 Stitching the rip... 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.  repairing the furnace 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.  the mending pile 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 old duvet 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.  messy stitches 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.  mismatched buttons 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...  same overalls, similar rips, different strategies 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).  what if? 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.  the seduction of curves I became entranced by the colors, shapes and textures that emerged. I know. These joggers are completely absent of color.  losing change from jogger pockets 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.  textures of mending 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.  a very very mellow companion 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.  there will always be need for another button 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.
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 New Years 2020 By ERSwett People ask me what's next in 2020?  Purple Yarn & Grapefruit By ERSwett 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.  The Optimal Essay By ERSwett 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.  Apple Cascade By ERSwett 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.  Function Fundamentals 1 By ERSwett 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.  Solving for X, C By ERSwett  First juried show at AVA Gallery in Lebanon, NH Summer 2019 It's been quite a year.  Rhubarb, Pea Pods & Paper, 2019 By ERSwett Each week, 110 pounds of compost processed in the bins behind our garage.  More buckets of compost from Umpleby's Cafe in Hanover, NH That's 52 weeks of at least 110 pounds each week, which adds up to 5,200 pounds or 2 1/2 tons.  Mashed Pumpkin and Pea Pods, Fall 2019 By ERSwett As you know, compost is a thing for me, coming from a place of deep caring and ongoing curiosity.  January 1, 2019 - - My first sampler: "This Compost" by Walt Whitman In 2019 that compost inspired oodles of photographs, yards and yards of embroidery, and an entirely new way of thinking about myself.
I wonder where these tons of compost will lead in 2020 and beyond.  Apple Peals, Fall 2019 By ERSwett What twists and turns will emerge? Will there be chaos or coherence? Every year, it's the same wondering. What's next? Will I be OK?  Dried Roses, 2019 By ERSwett Will we be OK? Will we find renewal from transformation or will we remain stuck?  Christmas Cactus, 2019 By ERSwett Will we choose uniformity or diversity? Will we hover, like these hydrangeas above the fray...  Hovering Hydrangeas, 2019 By ERSwett ...or will we let ourselves mix and mingle with others, and in the process, embrace the mess that may emerge?  Hovering Hydrangeas and Orange Peals, 2019 By ERSwett Will we? Will I? These are the kinds of questions I ask at the end of each year. It's hard not to, especially when there's so much going on. At this moment, though, I wonder how these compost photographs will inspire you and me to transform ourselves in 2020 and the decade ahead. Keep me posted. I'm curious...  Compost Compositions at The Mayor Gallery at AVA in Lebanon, NH. A quiet space, ready for conversation.  Cornucopia in the Compost, 1 By ERSwett The cornucopia came home with us after Thanksgiving in CT. It sat on the windowsill.  Cornucopia in the Compost, 2 By ERSwett The flowers started to wilt and I noticed the texture of the drying petals and the play of light from different angles.  Cornucopia in the Compost, 3 By ERSwett And the roses captured my attention.  Cornucopia in the Compost, 4 By ERSwett And kept my attention even when tossed into the compost pile.  Cornucopia in the Compost, 5 By ERSwett It's strange. I've actually never really liked roses. They're hard to grow and their thorns hurt. It has always struck me as odd that a flower that can cause pain would be one so many use to express love. Though maybe that's the point. Love hurts. Sometimes.  Cornucopia in the Compost, 6 By ERSwett On this particular day in the compost pile, though, I fell in love with the roses. They seduced me and inspired me to hang out with them, despite cold fingers & a runny nose.  Cornucopia in the Compost, 7 By ERSwett I know they must have traveled far to arrive fresh in Connecticut in late November. Perhaps it is out of respect for their journey that I can't take my eyes off them - even when things get a bit stirred up...  Cornucopia in the Compost, 8 By ERSwett ...and more compost arrives & gets mixed & mingled with the coffee and the discarded cornucopia.  Cornucopia in the Compost, 9 By ERSwett They are unstoppable, these roses, determined to not get left behind or forgotten. They refuse to be outdone by the dryer lint, kale, or banana peels. They persist.  Cornucopia in the Compost, 10 By ERSwett Maybe that's why love and roses go together. If we pay attention, it's not the rose at first glance, it's the rose that still captivates as it evolves, edges drying and petals falling off. For me, that's what love is...  Cornucopia in the Compost, 11 By ERSwett Love for my family. Love for my friends. Love for the earth that sustains us. Even when tested and tossed around a bit, real love persists, captivates, and has the power to transform all those paying attention to it.  Cornucopia in the Compost, 12 By ERSwett  Weekly Compost Bucket During my show, people asked if my studio smelled and they wondered how I 'staged' my work.  Handmade Three-Bin Composter (Bin & Photograph by ERSwett) Since my 'stage' is a large three bin composting system behind our garage, and my studio is on the opposite end of the house, in the basement, with only a computer and other art supplies, it turns out that neither one actually smells at all (or at least, not of rotting food).
