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. 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. 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. 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. 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.
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It's the light... ...and the shapes. It's the mesmerizing interplay of water & wind... ...and the ongoing invitation to get lost in the moment while falling in love with the wonder of it all. Sometimes I have to get lost in order to find what I need. How
are you getting lost these days? It's true! If you plant it, they will come. At first, back in 2010, I loved straight lines & beds high enough to deter our new puppy. All I wanted was to grow lots of food as efficiently as possible. By 2013, the compost had moved out; Three layers were too hot & dry; And a new north-south alignment just felt better. Over time, the ideas in Toby Hemenway's book Gaia's Garden, transformed my thinking, inviting experimentation with fewer paths, more curves & the integration of pollinator- friendly plants. My family thinks it's crazy to redesign the garden every few years as each one seems pretty cool, like this rounded mounded central axis filled with a mix of annual vegetables and perennials. But for me, these changes reveal how this garden was becoming more than just a space to grow vegetables. It was a safe place for me to connect with and explore the power of the earth herself, this thing called Gaia. By 2018, cucumbers emerged from beneath pole beans, borage invited pollinators, and there was hardly a need to water, as the composted and well-shaded soil sustained itself throughout the summer. I had finally created my own 'Gaia's Garden' paradise. So it seems strange that I would take it apart & essentially start over. But that's just what I did, creating a circular space aligned with the quadrants of a compass and based on historic herb garden designs. I didn't know what this new space would be like... ...until I planted the echinacea and finally understood that gardening is not about how many peas I harvest. For me, it's about how I can heal myself so that together my garden and I can help heal the earth. Summer ReadingIn addition to re-reading Gaia's Garden, these others books have also captivated and inspired me this summer. It feels as if the earth is in all of our hands right now. Digging deeper is the only way to go.
Drew, Sarah Gaia Codex Hemenway, Toby Gaia's Garden Jewell, Jennifer The Earth in Her Hands Kincaid, Jamaica My Garden (Book): Penniman, Leah Farming While Black There's work to do at home and all around, so we've been working - digging & mulching, pruning & planting. It feels good to work hard. And even though these phlox are out of control and need attention, I'm OK with their extravagant abundance because five years ago, there was nothing in that particular place but a neglected corner of the terrace. Those lupin blew over from a neighbor's field, but the comfrey by its side and those chives behind were intentionally planted to increase soil fertility on what was once a rocky dry hillside. These woodland phlox, so different from those flowers surrounding the bird, thrive in a space that was once a pile of sticks. These phlox and this myrtle (or Vinca Minor) have finally merged on the hillside by our driveway. 5 years in the making, this space is, at last, feeling whole. I am grateful to my garden for reminding me that neglected places can be transformed. There just needs to be a plan, focused attention, and patience to let what will emerge, emerge. Purples
are beginning to share the stage with other colors, like these white flowers on a lone Hawthorn tree that is abuzz. It was for these pollinators that we created this garden in the first place, so hearing them in action gives me hope and purpose as I go outside to get back to work. 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. If you've been to AVA to find the dress, you'll know that it's not there. 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. 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. 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... 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. 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. 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. What is it about corn husks, besides their enticing shade of light green, fanlike spread on the pile, and their capacity to protect? 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. 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? 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. 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. My first solo show opens in 11 days. What is the story I want to tell? Is it about the cool colors, textures and shapes of my Compost Compositions? Yes. Is it about the stories those Compositions tell about food, culture and the regenerative power of waste? Yes. 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 - - A story that begins with a beginners mind - - a willingness to explore not just content that most ignore, but process as well. Perhaps that is why last year I had so much fun dismantling and composting my Harvard and UVA Degrees. Why not explore? Or, perhaps that is why I am OK sharing my first attempt at decorating a silk dress with embroidered imagery of my own design. Now that it is Show Time the connections between these experiments becomes clearer. In a world filled with fear, I am no longer afraid to reframe my relationship to garbage or to myself. 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. The re-imagined Hood Museum of Art re-opened last weekend at Dartmouth College. Among the treasures, I saw this work by Elias Sime. Undulating. Pulsing. In motion. Alive. And yet it's made out of castoff motherboards, toxic contributors to multitudes of e-waste. And yet the city he envisions is "a sprawling ecosystem of form and water." It's a huge work, covering a wall. Is it a tile mosaic? Is it marble? No. It's a captivating vision of what's possible when we see beyond what appears toxic and allow beauty to emerge. Bliss. And then, on another wall, in the same gallery, this. El Anatsui's "shimmering tapestry" evoking material flowing in a breeze, but no, it's a carefully constructed compilation of bottle tops and copper wire. Garbage comes to life. So when I got home with this week's buckets full of compost from Umpleby's Bakery & Cafe, I was startled when I saw this. Lemons. Lots of lemons. I hadn't planned on taking any photographs, but who could resist the vibrancy? That's how it is for me. Apparent waste evokes joy. There is possibility. I wonder if that's what Elias Sime or El Anatsui were thinking? Or not. It's just what happens when creativity and climate action converge at the compost pile or anywhere. What have you seen or experienced this week that evokes joy or invites creativity? Let it happen, when and wherever it may. It's magical and life-giving and for me, makes the world a much more interesting place. Happy January my friends.
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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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