 April 16, 2021 Patience, spring will be here soon.  April 21, 2021 Or so we think.  April 22, 2021 - Earth Day Enjoying a final romp in the snow and watching the light,  April 22, 2021 - Earth Day, Balch Hill on last fall's leaves,  April 22, 2021 - Earth Day, Balch Hill hoping, we brace ourselves, again and again.  April 22, 2021 - Earth Day, Home And then, sigh with relief.  April 26, 2021, Flowers to Come Emergence.  April 26, 2021, Emergence
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 Valentine's Day Roses, 2021 Photo by ERSwett It's been a strangely long winter.  Brown Paper & Snow, 2021 Photo by ERSwett And we've had a lot of snow, which, in fact, is the ideal background for compost.  Houseplants, 2021 Photo by ERSwett Pruned houseplants, torn newspapers, & banana peals can make a person's day.  Snow Day, 2021 Photo by ERSwett My friend who runs the local landfill says that snow can hide many sins. It can also make the edge of an avocado peal or the crust of stale bread come to life.  Fennel & Lint, 2016 Photo by ERSwett I was curious what images I had created in past winters. This was the only Compost Composition I saved from February 2016. Doesn't the gray blue dryer lint look cool with the cilantro and rainbow chard stems, banana peels & snow?  Winter Citrus, February 2020 Photo by ERSwett These orange rinds, Sodoku & snow with, it seems, more dryer lint, feel cheerful & strangely innocent. When I created this in February of last year, I had no idea what lay ahead, nor how grateful I would be for quiet and beautiful moments with compost and my camera.  Yellow Roses & Stuff, February 2021 Photo by ERSwett  Goodbye SAT Prep, January 2020 Photo by ERSwett At some point in 2020, I lost my way.  Winter Citrus, February 2020 Photo by ERSwett The turmoil went to my head and to my heart and I froze.  Late Winter Bouquet, March 2020 Photo by ERSwett Thankfully, though, the compost pile beckoned.  Soup's On at Umpleby's, April 2020 Photo by ERSwett The colors, textures and yes, the pungent odors kept things real and reminded me of the beauty of it all.  Good King Henry & The Valley News, May 2020 Photo by ERSwett I am grateful for extended time with my family and with my thoughts.  Early Season Watermelon, June 2020 Photo by ERSwett Light emerged on the other side of dark, and we just kept showing up for each other.  Mid-Summer Feast, July 2020 Photo by ERSwett The dailiness of watermelon & houseplants that needed trimming invited calm in the midst of brewing storms.  Discarded Housevines, September 2020 Photo by ERSwett And I voted. We voted. Hope.  I Voted, November 2020 Photo by ERSwett And the Christmas Cactus bloomed at Thanksgiving as it does every year.  Houseplants, Early December 2020 Photo by ERSwett And we finally bid farewell to my mother-in-law's pressed leaves and rhyming dictionary she used to write holiday poems.  Post-Holiday Clean-up, December 2020 Photo by ERSwett It was a messy, smelly and uncomfortable year, but it will be impossible to forget 2020 and the good that will emerge from the all of it.  New Year's Eve, 2020 Photo by ERSwett  Calvin on the Run, 2020 Photo by ERSwett In 2021 I'm practicing stillness.  Demitasse & Me, 2020 Photo by ERSwett Is standing still in moving water & the changing light a place of stillness?  Wet Moccasins, Vermont 2020 Photo by ERSwett Does a photo shoot in a bog wearing wet moccasins cause me to pause?  Hydrangea at the Landfill, 2020 Photo by ERSwett If it weren't for these moments from 2020, I would not even be asking these questions.  Golden Hour, Vermont 2020 Photo by ERSwett  Ageless, 2008 Photo by ERSwett Lines on a log in late afternoon. The same light gives pink silk & lace an orange hue.  Gram's Pink Dress, 2011 Photo by ERSwett It is a new year, so I explore my 'old favorites' folder & find color...  Water Colors, 2012 Photo by ERSwett ...& the warming power of orange during dark days.  Pollinator in Action, 2014 Photo by ERSwett Pollinators will return.  Harvest, 2014 Photo by ERSwett Cherry tomatoes will pop in my mouth during harvest time.  Sunrise in Maine, 2014 Photo by ERSwett The sun will rise and set and I will drink a toast to you, for showing up and caring. Be well in 2021.  Toasting the Light, 2011 Photo by ERswett  Pam's Pressed Leaves, 2020 Photo by ERSwett Pressed leaves - - so easy to collect & so simple to compost.  Pam's National Geographic Collection, 2020 Photo by ERSwett National Geographic, not so much. Each year, eleven pounds of images from around the world. But last week, it was time for this collection of stories and images to move on, to mix and mingle with holiday wrappings and old bills.  