 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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 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  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  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!  Exterior, Dartmouth College Co-Generation Facility - - Fuel Storage Tanks, 2019 I love climbing tree limbs and ladders.  I love curves, lines and textures.  Detail, Dartmouth College Co-Generation Plant, 2019 There is something reassuring about light on metal...  Detail, Dartmouth Heating Tunnel, Beneath the Green, 2019 and the reality that even with three inches of insulation, some heat gets lost.  Detail, Home Heating System in Hanover, NH 2019 It's hard to believe that there are imperfections with these perfect symmetries and designs. But there are. Energy can not be created nor destroyed, but it can be transferred between objects, creating inefficiencies along the way.  That is just the reality of how things work and why, even with a relatively upgraded heating system, this vent on the north side of our living room doesn't provide much heat.  Detail, Insulated Hot Water Pipe, Hanover, NH 2019. Isn't it beautiful
to see the unseen, to honor what is functional and elegant? That's what climate action at home is all about for me. What about you?  Boxing Day. December 26th. Celebrated in the UK. For most people it means a day to hang out with family, eat leftovers and enjoy gifts given and received. But historically, it was also a day to give "Christmas Boxes" to the servants, who would go home and celebrate Christmas with their own families after having cared for you on the 25th.  Or, perhaps the term 'Boxing Day' comes from the nautical tradition whereby great sailing ships carried a sealed box of money for good luck which, upon return, would be given to a priest who would distribute the money to those in need on the day after Christmas.  Here in New England, we get back to work - - there is no "Bank Holiday" for us. But over the past decade, I have created my own "Boxing Day" tradition.
Photographs that are labels on Christmas Day, or beautiful holiday cards become decorations on a box the next. And all that wrapping paper gets a longer life, glued to a sneaker box or packing box and used year after year.
It started with a desire to save paper and reduce holiday waste. But over time, it became something more - - A kind of compulsion to fix what I had using materials at hand - not just cards and paper, but fabric as well.
One year, I redid our recycling container. The next, I created boxes to use for grocery shopping. They were so admired at our food co-op, I made some as gifts for the clerks. Apparently one of the boxes is now the bed for a very happy cat.
What makes me happiest, is that my son and daughter love to find their custom gift boxes under the tree. No need for labels. And certainly no need for new wrapping paper. It's become a tradition - -  Our very own Boxing Day. To me, that's what makes our current time so inspiring. There are opportunities for the creative re-making of the world as we know it. As I discovered with a bunch of cards, paper and fabric, beauty is everywhere. What might you create or discover this last week of 2018?  Why is this blog called By Degrees? Because...   Change happens in increments...until it doesn't;   We need to look at the world from many angles;  More people experience damage to their tissue because of the sun's increased power;  There are many educated people with lots of diplomas, yet we still can't get along or figure out how to solve our current climate crisis;  There is a difference between 2 and 1.5 degrees celsius.  Maybe it's time to literally 'reframe' the narrative.  Why not have a proverbial 'do-over' and see what emerges?  By Degrees. We have degrees. We are separated by just a few degrees. We can have a 10 degree perspective or a 360 degree perspective. We feel the heat.  It's time to look within and recompose our shared story.  By Degrees.
Because change happens in logical steps and stages... until it doesn't. |
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.