 The point sticks into the Gulf of Maine. It's 1.5 miles from our family's house and is a destination when it's high tide and the beach is covered. What's the point, you ask? Besides the wild flowers blowing in the breeze, the waves crashing on the rocks, and the knowledge that next year it will still be here, the point is that today I saw multiple Monarchs there.  I stood and watched them play - - gliding in the wind and resting on the bay laurel. They made me happy - - their telltale orange and black contrasting with the green shrubs and the blue water beyond. And they made me sad. Will they survive or not? Who knows?  What's the point? I closed my eyes and imagined what it would be like to be surrounded by thousands of these delicate creatures at their final destination in the mountains of Mexico and understood that all I needed was that association and idea to invite a momentary massive flurry of wings which, when I opened my eyes, were everywhere and no where. At this point in time, I'm happy to stay right here. No plane travel needed. Just me and my imagination. So cool.  What's the point? Our imaginations.
Wherever you are, consider how far you can go by going nowhere. Look at something in your yard or in your home and imagine a place far away. Feel the air, hear the wind and see the wonder. Then open your eyes again and be grateful for your imagination. It's a gift we often overlook. Happy Happy August.
0 Comments
Happy Summer! This was my view a few days ago while hanging the laundry. It takes my breath away every time I go onto our terrace.  The Laundry View. Photograph by ERSwett 2019 I was in a great mood because I had set the day aside to work on a major embroidery project I'm exploring this summer.  Today's Project. Photograph by ERSwett 2019 But life kept getting in the way. You know how it can be - managing the compost, changing toilet-paper rolls, drinking water to stay hydrated on a hot day, cleaning up after the dog made a mistake... and, of course, doing the laundry.
I think I was able to finish about half a leaf between each interruption. By the time I went out to hang the laundry, I was feeling really frustrated by how slow my progress was. I'd been feeling bad about other things too. Like the fact I hadn't written a blog post for more than a month and that I hadn't finished the next playbook in my series.  Re-imagining old clothes But while standing on the terrace and hearing the baby birds and seeing a monarch butterfly head toward the volunteer milkweed in the orchard we planted, I remembered that not long ago, none of this was here: no terrace, solar panels, shrubs or perennials, and no monarchs or baby birds learning to sing.  A Blank Canvas - Our Yard, 2004 I also remembered how exciting it was to see these peonies and iris bloom together after we had transplanted them that first year with the terrace garden - that was 8 years ago.  We're Here! Peonies & Iris, 2012 Some days I have to remind myself that over time, lots of little actions accumulate and become something larger than themselves. A single stone becomes a terrace. A single flower becomes a garden. A single stitch in a small leaf becomes a re-imagined dress.  Coming to Life. Photograph by ERSwett 2019 Sometimes I just have to consciously remember how things really work, which is why when I dumped the compost and took yet another photograph, I remembered the power of showing up and of big little things. 10 pounds of compost a week adds up to 500 pounds a year -- a ton over four years. That's a lot of food diverted from the landfill. It's also a lot of photographs celebrating its beauty.  Grocery List Photograph by ERSwett (At AVA this summer) So this week I'm celebrating Big Little Things. Like the fact that after creating thousands of Compost Compositions, I finally have two in a juried show this summer and I'll have a few dozen in a solo show this fall - - All at AVA Gallery in Lebanon, NH. Friends told me that if I kept showing up for my work and for myself, cool things would happen. They were right. They are.  Corn Husks & Red Onion Photograph By ERSwett (In solo show this fall) Who knew the simple climate action of composting would lead me to become a photographer? Who knew that photographing that compost could lead to learning about embroidery and the craft of remaking old clothes? Who knew that the act of remaking old things would inspire new ways of thinking and new ways of being?  Hemming the dress. Photograph by ERSwett How are you celebrating the Big Little Things in your day or your week? Remember: When you show up for yourself and those you love, cool things can happen. Messages for the Future @ AVA Gallery AVA's 2019 Summer Juried Exhibition July 12 - August 21  Monday Morning's Activities (not listed above):