And I don't really 'set up' my Compost Compositions either. I dump food and other scraps into that plastic white bucket that I purchased from K-mart a decade ago. When it gets full, which is at least once a week, I carry the 10 pounds of waste out to our 'active' compost bin. There, I dump a bucket's worth of stuff onto whatever was there before.  A 'Compost Compositions' in process. Then I stir it so that it all gets mixed and mingled. As you can see, the bins are square, but the camera creates a rectangular image.  Compost Composition #6,573 or some such number... by ERSwett I then crop my image to create 'Compost Compositions' that feel as close to the 'real deal' as I can get.  5 Gallon Buckets full of Compost. There are additional players in this drama, however. I source most of my raw material from Umpleby's Cafe & Bakery in Hanover, NH, where each week I collect five gallon buckets full of coffee and other food scraps.  Handmade Three-Bin Composter and photo by ERSwett The stage is set for new dramas to unfold. Every time it's a mystery, as the contents and light shift with each season.  This morning's compost from Umpleby's Cafe & Bakery This morning, the buckets contained a wonderful mix of coffee, fresh lemons, celery and some old lettuce.  Coffee steaming... I love how the fresh and still warm coffee grinds, generate steam. I also love how I don't actually know what was in each bucket until I stir the heaped mass of coffee and vegetable scraps...  Mixed salad, sandwiches and omelettes perhaps? ...and uncover a compellingly speckled moldy tomato.  It's all very democratic - - everything gets mixed and mingled together. There is no hierarchy in a compost bin. I doubt any of these will become official 'Compost Compositions' as the lighting wasn't quite right today. Stay tuned for more about that in a later post.  Love contrasts between lights and darks As you
can see, this 'behind the scenes' view of my compost process is not really behind anything other than our garage. It's all out there. In the winter, red squirrels come to feast; In the summer bees and other bugs hover. For years I've referred to my work as the 'real deal.' It may be contained & framed but, like me, what you see is what you get.. (most of the time).  It seems absurd, really, that a gal has to take care of things at home even when there are so many cool things happening, at, say, her first solo show.  But autumn does come to an end, and snow does appear and the temperatures do start to fall, so one does have to take care of things.  It's funny, though, how the list evolves over time. Just as one thing is finally crossed off, another activity or two or three gets added on, like mulch on the garden and those perennials that keep coming back...  I love, though, how I save my favorite activity for last - - shredding leaves to use in the compost in the spring when things are wet and need a boost of dry carbon. It's a thing for me.  Calvin joins in the fun, begging me to throw him sticks while I methodically mow the leaves in the still, dry garage. Spread them out, consolidate, spread again. Back and forth I help break them down so they can more efficiently integrate with all that nitrogen in the melting, early spring compost.  It hit me, though, as the pile got smaller, that this is another one of those routines I do all the time that is, on the one hand, just another item on the endless list, but on the other hand, is an integral part of a bigger climate action narrative, a story in which I find joy in routines that feel good unto themselves but are also part of a larger creative vision.  Like how I can share photographs of a previous year's leaves on the wall of a gallery and by doing so inspire others to think differently about leaves, carbon and our material world.  Mixed Carbon, 2019 30" x 30" Photograph on Paper (5th on the left) Photo by ERSwett For me,
climate action and creativity converge to inspire joy and new ways of being - - all the time.  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  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.  Mussels, 2019 By ERSwett My first solo show opens in 11 days. What is the story I want to tell?  Grapefruit & Snow, 2019 By ERSwett Is it about the cool colors, textures and shapes of my Compost Compositions? Yes.  Shredded Paper, 2018 By ERSwett Is it about the stories those Compositions tell about food, culture and the regenerative power of waste? Yes.  Emerging And there is more. Behind these photographs there is me, a woman in mid life choosing to share her work and, by default, her story - -  2 Degrees, The Tear 2018 By ERSwett A story that begins with a beginners mind - - a willingness to explore not just content that most ignore, but process as well.  2 Degrees, 2018 By ERSwett Perhaps that is why last year I had so much fun dismantling and composting my Harvard and UVA Degrees. Why not explore?  Maidenhair Fern on Silk Dress, 2019 By ERSwett Or, perhaps that is why I am OK sharing my first attempt at decorating a silk dress with embroidered imagery of my own design.  Maidenhair Fern (Wool on Silk), 2019 By ERSwett Now that it is Show Time the connections between these experiments becomes clearer.  Shadowed Self, 2019 By ERSwett In a world filled with fear, I am no longer afraid to reframe my relationship to garbage or to myself.  Self Portrait, 2019 To learn more,
you'll have to come to the show. The opening is October 11 at AVA Gallery in Lebanon, NH. My Artist's Talk is November 1 at 5pm, also at AVA Gallery. Or, you can just keep reading this blog. More will be revealed, I'm sure. |
Evelyn R. Swett celebrates
how creativity and climate action converge to inspire joy and transformation. 
compost re-imagined
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**Let's ReFrame is a weekly newsletter that hopefully inspires joy & transformation.
It will include links to recent blog posts, updates about my work, and, best of all, inspirational action prompts
for you to explore your creativity and passion for the world you love.
It will include links to recent blog posts, updates about my work, and, best of all, inspirational action prompts
for you to explore your creativity and passion for the world you love.