At some point in 2020, I lost my way. The turmoil went to my head and to my heart and I froze. Thankfully, though, the compost pile beckoned. The colors, textures and yes, the pungent odors kept things real and reminded me of the beauty of it all. I am grateful for extended time with my family and with my thoughts. Light emerged on the other side of dark, and we just kept showing up for each other. The dailiness of watermelon & houseplants that needed trimming invited calm in the midst of brewing storms. And I voted. We voted. Hope. And the Christmas Cactus bloomed at Thanksgiving as it does every year. And we finally bid farewell to my mother-in-law's pressed leaves and rhyming dictionary she used to write holiday poems. 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.
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Pressed leaves - - so easy to collect & so simple to compost. 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. 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. 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. 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
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. Colors. Textures. Shapes. Invitations to pay attention. Gorgeous Garbage. Mixed up and mingled. Curious about time & the need to document how I use it...Fear emerges: Will we have the time we need? Thoughts shift. 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? 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. So I've been hanging out with tea-cups submerged in ponds and feeling the power of moss while in prayer. 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? For me,
it's a choice, & fear is not an option. There's The Tempest, a drama by Shakespeare, and there's the perennial plant, Good King Henry. Both white men. Both British. One an old text with faux leather cover & the other gone to seed. Together, they make a perfect mix of nitrogen and carbon in my compost pile, Because it had rained a lot, I added some old newspapers to the mix and was surprised that they were from 2018 - must have been from the back of the storage bin. When I stirred all this green and brown stuff together, they mixed & mingled, creating a fertile space for decomposition. It takes time, but not much, if I aerate the compost by turning it over & making sure it gets good & messy along the way. It smells like an old barn, which I love, and all that work makes me strong. We are in the midst of a global pandemic. There are riots & demonstrations throughout the country. I'm angry, sad and very tired of feeling complicit in a system I did not design or choose. Turning compost is my way of processing the all of it. The natural cycle of life, death & renewal I witness in this pile is also context for the other continuum it includes - - The shredded news, sometimes current and sometimes from years past, that reveals the causes and effects of policies and actions over time. Mix & mingle a diverse bunch of decomposing matter, turn it over once in a while and you get soil to renew the earth from which it came; Create policies that increase inequality and you get anger, frustration and the perpetuation of an unfair system. It's all right here in the compost behind my garage, messy, smelly and beautiful in a weird kind of way. In 2018, when I composted my Harvard and University of Virginia diplomas, I experienced the power of decomposition as not just a source of life for the earth but also as a source of inspiration & renewal. What seemed a dangerous & radical act at the time did not cause the earth to shatter, but instead freed me to reframe my narrative. For two years now, I've been exploring what it means to be the product of privilege and to own my complicity not just with the climate crisis, which was the original impetus for my reflections on "Two Degrees," but also with the social and economic disparities that exist as a result of our current market economy. Facing truths is hard, but when I go astray, feeling tired & lost as I do now, compost keeps me grounded. It is in that pile behind the garage that clarity emerges: The power of diversity & balance, the importance of showing up & being patient, and the beauty that emerges from the mess. It has taken me a week to craft this post. My whole being seeks balance free from anxiety, but it is an anxious and uncertain time. What to do? Instead of leaving Shakespeare's volume unopened, I tore it apart, allowing the narrative to break free and become something new. Instead of
leaving my diplomas in a frame in the attic, I tore them up & let them break free as well. There is power in recomposing, decomposing and reframing our narratives. Sometimes, there truly is a tempest in the compost. It's smelly & messy & hard to take, but it's beautiful, too, and I'm ready for whatever work is needed. It builds strength of many kinds. It was a magical moment when I gave birth to my son 20 years ago on April 16th and to my daughter, just after 9/11 less than two years later. Witnessing this hug was a magical moment of a different kind, but heartwarming as well. This past week I reflected on other times during the past 20 years when I have felt that same powerful & loving energy. Who knew I would end up stalling on my Compost Compositions, which I first 'discovered' in 2015 with these pomegranates and apple peels? It's cool that like my children, the magic continues. There is something going on in that pile that I can not contain. It's a life force brewing within each image that is, for