I am now one quarter of the way through my month-long stay at Art Farm. I'm here as an artist in residence along with about half a dozen others - a smaller group than normal due to the pandemic. I will post more in the future about the studio work I'm doing here, and also probably about my mid-pandemic residency experience. Truthfully, even though a week away from work is a lifetime in 9-to-5 life, I feel like I am still just settling in. This post is to provide some context into where I am and what I am doing here.
What is Art Farm?
Art Farm is a non-profit that provides residency opportunities for artists and writers on a farm a few hours west of Lincoln, Nebraska. It's run by Ed Dadey, who grew up on this farm, in the property's original farmhouse. The other buildings on the property were rescued from destruction and collected from surrounding properties over time, either relocated as whole buildings or merged into "the barn" (also referred to on Art Farm's website as "The Mutant Little House on the Prairie").
From Art Farm's website:
"Art Farm's physical presence is in its buildings and land. More elusive to describe is the ambiance—the subtle influence of the environment's impact on time and space. The sun and stars measure your time, not clock and calendar. Space is shaped by proximity to sound and silence. The sky: your eyes: your ears will fill with the sound and shapes of an incredible number of birds and bugs. And, like it or not, the weather will be your collaborator in all undertakings."
Our House: Victoria
Victoria is an old girl: 130 years old to be precise. She moved to Art Farm in 2000 after half a century of disuse and the exchange of $400.
Historic images are from Art Farm's website.
Although in previous summers all 6 of her bedrooms were often occupied by residents, there are 3 of us here now. We are the new arrivals, in a state of semi-quarantine. One of my housemates, Casey, is an Art Farm regular. She passes to myself and my other housemate, Phoebe, all of the knowledge that we might have otherwise gotten from Ed and the other residents, if they were not keeping such careful distance from us.
Don't read this part if you are my mom...
Victoria is a fixer upper to put it very, very mildly. Casey tells us that, most summers, Victoria is one of the main projects. This summer, while she serves as a quasi-quarantine house, the others (and certainly Ed) do not come in. There are holes in the walls, a half-shingle-half-tin roof, and floating doors which open in the wind - evidence of her previous life one story shorter.
There is a whole parade of creatures Phoebe and I are unaccustomed to. The phasing is merciful, and we have just enough time to get used to one challenge before Victoria (or Casey) presents the next: Chiggers from the fields, mice in the pantry, a toad in the bathroom, (the risk of) raccoons in the bedrooms, a brown recluse spider in the shower... Each day, we add a new survival tactic to our checklist: Cover your ankles. Check the pots before you use them. Close all the doors and cover the cracks. Shake out the linens before you get into bed. This process is familiar to us now, as we still carry the lists from a few months ago: Maintain 6 ft of separation. Wear a mask. Wash your hands. Wipe down your groceries. Don't touch your face.
...Okay Mom you can start reading again.
Still, Victoria is beautiful. Case in point, here is the view from the roof deck where I am sitting while I write this:
The deck, and the series of ladders leading to it, are post-2000 Art Farm additions.
Casey told us that the Farmhouse was once in a similar state of disrepair, but was saved by the labor of residents who loved it, including her. I can see already how great Victoria may one day be, and how satisfying it would be to help her on the way to that destiny.
Not this year, though. For now, she oversees our isolation.
My Studio: The Schoolhouse
I have set up camp in the one room schoolhouse building, which I have heard referred to only as "Schoolhouse". I just noticed, while looking for pictures, that it is referred to as "District 62" on the Art Farm website. Like Victoria, it was brought here from somewhere else (presumably District 62, although I don't think it is this building).
Left: my photo, Right: historic photo from Art Farm's website.
I share the schoolhouse with the kiln, some lumber storage for two architects who are here building a new studio, a lot of general junk storage, and almost definitely some animals. I spent a whole day consolidating the general piles as much as I could, but I have given up on getting all the way to the back wall. I already have more space than I need: a counter for material storage, a card table for my sewing machine, and a large table on wheels in the middle of the space which I use for everything else.
Schoolhouse has a porch, too. I pulled up some of the ragweed that enshrouded it, cleared off the debris, and sweep it regularly so I can sit out there to read or do hand sewing. Something about the small ritual of sweeping the front porch makes me feel like a pioneer woman. There is a padded rocking chair and an arm chair in the schoolhouse, but I'm not brave enough to sit on anything upholstered, so I drag out a metal chair.
Work: The Garden
Residents at Art Farm stay for free, in exchange for 12 hours per week of work. So far, Casey, Phoebe, and I have been on garden duty. The garden can sometimes be very productive, Casey tells us, but we found it in a sad state. Due to the reduced number of residents during the pandemic, there hasn't been a consistent enough workforce to maintain it this year, and so we started with a ragweed garden.While we worked we wondered aloud if our task was worth doing - it was too late to plant anything, and we didn't know if there was any food behind our weed jungle. The ragweed would die off over the winter anyway. It seems that someone did plant, though, because after hours and hours of weeding we managed to dig up a dozen potatoes, 3 teeny tiny carrots, and one radish. There is also a flourishing crop of mint, some elderberry trees, asparagus, chives, and pumpkin plant.
I did not grow up around gardens, and Casey had to explain even the simplest things to me. I am learning. I can now identify several types of ragweed, mother-wort, and milkweed (which I know to leave alone because it is good for the pollinators). Although I just arrived here and I cannot claim much responsibility for the well-being of the food, I do feel a sense of pride for the hours we spent uncovering it. The potatoes, which Phoebe fried and served with fresh chives, were tastier to us because we pulled them out of the ground ourselves.
What I'm Reading & Listening To (Week 1)
Books
Gone Tomorrow: The Hidden Life of Garbage by Heather Rogers
Garbology: Our Dirty Love Affair with Trash by Edward Humes
Braiding Sweetgrass: Indigenous Wisdom, Scientific Knowledge and the Teachings of Plants by Robin Wall Kimmerer
Podcasts
America Adapts
Drilled
The Climate Pod
The Spaceship Earth Podcast
Throughline
1619
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