What happens when you clean out your studio and come upon a project that is more than 30 years old? There are black and white prints in carefully labeled files, two scrapbooks with detailed annotations, and two binders full of color slides. More importantly, what happens when that project contains raw material that relates directly to one of the hottest topics in Washington DC? No, I'm not talking about the impact or reality of an aging population or racism in our country. I'm talking about The Green New Deal and all the controversy it is inspiring. It turns out, that in 1987, at the age of 21, I traveled around the United States on Amtrak, stayed with alumni from my college in twelve different cities, and researched murals painted during the Great Depression in Post Offices and other public buildings. The highlight was visiting the small town of Farmersville, Texas, photographing the mural in the post office and then, a few days later, meeting the artist, Jerry Bywaters, who created that work. The New Deal is about as good as it gets when it comes to the convergence of creativity and climate action. FDR's programs were comprehensive, universal and profoundly innovative. They impacted every aspect of our country's infrastructure and re-inspired hope for millions in the dream that once was once America. Only by getting out of the world I knew, was I able to see the great promise of FDR's vision. At the same time, I witnessed the reality that fifty years later, that promise remained elusive for many, So here I am. It's 8:30 on a Saturday night. Calvin, the dog, is asleep at my feet and I am in heaven, remembering a very long Saturday night in the summer of 1987. I was changing trains in Kansas City. The Southwest Chief was six hours late. There were no cell phones or laptop computers, so we got to know each other in that pre-digital waiting-room kind of way. We were more concerned for the well-being of those involved in the accident on the track, than we were with being late. Amtrak employees provided hats for the kids. I got out my camera and made friends. These places, people and works of public art I was so inspired by thirty-two years ago are why I care so much. When I say that compost is like America, I mean it. We are nothing without our diversity, perseverance, and patience. We are also nothing without our audacity. What the hell? Why not give it a try? A Green New Deal might be just be what we need. What happens when I discover a project from decades ago and my husband is out of town and I'm feeling reflective? A lot, I guess. To learn more, check out The Living New Deal Project, which documents and celebrates New Deal
Public Art projects and also provides a helpful connection to the Green New Deal.
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I love climbing tree limbs and ladders. I love curves, lines and textures. There is something reassuring about light on metal... and the reality that even with three inches of insulation, some heat gets lost. It's hard to believe that there are imperfections with these perfect symmetries and designs. But there are. Energy can not be created nor destroyed, but it can be transferred between objects, creating inefficiencies along the way. That is just the reality of how things work and why, even with a relatively upgraded heating system, this vent on the north side of our living room doesn't provide much heat. Isn't it beautiful
to see the unseen, to honor what is functional and elegant? That's what climate action at home is all about for me. What about you? Last week I saw "Ansel Adams in Our Time," an exhibit at The Boston Museum of Fine Arts. It was totally cool. It is clear that Adams witnessed and understood a whole lot more about the human condition than his reverent landscapes had ever revealed to me on their own. Check out this intimate portrait of a Mexican boy, this stunning close-up of a fern, and this panoramic view of human development. It gave me the chills. Adams understood our reciprocal relationship with the natural world and the fragility of our co- dependence. There I was, reflected in the glass, paying attention to these imaginative re-imagings of Ansel Adams's world. In Abelardo Morell's exploration of the microcosmos and the macrocosmos I saw the tenuous balance between individual rights and collective responsibility necessary in any democracy. And I laughed when I saw myself in Mitch Epstein's "Altamont Pass Wind Farm." So funny how we play games with each other, with nature and with ourselves. And, I loved Luis Faglio's reflection about beach restoration, how it celebrates the "hope and the irony that we are able to move sand." Strange, to feel at home in a large, meandering exhibit in an even larger museum, but the message of these works was close to home. Yes, we can move sand. Yes, lupine does grow after a fire.Yes, we have the power to renew not just ourselves, but the planet as well. Yes. How did I get here? Why does it matter? If you read my post, "Why By Degrees" you have some idea. But what's the real story behind this blog and this site? If you've known me for any length of time, you've witnessed an evolution... 2013: A blog called "Ataraxia Gardens"? It sounded exotic. Ataraxy stands for "serene calmness." I needed that. For a bunch of ancient Greeks, Ataraxia was a lucid state of robust equanimity. Heaven. That's me. In the garden. I wanted to share. 2014: Then I found Rufus and George. Why not let them speak for me? Our global problems are all about consumption and our need for objects of all kinds. What insights could a ruffled 50-year-old Steif Chimpanzee and a broken china pug share about our relationship to all our belongings, big and small? So I briefly had a blog called "Rufus & George." 2015: There was a problem, though. I had more to say than Rufus & George understood, about how stuck we seemed, caught between 20th century expectations and 21st century realities. It hit me when I forgot to pull up instead of push down when I peed. It's so confusing, changing a habit I'd had my entire life. Flush the toilet. Push down. Until now, when everything was a hybrid. So I created a blog, a business, and a book, all called "Our Hybrid Lives." 2016: But I was stuck. Why would anyone care? Who was I behind the blog, book and business? What was I trying to prove, and to whom? So I got help. When my new business coach asked me those same questions, I knew, in my heart, that I was a photographer. When she asked me what I loved, I knew -- compost and being outside and noticing light and texture and beauty. So I ignored all I had been doing, got my camera and explored. 2017: I kept exploring, while taking small steps forward. A web site. A business card. A trip to New York City to photograph compost & a few months later, have a 'pop-up' show where I stood by my work and told people I was a photographer and that I was into compost, which kept inviting me to go deeper, beyond the soil, and into myself. 2018: I kept diving. Saboteurs yacked on my shoulder, but I kept going. A visit to my sister in Idaho gave me time to process. Compost, it seems, has the answers for me. Pay attention. Be patient. Honor micro- dramas. Allow for the mess and complexity contained in any story, even my own. Change "by degrees." 2019: Clarity emerges. My work inspires joy and new ways of being by celebrating this magical convergence of creativity and climate action that I experience every day. Who knew? Welcome. This is going to be fun. Maybe we'll meet in person some day and you can share your story with me. So that's how I got here.
It matters because you matter and your story matters. Even if, like mine, your journey includes false starts and stops and takes you this way and that, it's relevant and of value. Because, in a democracy, we all matter. |
Evelyn R. Swett
reframing the narrative in community and with myself, finding transformation and joy in the mess of it all Let's ReFrame!
is a somewhat regular 'viewsletter' that hopefully inspires joy & transformation. It will include links to recent blog posts & updates about my work. Oh, and I promise I won't share your information (that would be so uncool) and I don't actually do promotions, but that text is required. Archives
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