January 18, 2012

We are a group of writers, teachers, artists, researchers, and farmers. In this hearing, we will use the court as a theater to build public understanding. All people and living beings are potential plaintiffs.

What is the awareness of their technologies in an average community? Is it possible to live for one day without the products of this company? Are there any areas of life not touched by their brand?

Evidence and testimony will be presented highlighting the impact that the Monsanto corporation has on our food, farms, communities, and ecosystems.

YOU are invited to review the research on Monsanto through shared testimonies and argument.

Please join us in this liberating exchange!

WHEN: January 28, 2012, from 11 a.m. until 3:30 p.m.
First session 11-12:30: Second session 2-3:30

WHERE: Lesar Law Bldg Courtroom, SIU, Carbondale, IL

WHY: To raise awareness of the research on Monsanto’s existing public record, and to accumulate evidence on the impact of their products and policies on life- within our community, nation, and biosphere.

Monsanto operates within the letter of the law of our land and often in coordination with the State. We ask then, should there be a higher law or moral order?

Free and open to the public. Refreshments will be served.

Sponsored by the SIUC Fine Arts Activity Fee and the Student Activity Fee administered by the Graduate and Professional Student Council and supported by AndAndAnd (documenta(13).

Notes on the project called Continental Drift

July 12, 2011

1. tourism

Wanderer, your footsteps are
the road, and nothing more;
wanderer, there is no road,
the road is made by walking.

Antonio Machado
Proverbs and Songs 29

The poet offers us an idea: we have no path except by walking; the activity itself makes the path. In reality, for better or worse, many paths do exist; we find ourselves on them all the time. Given the pace of change in our society, it’s fair to say that many paths were cut when conditions of life were very different. They are navigating an environment that no longer exists. What’s more important is that most of the roads easily available to us are made by forces well beyond our control, forces of indoctrination into a culture that does not care about life. Even though they may seem benign enough, most of them lead to catastrophe: the catastrophe of a ruined earth.

Let’s call the act of following these ready-made paths tourism. Tourism is a path produced for us to distract us from the way things actually work. If I go take the sun on the “Mexican Riviera” on the coast of the Yucatan, I will be offered many touches of traditional Mexican culture, perhaps thatched cabañas and tiled floors, adobe walls painted yellow and blue, and certainly many forms of tequila and lime. I am not likely to go to the other side of the highway to see the undernourished neighborhoods of the peasants who have come from the rural places to work in the resorts. Nothing at the resort will induce me to ask why the peasants are leaving their villages and farms to live in crummy settlements and do menial jobs. Tourism takes us to a landscape of signs with disappeared referents. These are usually signifiers of difference that have been familiarized enough to become pleasant sedatives. The very real existence of places, cultures, people is distilled into signifiers that can be exchanged on a market.

Tourism is offered as an escape from the trials, monotony, and anxiety of daily life. It is the antidote for careerism, another path that is being constructed for us all the time, enlisting us into practices that are destroying our planet. What’s important to realize is how thoroughly tourism, as the participatory form of spectacle and consumption, has become the condition of daily life. We don’t have to leave home to walk the path of tourism, but ultimately this path of least resistance is designed to keep us from knowing where we actually live.  The tourism of everyday life may include signifiers of place but paradoxically, the overall effect is to make us forget that we live in a place, a place called Earth. Forgetting that we live in a place allows our economic system to go about its business of expropriating the world’s resources.

Why would we want to take the road that doesn’t exist? The road that is only our moving bodies and senses? So that we can find out where we live.

2. territory

“[It] is not a question of communication or something to be rationally understood, but a question of changing our minds about the fact of being alive.”

John Cage

Continental Drift is a collective and mobile project of inquiry. We aim to explore the five scales of contemporary existence: the intimate, the local, the national, the continental and the global. Within the mesh of scales, we want to understand the extent of our interdependence, how any action we may take has effects on and is shaped by all of these scales at once. We attempt to understand these dynamics so that we can understand the meaning of our own actions, the basis for an ethical life.