Photographing the Photographs, 2020 Photo by ERSwett Our children did not plow through them, as I once did, and no library wanted them. This 450 pound collection was, in fact, a burden from another era.  Goodbye, 2020 Photo by ERSwett When I returned from the recycling center, I was not surprised to experience an increased flow of fresh air in my studio - - The shelves, lighter and more open, an invitation.  Bread & The Rhyming Dictionary, 2020 Photo by ERSwett We were managing the clutter we brought home from my mother-in-law's house, which we had cleared out three years ago. It was time to say farewell to her pressed leaves, National Geographics and her dog-eared rhyming dictionary.  The Rhyming Dictionary & How to Build a Better Vocabulary, 2020 Photo by ERSwett The compost absorbed all of it, including the expectations of creating the perfect turn of phrase in a gift card, thank you letter or speech at the garden club. In our pile, the leaves & this book will nourish new growth in a new year & maybe even inspire new ways of thinking post 2020.  Composting Expectations, 2020 Photo by ERSwett  Christmas Cactus Bloom, November 2020 Photo by ERSwett A single small plant, a gift in 2003, grows for 17 years, blooming regularly just before Thanksgiving, as if feeling our longing for color, just as the days darken and trees stand baren.  Christmas Cactus Plant (a gift from my mother-in-law in 2003), Fall 2020 Photo By ERSwett It was a gift from my mother-in-law, its abundance reflecting her deep love for the keeping & caring of all kinds of plants. During this time of Thanksgiving, I am grateful for her and for this pink cactus.  Dried Blossoms on Paper, Fall 2020 Photo by ERSwett For me, photographing the spent blooms has also been an invitation to see the beauty embodied in decay, especially during the past 3 years, when she has been in decline.  Composted Blooms, November 2020 Photo by ERSwett Last week, the pink blossoms lay beside stale bread & a banana peal. 3 years ago, those blossoms lay on fresh snow, mixed with spent leaves & flowers. I doubt Pam ever imagined the powerful impact that small plant with its pink blossoms would have on me. It was this image from 2017 that inspired me to begin sharing my work in new ways, including making a set of greeting cards with a variety of images from that year.  Dried Flowers, 2017. Photo by ERSwett This first 'dried flowers' photograph is part of my original "Compost Composition" greeting card collection. There is still a limited supply available, which I hope to get out into the world. Please express your gratitude for the US Post Office by writing cards to those you love. Rumor has it that these images make people feel good. Here's a link.  Mixed set of 8 Compost Composition greeting cards, Fall 2020  I believed & it was true. Wear a pair of black leather boots & you, too, will feel powerful & confident. It's been five years since I first purchased these on consignment, polished them up and faked it till I made it. They worked their magic.  After wearing them a few times, I started to actually believe in my power - - not in a dominating way, but in a deep visceral kind of way that flowed from my fascia and radiated outward. These boots lead me to the edge of my known world....  If I step off the path, I might harm this ecosystem, but if I stay on it, I may never come to understand it. What if it's not even a binary question. Maybe it's about stance and learning to tread more lightly.  And maybe there is more power in a backward glance made with curiosity, wonder & the core of who I am, than there is in a pair of boots & a projection of false confidence.   Banana: Look at Me! Fall 2020 Photo by ERSwett Colors. Textures. Shapes. Invitations to pay attention.  Balanced Greens, Fall 2020 Photo by ERSwett Gorgeous Garbage. Mixed up and mingled.  I Voted, Fall 2020 Photo by ERSwett Curious about time & the need to document how I use it...Fear emerges: Will we have the time we need? Thoughts shift.  The Executive Calendar, Fall 2020 Photo by ERSwett If my daily calendar is empty, did I exist? If we live without record, do we exist? Or, is there something more powerful I don't yet understand that connects us to the spirit of things & not things themselves?  Yellow Rose Petals, Fall 2020 Photo by ERSwett Trump's election sparked my initial focus on compost. Since then, the pile has shifted from metaphor for America (a diverse soup), to an invitation to explore my relationship to just about everything and everyone...including myself.  Tea Cup in Sharon, VT, Fall 2020 Photo by ERSwett So I've been hanging out with tea-cups submerged in ponds and feeling the power of moss while in prayer.  