Casting Off

The other day while sitting in bed drinking my morning coffee I came across the news, on the Arts page of the New York Times, that some crazy people have turned a rented shipping barge into a floating commune/farm/art installation off the coast of Brooklyn.

When I started reading the article, the whole endeavor sounded so exotic and surreal -- in the opening scene a crew of artists are hauling a recycled-billboard tarp back up onto the geodesic dome shelter -- quick, before visiting hours start and the hoards descend upon them! And the chickens need to be fed, and the solar panel is on the fritz, and one of their guests has spraypainted silver waves around one of the garden beds. They came here to do art, but there's so much work involved just keeping their little ark going, who has time? What they crave most is two hours of peace in their own rooms, without anyone wandering in asking silly questions.

But by the time I got to the end of the story, I had realized: No, this isn't exotic or surreal -- it's exactly what we all do every day. We get up, we marvel at the unnerving list of things that need to be done, and we dive in. And we hope that somehow the underlying vision will come true occasionally, for several moments at a time. Which is maybe enough, most days.

One day that might mean scraping a quarter-inch layer of sugar residue off the kitchen floor after six children have had Rice Crispies for breakfast, and coming back and doing it again ten minutes later after three of them have made Turkish Apple Tea, and again four hours after that in the aftermath of the wedding cake they baked and ate, which you didn't even get to taste because you were out at a meeting all afternoon.

The next day might find you sitting at the computer editing a Rainier Valley baseball exhibit, reading up on Saul Alinsky's organizing tactics, drafting an invitation to yet another meeting focused on the eternal question "Why Are Our Schools So Pathetically Underfunded and What Can We Do About It?", and reformatting work samples for an online grant application, until your mouse hand starts to cramp up and it's time to drive to Lynnwood for rollerderby practice anyway.

And usually you manage to get your recycled-billboard tarpaulin hauled back up on top of the geodesic dome before the crowds arrive, and sometimes there's even time to work on your metaphorical rope installation. But either way, the whole thing -- the hungry chickens, the composting toilet, the curious visitors, the candle-lit meals, the rare moments of peaceful contemplation -- is art.

Right?


Nota Bene: The Kidde Woodward Family will be weighing anchor and taking its Adventures on the road for the next couple of weeks. We'll be back in September with stories to share.