For example, simply consider eating, the heart of culture. We prepare and share food on an intimate level, with friends and family. We obtain it on the local level, but it may have traveled across the nation or continent or even across global distances before it gets to us. That delivery is made possible by the coordination of vast systems of production, labor, transportation and fuel systems, all regulated and often subsidized by national structures, further moderated by international corporations and treaties. When we learn the details of how our food gets on the table we start to ask: is there a better way of doing things? Is it right that my food is grown by migrants with no rights, little pay and debasing conditions? Is it right that our food system depends on unsustainable amounts of toxic inputs and fossil fuels? From here we may look for alternative forms of production and distribution or we may have to start creating those alternatives ourselves. Clearly, finding out about our world has implications for our ethical consciousness and will not make things easier for us.

The place where we live is the place where all these scales meet to sustain us: I call this place the territory. The territory is a complex phenomenon. Physically it is a modest radius around our homes, a space we can traverse, if need be, on our own two feet. But it is much more than that: it is the matrix for our connection to others and to the earth. Thanks to globalization it encompasses the near and the far. It is the extent of all that is enlisted to sustain our lives: the path of the water that comes to our glass, the path of the waste we produce, the labor of many, many people. It involves these and other concrete things, but is also driven by abstractions. We collectively constitute the territory every day; it is an outcome of our perceptions, our imagination and our actions. Generally we constitute it in an unconscious way, but when we stop to study it we realize that we have agency in determining its form and parameters.

3. method

“Celestin Freinet established the Modern School Movement in 1926…. He developed three complementary teaching techniques: (1) the ‘learning walk’, during which pupils would join him in exploratory walks around town, gathering information and impressions about their community (a pedagogical application of the dérive…). Afterwards the children would collectively dictate a collective ‘free text’, which might lean to pretexts for direct action within their community to improve living conditions (local councils were particularly wary of Freinet’s pupils); (2) a classroom printing press, for producing multiple copies of the pupils’ writings and a newspaper to be distributed to their families, friends and other schools; (3) interschool networks: pupils from two different schools exchange ‘culture packages’, printed texts, letters, tapes, photographs, maps, etc.”

Ian Pindar and Paul Sutton
Translator’s note to Felix Guattari’s The Three Ecologies

The name “Continental Drift” conjures the legacy of the dérive—translated as “drift”—the Situationist name for a certain performative surrealism of the mid 20th century. A dérive is an unplanned journey through a landscape in order to provoke refreshed experiences of the environment. Our process may loosely borrow inspiration from this precedent, but has not been modeled on it. To varying degrees, our journeys are purposive investigations, even as we open ourselves to the unexpected. While the Situationist dérive was a specifically urban experience, we are intent on going to the edges of urban centers and beyond in order to recognize the ways that cities are always a part of larger domains. Practicing in small groups we definitely conjure a territorial intimacy, but the point is to think beyond that as we go.

In his essay, “Theory of the Dérive,” Guy Debord writes about “psychogeographical attractions,” “antideterminist liberation,” “behavioral disorientation,” “the discovery of unities of ambiance,” etc. The emphasis on an enrichment of perception makes it primarily an aesthetic project albeit with the political implication of denormalizing a relation to the city. I personally approached the Continental Drift project articulating an intention, among other things, to make research an aesthetic encounter, i.e., something experienced with the entire sensorium and something that demands expression. But that is not an end in itself. One of the things I like about Freinet’s learning walk is that it is part of a larger process that includes experimentations in communication, exchange and action.

This idea of the drift has proven to be very captivating to people’s imaginations, and why not make a project that stimulates the imagination? The problem is that the “continental” modifier is often dropped from the overall concept, leaving too much room to isolate and fetishize the attractions of drifting, cut adrift if you will, from the cohering metaphor and the imperative to keep larger perspectives actively in sight. Our metaphorical referent, “continental drift,” denotes a theory addressing the historical position and movement of the earth’s landmasses. The hypothesis that continents drift dates back to Abraham Ortelius in 1596 (making it provocatively coterminous with the era of western imperial expansions or what we now think of as globalization). The idea was subsequently developed by many people, most notably Alfred Wegener in 1912 who proposed that present-day continents once constituted a single landmass which split, setting its parts loose to drift slowly across the globe. Only in the 1960s was the notion geologically accounted for with the development of the theory of plate tectonics. The original supercontinent is now called Pangaea and its fragments are drifting still.

