 Walt Whitman's "This Compost" & Maidenhair ferns...in process. If you've been reading my blog or following me on Instagram, you'll know that I was planning to include my altered Cotillion Dress in my current solo show at AVA Gallery.  Compost Compositions in the Mayor Gallery at AVA in Lebanon, NH Fall 2019 If you've been to AVA to find the dress, you'll know that it's not there.  The mixing and mingling of wool threads on a silk dress. It intrigues me how the creative process works, and how hard it can be to separate one thread from another when they all feel integral to each other.  Embroidered excerpts from Walt Whitman's poem "This Compost" by ERSwett. The dress evolved from last year's curiosity about how I could share Walt Whitman's poem "This Compost" in a colorful and affordable manner by embroidering it on old things, like a pillowcase or a cloth diaper from the 1960's.  Embroidered final stanza of Whitman's "This Compost" by ERSwett While embroidering, I listened to numerous podcasts about art, women, the climate crisis, racial justice and the idea of white fragility. Each voice I heard inspired me to rethink my past and my relationship to it. And then I remembered the white dress in the attic...  Giving life to an old dress with ferns from our yard. And it all began because I love the colors of compost and so started taking pictures of it all the time...until, magically, I had what they call a 'body of work' worth sharing.  Dryer Lint, 2019 Photograph on Paper, 24" x 24" By ERSwett But sometimes, what you love most just has to stay home. In this case, I am grateful that I gave my work to the Exhibits Director at AVA and let her decide. The dress, even though it seemed essential to the show for me, just didn't fit and would have been a distraction.  Bulbs, 2019 Photograph on Paper, 18" x 18" By ERSwett. I am grateful to this beautiful piece of silk and lace for inviting me to explore my own identity as a creative person, not just with a camera, but in life. The dress, as companion, has been key.  Self-Portrait in The Dress...in process...before the maidenhair, poem and other alterations. By ERSwett
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 Selfie before people arrive. Pinch me. Is it true? Is 5 year's worth of work really assembled in a real art gallery for others to see?  The Opening, October 11. Photograph by Shiela C. Swett It must be, because people showed up to celebrate the launch, my 'coming' out...  Artifacts from Waste & Our Material World Front Porch Conversation, Oct. 22. And people gathered again this past Tuesday for a conversation about Waste & Our Material World with Marc Morgan, Director of the Lebanon, NH Solid Waste Facility. I love how what began as an isolated exploration of my backyard compost has connected me to so many cool people.  Talking with Charles Umpleby at the Opening. Photograph by Shiela C. Swett Like the Umpleby's, who run Umpleby's Cafe & Bakery in Hanover, NH - - I get all my coffee grinds and other large masses of cool vegetables from them.  Are these degrees real? Photograph by Shiela C. Swett Or all those strangers I meet at various events who wonder at my composted degrees and share their own stories about celebrating the past while also re-imagining the future.  The Colors of Muscles. Photograph by Shiela C. Swett It's magical when a vision becomes reality - - when showing up to something seemingly mundane, like my compost bin, could inspire not just me, but also all those who come in contact with this work. Who knew?  8 x 8 Cash & Carry Compost Compositions. Please come
share the joy and experience the wonder that is our waste at my artist's talk next Friday, November 1. It will be at AVA Gallery at 5pm. Oh, and it's also my birthday and I was thinking how great it would be to share it with others who care about all this stuff. See you then and there!  Corn Husks & Red Onions, 2018 Photo by ERSwett What is it about corn husks, besides their enticing shade of light green, fanlike spread on the pile, and their capacity to protect?  Corn Cobs & Shreds, 2019 Photo by ERSwett For me, it is much more than the reassuring taste of what they contain. It has to do with their history, and the fact that corn was originally a gift from the indigenous people who lived in New England to my people, who showed up 500 years ago, unannounced and unprepared. The results were not pretty.  Grilled Corn Husks, 2017 Photo by ERSwett I am deeply grateful for the gift of corn then and now. Though today it has a different purpose, perhaps, inspiring a new point of view on the conversations that gift started centuries ago. Who has the right to what land and for what purpose? And who is going to care for it?  Dried Corn Husks, 2018 Photo by ERSwett It is an honor that later today I will be among friends new and old, celebrating these Compost Compositions. They are at once framed compositions of color, shape and texture as well as narratives about what it means to live in our world today - - the beauty and the mess of it all. Some days it feels more beautiful than others.  Dryer Lint, 2019 Photo by ERSwett Today, I choose to see the beauty of what is, not just in the compost pile, but in my life. Please come see the show at AVA Gallery. It's really cool.  And also, please
take a moment this weekend to express gratitude for all those before us who made our current harvests possible. |
Lyn Swett Miller
reframing the narrative, one day, one image at a time 
compost re-imagined
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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