EDGES SUSTAIN US
Notes from an artist convening.
A few weeks ago, I spent a glorious five days at MdW Summit at BULK Space in Detroit, MI. This convening gathered hundreds of artist-organizers from all over the Midwest to ask:
What is an artist organizer?
In which ways can we explain, record, and share our practices?
How do we build networks of support?
Initially, I wavered about whether to go. I am leaving the Midwest in a matter of weeks and soon will not be able to contribute (or benefit) from this network of support. I applied before we decided to move to Portland, OR.
If you haven’t already, read my love letter to Ames, Iowa, below.
Since I have been honored to be a tiny part of MdW for several years now, I thought, “Yep, I am just gonna go!”
On the first day, we gathered in circles, put on a timer, and discussed areas for future dreaming. In an epic brainstorming session, we talked about Artist as Changemaker, real estate, fundraising, mutual aid, publishing, exhibitions… coming up with 4-word slogans.
Many of which were then printed LARGE and hung throughout the conference by
My favorite one was this:
EDGES SUSTAIN US.
In well-tailored and vintage clothing, seamstresses used to build margins into the seams. This ensured that as the body would grow and weight would fluctuate with time, the dress could be altered to fit the new girth or lack. These edges literally sustained the garment for years of usable wear.
Of course, this was before the ravages of fast fashion. When you would have fewer, better-made garments that lasted. Now our stores and streets are populated with cheap clothing (made mostly from plastic), which keeps the materialistic whirlpool churning. Supplying the slick machine of late-stage capitalism ample fuel to march on and over us, its unknowing participants.
We have no edges. No margins. All is productivity, and more, more, more.
And we are wearing thin. Worn transparent by effort and demand.
I think also again of the folx on the margins (edges) of our society. Their health and safety status often a litmus test for the health of a nation. Do we care for the exiled, the unhoused? What do we think of the one called ‘other’? The immigrant. The outsider. What do we do when we are on the margin, when our beloved is, or our neighbor? Do we give a damn?
In my discussions at The Collective Mending Sessions, the topic of edges always comes up. A childhood memory of fingering the satin binding of your grandmother’s fuzzy blanket. You know the one, soft and fuzzy, trimmed in a 4-inch satin border. During these sessions, I ask participants to do a small looking meditation. We take ten minutes to look at the quilt in silence.
What do you notice?
Does the hasty repair remind you of the scars on your body, on your mother’s body?
Whose were the hands before yours? Stitching in rudimentary or skilled strokes.
More than once, the menders have noticed the edges.
“Those are the first to go,” they say, “the first to need repairs.”
They are right, of course. That section of the quilt or cloth pulled up around your chin is the first to wear out. The earliest indicator of use and tending.
In thinking about edges, I also think of our skin.
The human skin is the outer covering of our body, and it’s the largest and thinnest organ. This bristling edge protects us. It secures us against pathogens and excessive water loss. With it, we feel and sweat, move and manage the world around us.
This one BIG EDGE sustains us. Protects us. Envelops us.
Additionally, Kaylan ( Artist Parent Podcast ) talks about the creating in the margins that often happens in motherhood. In the spaces between books, diapers, and birthing, we create songs, weave a tapestry, and write a memoir. Those small edges sustain us till our next pocket of creativity opens. And it takes a big effort to protect those pockets.
Leaving margins in your life can have a glorious effect. Saying no frees us from perfectionism and a savior mentality. Can someone else do that better? Do you need to rest instead? Can it wait till later, or be forgotten altogether?
This is a lesson I am eternally learning, it seems.
For when an impending deadline is looming, I say “What else can I do before I go?”. My wise partner gently reminds me, “Do you have to do that now?”.
“Maybe you don’t.”
When I was in my 20s and had completed an undergraduate degree in Interdisciplinary Studio Arts, I worked as a non-medical home health aide. I wiped butts and did laundry. I accompanied clients to doctors ’ appointments and did overnights. I saw families transitioning their elders to assisted living. I sat beside the dying and wet their lips with little sponges.
The margin/edge/boundary/border can be a luminous place.
A call to softness and humanity.
A cure for apathy and despair.
The edges are hospitable and filled with celebrations. Good eats. Good ideas. Good parties. At the Summit in Detroit, I keep remembering someone talking about celebrating with folks and the relationship to organizing work. If you can party with someone, you know you can organize with them, too. JOY. CHILL. HOSPITALITY.
Recently, I enjoyed listening to this interview with Robby Hoffman from the New York Times(Full Interview). This clip in particular. (Now I hate Meta, but here we are.
She talks about the generosity of the poor vs. the stingyness of the rich (you cannot open a rich person’s fridge). They have the biggest fridges, but you cannot get in there. Robby talks about how she felt the generosity of the poor, who, after work or school on a Friday night, knew how to chill. She talks about how she has mostly seen generosity in poor people’s houses.
Their fridge is always open. Folx on the edges, sustaining us.
That one phrase, “EDGES SUSTAIN US,” has been so generative to my thinking lately.
Thanks, MdW!
HELP ME SKIN THIS COUCH
SATURDAY, JULY 18 from 10AM - 5 PM - MY HOUSE, AMES
(MESSAGE ME FOR THE ADDRESS)
Y’all might not know, I had to visit the ER recently and found two (very painful) ovarian cysts! OUCH. I have been laid up for a week, slowly improving. But since I cannot bend or pick up anything heavy for a while, I need your help.
I need to flay/skin/undress/take apart/demo this beautiful leather couch
for a future art project.
Join me.
It just might be the weirdest thing you do all summer!
Also, we move out on July 23. So it will be a good send-off.