Moss & a Prayer, Fall 2020 Photo by ERSwett I wonder: Will I take this invitation to change, to emerge from this time with renewed interest in what's possible? Or will I hold on to what I know & to what feels safe because I am afraid?  What's This? Fall 2020, Self Portrait For me, it's a choice, & fear is not an option.  The Choice is Mine to Make, Fall 2020 Self Portrait  Black Boots on Wood, Sharon, VT Fall 2020 Photo by ERSwett Sometimes a gal has to shake things up a bit.  Embroidered Moccasins by Sarah C. Swett sometime in the 1980's. Photo by ERSwett If, for example, she can't actually walk in other people's shoes, she can at least experiment with wearing her own in new & different places. Or, perhaps, not wear any at all.  Barefoot in Fall Self Portrait, October 2020 It turns out, for example, that feeling cold wet leaves beneath your toes while staring at your camera is quite luxurious.  Self Portrait at The Land, October 2020 Photo by ERSwett I've been needing these experiences this past week, because while those in power continue to belittle women's voices, & the voices of those without power, I struggle to find mine.  The Dress - Blowing in the Wind, October 2020 Photo by ERSwett The dress, like so many past beliefs is gone, blowing in the wind, beautiful but not useful anymore.  Reclining on a Wood Pile - Self Portrait October 2020 And I recline on a wood pile, wearing those cool black boots from The Pink Alligator & a black shirt dress from Revolution. It all feels quite liberating...  Hydrangea at The Landfill, October 2020 Photo by ERSwett Each step in my own shoes brings me closer to what I love -- finding balance & power at the landfill & in my compost pile, each photograph transforming the discord & pain I feel in the world around me into something else entirely.  Now the demitasse, filled with coffee, sits on the coffee grinds from which it came, connected and real. In times like this, it helps to stay real.  Self Portrait with Panels, Fall 2020 Photo by ERSwett And then I remembered how powerful I felt when we first installed our solar panels in 2010. For less than the cost of most new cars, we could actually generate power - - 56,000 Kwh to date, in fact. So I created this self portrait, wearing those same black boots & holding a mug of coffee made by a good friend. This is real.  2020 Ballot Photo by ERSwett And this is real too. So after the photo shoot at the panels, I filled in my ballot & delivered it to Town Hall, feeling very very powerful. I hope that on November 3, 2020 you will vote as if your life & the lives of your children's children's great grandchildren depended on it.  Self Portrait - - As a Tree, October 2020 Because here's the deal. If you can, do. If you believe in your power, you can generate power, not just with solar panels and your vote, but with the very core of who you are. I'm a mover & maker, so I learned to embroider so that I could share Whitman's poem, This Compost, and the oh so powerful final stanza...  This Compost on a Jacket - - Self Portrait, October 2020 Now I am terrified at the earth, it is that calm and patient, It grows such sweet things out of such corruptions, It turns harmless and stainless on its axis, with such endless successions of diseased waste, It distills such exquisite winds out of such infused fetor, It renews with such unwitting looks its prodigal, annual, sumptuous crops, It gives such divine materials and accepts such leavings from [us all]. -Walt Whitman, This Compost (From Leaves of Grass)  The Connecticut River at Dawn, September 2005 Photo by ERSwett Renewal is the operative word. Like all this stuff about demitasse & cotillion dresses & going deeper into who we are & what we believe. It's so much easier to explore when feeling powerful.  Self Portrait - Being a Tree in the Fen, October 2020 in Sharon, VT Afraid of what might happen this week? Be a tree & remember, if you can, do. Connect with the earth. Stand tall. Be Real.  Self Portrait - Being Real, October 2020 in Sharon, VT |
Evelyn R. Swett
reframing the narrative in community and with myself, finding transformation and joy in the mess of it all 
compost re-imagined
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**Let's ReFrame is a weekly viewsletter about this and that.
It includes links to recent blog posts, updates about my work, and when relevant, inspirational action prompts
for you to explore your creativity and passion for the world you love.
It includes links to recent blog posts, updates about my work, and when relevant, inspirational action prompts
for you to explore your creativity and passion for the world you love.