Writing & mailing post cards to daughter and mother-in-law; Emptying the dehumidifier in my basement studio; Packing up some college supplies for a friend, who happens to be passing through, to take down to DC so that we won't have so much to manage in August when our son goes to college there; Managing a broken nail that I got while packing those supplies; Receiving a packet of pachysandra from a neighbor with whom I had just spoken during my morning walk - - She mentioned she had more pachysandra than she needed; I mentioned I could use some. I thought the plan was for me to go over and harvest it. What a gift! And it all happened between 9am and 1pm.  Love these boots. All from The Pink Alligator in Hanover, NH I wore these boots from November to May this year. Finally, a few weeks ago, they went into the storage box, from which my summer sandals and other cooler shoes emerged. Time for the seasonal assessment. If I haven't worn something for a year or if it doesn't work anymore, it goes in the spring give away pile.  cause blisters, too frumpy... You might think, with 26 pairs of work boots, athletic shoes, dress shoes and casual shoes, I'd have enough. But I don't. My athletic shoes are worn out and I've never really found the 'just right' pair of casual sneakers...and with this trip to London, it became clear that I needed some upgrades. But...  Window, The Third Estate, London These days I'm focused on shoes and clothes with a story. If they haven't been well worn by another before me, I want to know that the materials used are ethically sourced, the stitches made with care, and the resources used, fair.  The Third Estate, Kentish Town, London So yesterday, there I was, in Kentish Town, London, at The Third Estate, on whose racks and shelves are clothes, shoes, bags and socks made with love. Each brand, it seems, has its own story to tell.  Storied Shoes at The Third Estate, London So I had some fun.
Light or dark Ethletic Fair Trade Vegan Sustainable Trainers?
Funky Kalakar Breathable and light "BreLite Collection" shoes whose soles come from recycled tires and uppers are handspun cotton. They truly are the lightest shoes ever - - only 250 grams! A perfect travel companion.  dark, cute and comfy from The Third Estate, London I ended up with dark, cute, comfy and filled with love. They make me feel like I'm flying. Maybe that's why The Third Estate has a bird on its window.  But here's what I'm learning about this thing called "Slow Fashion." It's not about how fast something is made, it's about the stories embedded in each fiber and in the transaction itself. Angela, who helped me, wanted me to feel good. She knew about each shoe company and why they cared.  Another kind of 'green' window And the coolest thing? Most shopping expeditions leave me exhausted, but after I left yesterday, I found myself in an unexpected area, ready to explore. Who knew that by going to The Third Estate, I would also experience this colorful and nuanced part of town?  Cool apartments on a canal This canal seemed so quiet and peaceful, but then I followed the curve of and light on this living building... curious as I tend to be, about the relationship between the built environment and nature...  Living building in Camden Town ...and I found myself in an entirely unexpected place, where the buildings were alive in a different kind of way.  Cool building in Camden Town, London So I guess shoes really are a thing for me. Comfortable feet matter but so does my actual footprint. I think it's cool when I can care for both.  Loving my new Ethletic Fair Trainers. 3 cheers
for slow fashion, meandering explorations, and the simple joy of taking time to care. Happy June!  Our grandmother's dresses out for a dance in 2007.  My sister and I played dress-up. Our mother took photographs.  And then they hung in my attic for over a decade... until it was time to let them live again.  Some went to our local theater company and others went to goodwill. A few stayed behind though, because, well, they just needed to.  How could I resist those colors, textures and the spirit of my grandmother?  Well... Not exactly me. But what if...  I'm a mender (see last week's blog post), not a maker or re-maker, but maybe there was a costume designer with the imagination I needed to help re-create these in my own image?