me, almost as powerful as being a mother. Like a child who becomes an adult before your eyes, these Compost Compositions are snapshots, moments of beauty, which, like that hug, are part of a longer and lasting narrative, but which are fleeting as well. Just as each piece of discarded fruit or vegetable scrap called to me, saying "pay attention, I've got a story too," inspiring me to create these images in the first place, it feels as if these Compost Compositions are singing out to me now, saying "get me out there, into the world, please. We want to share our magic with others." These first three pieces are calling from The Vermont Center for Photography in Brattleboro, where they are trapped, unable to be experienced in person. Other pieces, like Mixed Carbon, hide in my studio, bringing calm and delight, but calling out for a wider audience. Or, my first Dried Flowers, from 2017, are part of a set of greeting cards also wanting to share their energy - - The cards are calling out "please write letters, keep connections between people going, & oh, by they way, the US Postal Service needs us!" Over the years, I have learned to listen to my children & am grateful for their guidance, like when they unknowingly inspired me to finally seek help for my lifelong anxiety or when they encouraged me to actually sell my photographs. So now, I am listening to them & my work. During this time of social isolation, it feels strange to store all these magical moments in my studio, when they could be out in the world for others to see. Because, at their heart, Compost Compositions are all about community and our essential interdependence. Just as the green stuff and brown stuff have to mix & mingle to create nutrient rich 'black gold,' so too do we depend on each other. So here we are! It's the 50th Anniversary of Earth Week, we are entering our sixth week at home as we #flattenthecurve, and it's time to share the love & powerful magic in each of these Compost Compositions. Please visit my online Store or the Vermont Center for Photography. I am
excited to donate a portion of proceeds from all Compost Compositions sold during April 2020 to COVID-19 Relief and, in celebration of the 50th anniversary of Earth Day to ecochallenge.org. We are in this together. If you are able and inspired, please share the magic! Welcome to the first day of Spring. We woke to a light dusting of snow and are a bit disappointed by yet another cloudy day. But it is, after all, March in New Hampshire and we are experiencing a global pandemic. So the fact that The Green is empty and stores are closed is real. So too is compost. The narcissus may be done, but they are still making lemon curd at Umpleby's and we are still eating bananas. In the midst of disappointed teenagers at home, I return, as always, to the colors, shapes & textures of my compost pile. My gratitude for this pile is deep. Year after year it transforms waste into nourishment for gardens while at the same time inviting me to be patient, get my hands dirty, and remember that sometimes life is really messy. As if by magic, though, creativity emerges over and over again out of the apparent mess. It should be no surprise to you, then, that I have more photographs of coffee filters. Who knows how long the supply will last, but they are such a simple way for me to connect with my sister, Sarah Swett, who keeps making things out of these funny pieces of paper. And in the process, I pay closer attention to what was once just another part of the waste I collected each week from Umpleby's Bakery & Cafe in Hanover, NH. Coffee filters, it turns out are beautiful. For me, It's so much more than textures & subtle muted tones. It's all about how these filters seemed to talk to me earlier today, and made me laugh as I folded them & prepared to mail them to my sister in Idaho. It all seemed so funny, how I packaged them up, but am waiting two weeks to send them, for fear I might have The Virus and might unknowingly mail it to my sister whose husband has cancer and definitely can't get this thing. So once again my compost and all its associated projects invite patience and humor. This really is all quite messy... ...and beautiful, because even though we may be thousands of miles apart, we are together, exploring these funny pieces of paper and wondering what will emerge from it all. So after I finish this blog post, I will go upstairs to cut our daily grapefruit - one for each member of the family every day for as long as supplies last. During times of stress and uncertainty, I like routines. I like this habit of culling & cleaning coffee filters to send to my sister. I like making something healthy for our family on a regular basis. And I like making sure we laugh about the fact it's a Thursday & my kids are eating breakfast at 2 pm just when I'm having my mid afternoon snack. It's all part of a new routine and I'm OK with all of that... ...because it is March and even though it seems dark and gray and lonely to be stuck at home, I know that the bulbs will emerge from the frozen earth & spring will come, because that's nature's routine, and I'm good with that. PS
It is still Women's History Month...so let's support each other as much as we can from afar. For inspiration of all kinds, check out my friend Jennifer Jewell's Podcast Cultivating Place - - The January episodes were all about the therapeutic and spiritual capacities of our gardens - in all their forms. We need that now, more than ever. 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...
