pledged to not give each other presents on birthdays and at holidays. We are allowed, however, to give each other this or that when the mood feels right. In late 2018, she sent me this bracelet she had woven with, among other fibers, coffee filters. Who knew that coffee filters would become one of her muses throughout 2019 and into 2020? It made sense, then, that when I went to visit her a few weeks ago, I would bring more filters from my compost collection collaboration with Umpleby's Cafe in Hanover, NH. It was no surprise when I came to her studio a few days after arriving and found that she had already begun transforming those filters into fiber, testing the differences between the Umpleby's filters and others she receives from friends near and far. It was also no surprise that within a few days, she had given me a copy of her design for A Sweater Somewhat Slanted and had taken me to The Yarn Underground in Moscow, ID to find just the right wool. Among all the beautiful wool at the yarn store, I kept returning to this particular pinky, reddy, orangy shade with a hint of yellow mixed in. When I started knitting the first few rows, I realized that this was uncannily similar to the colors of two childhood sweaters - one made by my grandmother in 1972 and another by my mother in 1974. It's a bit odd because neither my mother nor my grandmother was a big knitter. It's also odd that with all my purges and clean-outs, I had saved these two sweaters and had actually just taken them out of storage a few days before going to Idaho. Clearly I was not in charge of my color choice! So for a week, we knit, together and apart. I discovered that my hands remembered how to create a sweater out of wool and that I could even read and knit at the same time. I had seen Sarah doing this and thought it was one of her superpowers, but it turns out it's not so hard when you're working with a simple yet elegant pattern like the ones she designs. I love that our relationship is no longer about who's thinner or prettier or more accomplished. Both in our 50's (for a few more months), we now explore our creative lives and the world in general together. We can finally admire our differences and celebrate all that we share. Sarah has instinctively allowed her superpowers to evolve over the past decades. It's taken me a bit longer to discover mine, and to let them flourish. I love that I embroidered my first stitch at the same time she sent me that coffee filter bracelet. It was like a subversive invitation to just go for it, whatever 'it' might be. And here we are, more than a year later, and I've embroidered an entire dress and she is working on her second knitted coffee filter bag. Thankfully, neither one of us knows where our respective superpowers will take us. We do know, however, that when the shit hits the fan and life throws us curve balls, we will harness our gifts & create beauty out of whatever materials are at hand. “Whatever our gift, we are called to give it and to dance for the renewal of the world. In return for the privilege of breath.” - Robin Wall Kimmerer, Braiding Sweetgrass I'm now
home & am thrilled to snuggle with my dog and to hang out with my beautiful compost. That said, nothing can replace how I feel when I am with Sarah. I wonder what gifts we will unwittingly exchange next? You can be sure, though, that salvaged coffee filters will be part of the mix and that we will be making it all up as we go. A silver wedding band, made with love, to express love, intentionally shows the markings that occurred during the creation process. A pure acceptance of life's bumps and beauty. A beloved pair of black boots bought because they fit perfectly...and felt great from the first moment. Previously owned shoes are wonderful that way. Broken in, they are ready, just for me. My daughter's JV hockey team says thank you...I love watching them play, going fast, falling down, passing perfectly, missing the puck entirely, they play with joy and a commitment to each other. It's about showing up, learning something new and laughing just because. Love is silly, really. It's amazing how I can use that word to express feelings for such a variety of things. There is love for a life partner, love for a pair of boots, love for a child's hockey game and love for a mixed and mingled set of discarded scraps of cloth. It seems that the more open I am to this strange emotion, the more I am able to feel and notice it - everywhere. When refinishing this child's cabinet my mother made for me and my sister in 1971, I can feel her love - - it's embedded in the yellow and green flowers, dots and letters. I wondered, when I put on the first coat of primer, if I was somehow erasing that love. But it turns out that the act of transforming this wooden structure 50 years later and giving it new life magnifies that emotion. I could have easily thrown this 'toy' away, but for some reason I couldn't. So here it is, getting a makeover and, in the process, shedding light on the transformative power of love in its many shapes and sizes. And here I am continuing to mend my favorite 27 year old t-shirt while waiting for my mother-in-law to return from PT. Love for a t-shirt is nothing like love for my children's grand-mother, but it's love just the same. And when a dog curls up in his bed on a cold winter's day, knowing he will be fed and walked and have his needs met, he knows he is loved. And how can we not love such faithful creatures? It's a two-way thing. So why not love my compost pile? I feed it and it feeds me. And why not love it when a group of people gets together to laugh and learn together during a Community Climate Conversation? Although I find the play of light in this particular scene compelling, it is the gathering itself that fills me with joy. It, too, is a different kind of love. I think the love I feel for a group gathering to cope with climate is like the love I feel for the earth when I witness snow-covered mountains rising above the clouds. It's an abstract kind of affection, one that satisfies a non-specific but core need to share the gift of being... ...together
Who knew that 20 people would show up for Hanover's inaugural Community Climate Conversation? With just a few hand-made notices around town and in a few social media outlets, we drew a small crowd. How cool is that? Indeed, what does the climate have to do with fashion and clothing? As it turns out, more than most of us know or understand. Apparel and footwear accounted for 8% of global greenhouse gas emissions in 2016 (more carbon than international flights and maritime shipping), is the second largest consumer of the world's water supply, and pollutes oceans with micro- plastics and rivers with toxic chemicals. Clothes are also something we wear every day and that can often make our day. I know that is the case for me. My black boots give a kick to my step and my long purple wool cardigan embraces me and gives me confidence. There is no reason to feel bad about dressing in garments that make us feel good. Our challenge is learning how to wear clothes that both feel great and don't harm the earth. I loved hearing Kim Souza, owner of Revolution (in White River Junction, VT) talk about how she curates her store. While some dresses or fun socks might sell big, she will not sell them if they are not made in the US or ethically produced. Joan Ecker, Founder of Fat Hat Clothing, shared valuable insights about the costs of clothing production and the dangers of 'greenwashing.' For me, laughter was the best part of the evening. Here were a bunch of people, some more interested in 'fashion' than others, who came together to begin a conversation about climate that actually started with what we were wearing. By sharing stories about our clothes in an informal setting we got to know each other in a different kind of way. Just as one wool sweater is not the same as another (was the wool sustainably harvested, were the sheep treated well, were the people who assembled the garment paid a living wage?), no two people have the same relationship to their wardrobes and how their clothes make them feel. Like so much in the climate conversation, there is always more than meets the eye. Can you tell, for example, that this ancient & beloved turtleneck was repaired last week? In my last blog post, Compost, Fiber and Fashion, I considered the power of re-imagining my clothes and, in the process, re-imagining myself. At their heart, these reflections come from my ongoing concern for and fascination with waste, not just of food, but of everything. My mother-in-law saved her hems, because she hated things going to waste. I repaired this twenty-four year old wool turtleneck sweater I bought at a street fair in Germany because I love it, and it seemed wasteful to find another one when I could mend this one. It seems to me that how we connect to our clothing may perhaps reflect how we think not just about ourselves, but also about what it means to be wasteful in general. I hope that our first Community Climate Conversation inspires those who attended to think more deeply about what they wear. More importantly, though, I hope our laughter invites others to join these gatherings, knowing that we find joy and have fun while paying attention to topics that we know about and love. Next Community Climate Conversation:
What's the Story of OUR Stuff? (bring an object you love) March 3, 2020 @ Still North Books, Hanover, NH 5:30 - 7:30 pm Facilitator: Marc Morgan (By day, the manager of Lebanon, NH's solid waste facility; By night, an advocate for deeper thinking about what we consume and why) |
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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