Along came Rebecca Sewart, owner of Pins & Needles Garment Company. She saw the potential and, probably with her upcoming work with Joseph and the Amazing Techni-Color Dream Coat in mind, started with the dress. The entire process was magic.  What a gift to have an energetic, creative person who loves fiber come to my house and lovingly transform a complicated fabric into the coolest pair of 'retro' trousers a gal could own.  Gram must approve, because I feel her spirit when I wear her re-imagined evening gowns, which now contain Rebecca's energy as well. Stay tuned for our next shared creation...It seems that patience pays. Notes:
My sister is the incredible maker, Sarah Swett, who plays with fiber and is currently enamored with making her own clothes. My mother is Shiela Swett, who loves to take photographs of nature out her back door. I learned about Rebecca from the owners of The Pink Alligator, a consignment store in Lebanon and Hanover, NH. Rebecca is now creating costumes for a production of Joseph and his Amazing Technicolor Dream Coat for a theater company in Massachusetts. Final thought: I have to assume that those who made my grandmother's clothes and the fabric from which they came earned a living wage, since they were either hand made or couture, but I don't know for sure since working conditions varied fifty years ago. In today's world of fast fashion, though, I am trying hard to use the fabrics I have and keep things as local as possible. This project brings me complete joy because it honors my grandmother's standard of owning well-made clothes that last and my standard of embracing the ethic of slow, sustainable fashion. And in the process, I have clothes that make me feel powerful and beautiful, but which I never would have bought off any rack in any store. Thank you, Gram.  A 26-year-old cotton object that rips when I touch it. It's just a t-shirt, right?  No. It's more. It contains memories: My first years of marriage; Playing squash with my husband; Being in my 20's and feeling invincible; It's so much more than just a t-shirt.  Inspired by menders near and far, I got out a needle, some light purple thread, and got to work. I want to wear this fragile cotton shirt again. Because...  Because, well, I love it. It's just so soft.   Think the art of Japanese Boro also known as Sashiko mending.
Think slow fashion sustainable fashion re-use.  When I love something, I care for it. When I love someone, I care for them. Love takes time and patience. It can be messy and slow and it is always imperfect. But it's possible. We just have to show up and try.  Oh. And always have a sense of humor. For 26 years, I have only seen colors, shapes, & an artist's signature. When I told my husband about this project, he asked: "Oh, your dancer shirt?"... "My what? No, the one with cool colors and shapes."  Who knew? It turns out I had never actually paid as close attention to this shirt I love as much as my husband had. Sometimes I guess we just see what we see. What's cool is that I didn't feel anything like a dancer back in the 1990's, but I definitely do today. It's now more perfect than ever.  Also,
I'm grateful to my mother for teaching me how to sew. Happy Mother's Day to all!  Tulips Emerge, Sunday April 14, 2019. Photo by ERSwett Spring at last. I look at the tulips slowly emerging from the soil and think: "It's Showtime."  Dried Hosta Lace, Sunday April 7, 2019. Photo by ERSwett No kidding. And not just for the mourning doves mating on our terrace or the hosta lace appearing from beneath the snow.  Grouping images. Experimenting with size. It's Showtime. April 2019 I'm actually going to have my own show this fall at AVA Gallery in Lebanon, NH! There they will be - four years of Compost Compositions, priced, framed, curated and composed.  The first view: Framed Compost Compositions take over the dining room. At first I was unsure when the exhibit director suggested I show my work like photographs are usually seen: printed on paper, framed and behind glass. I had liked the immediacy and simplicity of canvas. But then I saw them framed and understood. Wow, these really are cool.  Two Degrees, 2018. Frame and glass? Not for this one. Once again, compost is my teacher, reminding me to be aware of my assumptions. For me, canvas was the point - an invitation to literally 're-frame' my beliefs about art and how things are 'supposed' to work. More than just immediacy, canvas seemed simpler, with fewer materials and less energy.  Packages of images on canvas arrive, March 2019. Photo by ERSwett But then I handled all the cardboard and tape and compared this to the small packet needed to ship ten times as many prints on paper that I could then have framed by local artisans... and my thinking changed about the waste and I realized the trade-offs inherent in the very idea of a show at all.  Planning for the first show continues, April 2019. I asked: Is it good enough? Am I good enough for all this? Then I look at the work and experience an uncontainable surge of energy.  This is Compost, 9 (2018) hanging out in the kitchen. I see that the canvas is actually too simple, too much like a poster I could order from CVS. The paper, frames and glass give this gorgeous garbage a presence that it deserves and I have earned.  Sarah Swett's tapestry, Jane's Picnic - an inspiration and a model. Am I allowed
