Day 1 of first layers...“
“Even though I left the land, left my old grandfathers sharecropping plowing massa’s field just as though plantation culture had never come to an end or sometimes plowing the plots of land, the small farms that were their very own to do with as they wanted, I was taught to see myself as a custodian of the land…I learned to see nature, our natural environment as a force caring for the exploited and oppressed black folk…Nature was there to teach the limitations of human kind…Nature was there to show us god, to give us the mystery and the promise.” From: hooks, b. (2009). belonging: a culture of place. New York: Routledge.
When I was a child, I spent most of my afternoons climbing the-larger-than-life maple and oak trees in front of the barn. I counted the lady bugs who would decorate the swing set in the late summer and I walked the fields, forever looking down as to both collect any four leaf clovers left from the grazing mouths of the dairy cows but also to avoid any of their droppings; cow manure and I had an adverse relationship ever since I was once pushed by a cousin into the gutter cleaner (a device in the floor that follows the perimeter of the barn pushing
along manure scrapings and whatever else the shovel knocks into its sunken path). When the sun was absent and when the temperature outside brought goose bumps to my skin and rosy patches to my cheeks, I ventured into the barn. The barn was a place of familiarity and comfort but also a place of mystery and dusty cobwebs. Skipping up and down the main aisle, I’d try to pet the grown cows and feed their unknown/separated children with pails and grain from my hands. The coarse sand paper texture of their tongues left my gentle hands red and chafed yet slimy. My favorite place within the barn was the hayloft (the large attic-like 2nd floor) that held the past year’s hay, pounds of dust, thick spider webs clinging from deteriorating beams, and a swept floor below a basketball hoop. I created forts within the bales, played hide and seek, and ignored the tiny red itchy bumps forming on my bare legs and arms. I have not set foot in the hay barn in more than 10 years, but the dusty smell of grain mixed with grass and a hint of manure immediately brings me home.
Growing up on, in, within, near, and away from the farm has yielded my own personal understanding, experiences, and more recent appreciation of the barn.
The provided images are the beginning of a documented art installation of site-specific paintings, which are located atop a hill by a well traveled road in North Williston, Vermont. The 4 canvases lean against one another for support and will represent a 360 degree view of my place. The work is being left outside in the elements for a week, so that any rain that falls or any wind gusts which blow will affect the outcome of the artwork.
Do people notice the changes in the scenery? Do people look out into the fields as they drive to and from work? If I disrupt the natural environment with manmade representations, will people look more at my creations than the authentic nature itself?