When my daughter finally cleaned out her sock drawer over the holidays, she presented me with this colorful pile. I wondered what to do with these mismatched dirty old socks. I don't want to add more clothing waste to the landfill, but because they are made of synthetic fibers, I can't compost them. What's a gal like me to do? And when I cleaned out my mother-in-law's house two years ago, I came home with bags of scraps from all the clothes she had had altered to fit her - - At 5" and getting smaller, she needed a lot of hems and cuffs removed and shortened. I love that Pam saved these scraps, perhaps thinking they could be used to mend her shirts or trousers if they needed it. Or, perhaps she had a vision for making a quilt some day. But then she forgot about the scraps & those ideas faded with time. When I originally found her bags of cuffs, hems and other fabric, I wondered if I could compost, recycle or reuse them. That's just how I think. The thought of tossing these remnants of my mother-in-law's life into dumpsters made me really sad. I couldn't do it. It's not that I am a hoarder or that I am overly sentimental. And it's more than the reality that I hate waste. In fact, I found these on a day when I had been ruthlessly sending all manner of things to the landfill. At that moment, though, I had a feeling there was a story embodied in those bags that I would explore someday. So here I am, wondering about my daughter's old socks and my mother-in-law's fabric remnants. The thing that's bothering me most is that they can not be composted because these colorful textiles are made from or contain synthetic fibers. As I have recently learned in Rebecca Burgess's Fibershed, there is more to our clothes than I ever knew. For me, though, these piles of fabric are kind of like the piles of vegetables and other scraps I witness in the compost pile. The colors, textures and shapes seduce me, inviting me to pay attention. I notice Pam's love for blues and greens. I notice the mix of silk, denim, linen, wool, cotton-knit and shining polyester. Although she now needs a wheel- chair to get around, she once swooshed and swished at parties, did errands in town, and dug in her garden. Each of these scraps reveals a different part of her life, a different part of her. It turns out that I am asking the same questions of these scraps that I ask of my compost. Where you do come from, how did you grow or how were you made? Who was responsible for your emergence and ultimate journey to me? Were those responsible for you (fabric or fruit) paid a living wage? Was the soil from which you grew (veggie or fiber) rich with compost, or was it polluted? The Fibershed, it turns out, is like a foodshed or a watershed. Meaning, there is a connection between geography and the health of our food, the cleanliness of our water, and the sustainability of the clothes we wear. Each is part of a system much larger than itself. I started exploring these connections last year when I wrote blog posts about an old t-shirt, old dresses that belonged to my grandmother, and finding new shoes. Ultimately, when I eat yummy, healthy good, I feel better. When I wear well-made, beautiful and natural fibers, I feel better as well. To continue exploring the relationship between re-imagining my clothes and, in the process re-imagining myself, I'm excited to start hosting a community conversation on this very subject. Stay tuned. I have no idea what will emerge from this... Don't worry.
I'm still hanging out with compost, but I'm also seeing where that compost leads me. For the moment, it's inviting time with fabric, because, like food, textiles could be removed from our waste stream if we only knew how. I used to like to travel, until I discovered that it wore me out. More recently, though, I have been teaching myself how to sustain myself and find joy even when away from home. So when in Detroit to visit family last week, I explored on foot & in a car, with my camera and an open heart. Taking breaks for treats & coffee may be a cliche, but it's a thing. Delicious coffees and pies in interesting places run by cool people warms my body and my soul. Walking sustains energy, as does witnessing creative Little Free Libraries... and eclectic gardens on street corners inviting me to 'Be Patient.' Once again I found myself between generations, sitting with Aunt Al waiting for the dog walker to arrive and, later in the day, celebrating my godson's 14th birthday on the 14th with a celebrated 'Bumpy Cake.' Who knew? In the midst of it all, I was surrounded by strong women figuring out how to find joy in various messy places - from single-motherhood to compost. You got it. Compost. I just can't not seek it out. In this case, I explored Detroit Dirt, a thriving organization that processes food waste and animal manure between old warehouses and the highway. As I stood among the eight mounds of compost, trying to keep warm as it snowed and the wind blew, I felt the power of earth's capacity to renew itself. It takes energy to create life from waste, but that is just what the amazing Pashon Murray is doing. Three days before the Women's March 2020, I was surrounded by strong feminine energy, the kind of energy that changes the world. Scraps to soil. Soil to plants. Plants to life-giving energy so that we can breath. After Detroit Dirt, I visited the Anna Scripps Whitcomb Conservatory in Belle Isle Park. Anna's story is impressive, but while there, warm and protected from freezing breezes blowing off the Detroit River, I thought about the power of focus - - When we focus on one thing, often something right in front of us, there is clarity and purpose. Trying to see and do it all just gets confusing. It's funny to me how I notice the bird sculpture more when it is blurred in the background, than when I tried to get it and everything else in focus. So when not exploring and playing with extended family, I made time to read and sew, taking a media holiday of sorts. I hadn't planned it this way, but it turns out I read about another inspiring and game- changing woman, Rebecca Burgess and the Fibershed Project. The subtitle "Growing a Movement of Farmers, Fashion Activists, and Makers for a New Textile Economy" connects to, well, everything. It seems that
2020 is turning into a year for making connections among people, places and possessions, in particular, clothes. Compost remains the focal point, but clothes and their relationship to our identities may be a parallel story line...We'll just have to see. But I'm having fun being with people I love, meeting people who inspire, and feeling the power of the feminine spirit wherever I go. People ask me what's next in 2020? 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. 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. 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. 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. |
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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