Time
04/04/07 19:21
One of the reasons I started this project, was that I
saw a connection between art and farming.
They seem different: farming stereotyped as very 'hands-on', physical and matter-of-fact; artists thought of as contemplative and sensitive, their work abstracted from the fundamental necessities of life such as food production. This is true, and the outcomes, uses of their time and energy are vastly different. But it is certainly no longer fair to think of artists as fussy and etheral (welding farm machinery yesterday smacked of 'macho' American sculptor David Smith), nor of farmers as exclusively physical. Much of what they do is both scientific , and I believe, creative. There's a lot of problem-solving, and entrepreneurship, not unlike the work of an artist. In addition, farming and art are alike in the way that they both demand independence, strong self-motivation and bloody-mindedness. Farmers and artists know what it's like to be alone.
I love it. I love the feeling of satisfaction after a long day's work. It doesn't matter what time it is when I finally get in, or if I've been on my feet since the early hours. I love not having to get in a car to go to work. I love 'hours' not being relevant; that time isn't a measure of success. I love having first-hand experience of the seasons changing. I love that my life is in one place, that I do what I do where I am. It's straight-forward.
I think that above all, farming and art are alike in the way that they are all-encompassing activities, in that the line between work and life is a very thin one: artists can't switch off; farmers are on call 24/7. They don't make a lot of economic sense; a farmer works the hours of a city banker for a fraction of the pay; almost all artists depend on other invome to make possible their practice. They are both activities, farming and art, which although consuming and exhausting, are justified by the sense of satisfaction they bring after a good day's work. There's a profound connection with the environment (in the widest sense of the word), and you'd be hard pressed to find a farmer or artist who didn't think that what they were doing was a good thing. They believe in what they do.
I'm aware that it's easy for me to eulogise about farming, as a fleeting visitor in the excitement of spring's arrival (two days ago, our first calf; yesterday we were in t-shirts; today I cycled into Alnwick in a vest-top). I know that it's probably the day-in, day-out nature of farming that makes it tough and exhausting. Nevertheless, as a way of thinking about your role in the world, as I've said, I love it.
They seem different: farming stereotyped as very 'hands-on', physical and matter-of-fact; artists thought of as contemplative and sensitive, their work abstracted from the fundamental necessities of life such as food production. This is true, and the outcomes, uses of their time and energy are vastly different. But it is certainly no longer fair to think of artists as fussy and etheral (welding farm machinery yesterday smacked of 'macho' American sculptor David Smith), nor of farmers as exclusively physical. Much of what they do is both scientific , and I believe, creative. There's a lot of problem-solving, and entrepreneurship, not unlike the work of an artist. In addition, farming and art are alike in the way that they both demand independence, strong self-motivation and bloody-mindedness. Farmers and artists know what it's like to be alone.
I love it. I love the feeling of satisfaction after a long day's work. It doesn't matter what time it is when I finally get in, or if I've been on my feet since the early hours. I love not having to get in a car to go to work. I love 'hours' not being relevant; that time isn't a measure of success. I love having first-hand experience of the seasons changing. I love that my life is in one place, that I do what I do where I am. It's straight-forward.
I think that above all, farming and art are alike in the way that they are all-encompassing activities, in that the line between work and life is a very thin one: artists can't switch off; farmers are on call 24/7. They don't make a lot of economic sense; a farmer works the hours of a city banker for a fraction of the pay; almost all artists depend on other invome to make possible their practice. They are both activities, farming and art, which although consuming and exhausting, are justified by the sense of satisfaction they bring after a good day's work. There's a profound connection with the environment (in the widest sense of the word), and you'd be hard pressed to find a farmer or artist who didn't think that what they were doing was a good thing. They believe in what they do.
I'm aware that it's easy for me to eulogise about farming, as a fleeting visitor in the excitement of spring's arrival (two days ago, our first calf; yesterday we were in t-shirts; today I cycled into Alnwick in a vest-top). I know that it's probably the day-in, day-out nature of farming that makes it tough and exhausting. Nevertheless, as a way of thinking about your role in the world, as I've said, I love it.