to say such things? Yes. Because this work celebrates the convergence of creativity and climate action and in the process inspires joy and new ways of being not just for me, but maybe for you as well. We will only know, though, if it gets out there...So get ready. It's Showtime!  Trainwork USA, 1987 By Evelyn R. Swett What happens when you clean out your studio and come upon a project that is more than 30 years old?  By the tracks, 1987 By Evelyn R. Swett There are black and white prints in carefully labeled files,  Scrapbook images are so different from reality outside, 1987 by Evelyn R. Swett two scrapbooks with detailed annotations,  32 year old slides in the artist's studio, 2019 by Evelyn R. Swett and two binders full of color slides.  Lovers on a summer adventure, 1987 by Evelyn R. Swett More importantly, what happens when that project contains raw material that relates directly to one of the hottest topics in Washington DC?  Waiting in Kansas City, 1987 by Evelyn R. Swett No, I'm not talking about the impact or reality of an aging population or racism in our country.  Somewhere America, 1987 by Evelyn R. Swett I'm talking about The Green New Deal and all the controversy it is inspiring.  The map. Two months, 14 cities. Lots of photographs. 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.  Slides, Farmersville, TX, 1987 by Evelyn R. Swett 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.  Scrapbook page. Jerry Bywaters & sketches from a New Deal Art Project, 1987 by Evelyn R. Swett The New Deal is about as good as it gets when it comes to the convergence of creativity and climate action.  All Aboard Amtrak - Somewhere America, 1987 by Evelyn R. Swett 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.  Boyscouts, middle of the night in Kansas City, MO, 1987 by Evelyn R. Swett 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,  Street corner murals, somewhere America, 1987 by Evelyn R. Swett 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.  The waiting room, 1987 by Evelyn R. Swett 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 Stationmaster, 1987 by Evelyn R. Swett 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.  Gorgeous Compost, 8 Black & White, by Evelyn R. Swett 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.  Evelyn R. Swett, 1987 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.  "Ansel Adams in Our Time" at The Boston Museum of Fine Arts 2019 - Copyright © 2019, Evelyn R Swett Photography Last week I saw "Ansel Adams in Our Time," an exhibit at The Boston Museum of Fine Arts. It was totally cool.  Ansel Adams "Mexican Boy, 1948" Detail, Copyright © 2019, Evelyn R Swett Photography 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.  Ansel Adams "Ferns" Detail, Copyright © 2019, Evelyn R Swett Photography Check out this intimate portrait of a Mexican boy, this stunning close-up of a fern, and this panoramic view of human development.  Ansel Adams, "Freeway Interchange, LA, 1967" Copyright © 2019, Evelyn R Swett Photography It gave me the chills. Adams understood our reciprocal relationship with the natural world and the fragility of our co- dependence.  Alberto Morell, "Tent-Camera Image on Ground, View of Mount Moran" 2011, Detail © 2019, Evelyn R Swett Photography 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.  Mitch Epstein, "Altamont Pass Wind Farm, CA" 2007, Detail Copyright © 2019, Evelyn R Swett Photography 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.  Lucas Foglia, "Beach Restoration after El Nino Waves, 2016" Detail Copyright © 2019, Evelyn R Swett Photography 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."  Laura McPhee "Midsummer, 2008" Detail, Copyright © 2019, Evelyn R Swett Photography 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. |
Evelyn R. Swett celebrates
how creativity and climate action converge to inspire joy and new ways of being. 
compost re-imagined
Let's ReFrame!
is a bi-weekly newsletter that hopefully inspires joy & new ways of being. 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. 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
July 2019
Categories
All
|
RSS Feed
Join the conversation and sign up for Let's ReFrame!
Check out the description below**.
(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.)
You can unsubscribe at any time
Check out the description below**.
(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.)
You can unsubscribe at any time
603-715-4468
PO Box 378 Hanover, NH 03755 evelynrswett at gmail dot com |
|
© Copyright 2019
Evelyn R Swett Photography All Rights Reserved |
**Let's ReFrame is a weekly newsletter that hopefully inspires joy & new ways of being.
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.