The name of our project—conceived by Brian Holmes—invokes the idea of continents in motion to point to the late 20th century phenomena of continental integration and the rise of continental blocks as powerful units in the machinations of globalization. Our project began in 2005 as an effort to understand these and related movements in a series of stationary (not mobile in the physical sense) seminars at 16Beaver in New York and later one in Zagreb, Croatia. In 2008, feeling the need to focus on the vast unknowns of our own region, the U.S. Midwest, and responding to a suggestion attributable to our friend Brett Bloom, we joined a more or less local cohort to take the seminar on the road with the “Continental Drift through the Midwest Radical Cultural Corridor.”[i] Since then Brian and I and many others have pursued our desire to feel out the extensions of our territory by connecting with a changing roster of participants in ongoing explorations of the Midwest as well as Continental Drifts through parts of Argentina and China.[ii]

Although the word “drift” inevitably directs us toward the Situationists’ dérive, I think Freinet’s idea of the learning walk is more relevant to what I personally am trying to do. I want to learn the nature of the territory in all its expanded dimensions. I want to learn it with similarly inquiring people. I want to make some kind of “text” with my interlocutors. And I want what we make to inform solidarities with the potential to act for change.

4. digestion

“I would say that we have to work into economic theory not only the circular flow of exchange value which is important but also this one-way throughput of matter and energy –the digestive tract as well as the circulatory system –because it’s that that ties us to the environment.”

Herman Daly
The Developing Ideas Interview

One of the developments that has driven the American industrial system of agriculture into far-flung corners of the globe is genetically modified soy, corn and canola (with many more GM commodities in the pipeline). GM is the quintessential industrial agriculture: it is not just a product, it is a production system that depends on corporate suppliers all the way down the line. By far the biggest-selling “innovation” in GM agriculture is Monsanto’s Roundup Ready corn, soy, canola and cotton. These crops are engineered to be resistant to Monsanto’s proprietary glyphosate-based herbicide called Roundup.

In the industrial GM system, the farmer buys the seed, paying a technology fee for its use and signing away all rights to save seed for the next harvest, or trade it, or sell it or give it away to others. The farmer also buys the herbicide from the same company. The system takes knowledge and agency out of the heads of the farmers and dramatically restricts it to the labs, factories, and law offices of corporations and banks. The package is sold as a time and trouble saving method. The farmer forfeits the study and understanding of delicate ecological balances and more complex methods of protecting crops from pests and weeds through soil maintenance, selective breeding, and crop diversity. Instead, the farmer can spray the herbicide liberally on his field without having to take care that he not damage his investment, and likewise not having to take care for the environment which includes beneficial microbes, water systems, resistance-evolving weeds, wildlife and human children. Significantly, these crops are only cost effective when sown in a monocrop arrangement, which requires petroleum-based synthetic fertilizers and pesticides and petroleum-based machines for sowing, spraying and harvesting.

How is it that we can engineer a food system, allegedly about sustaining life, which is as much as anything else a killing system? How can we pour literally thousands of toxic chemicals into our environment and not think we will be poisoning ourselves as well as all that makes our existence possible and palatable?

This is precisely the kind of separation and contradiction that drives capitalism. Capitalism is deracinating: it must separate anything of value from its roots in order to convert it into a sign that can be efficiently circulated and exchanged. It reduces both needs and desires to a system in which the fungible and often proprietary signs of value trump the organic ecology of values.  In this deracinated circular flow, the ultimate sign is money, which is the ultimate sign of equivalence. This is efficiently paralleled by informationalism, a paradigm in which all value is reduced to an isolated register that can be exchanged as pure signs. In these ways capitalism and its companion informationalism are constitutionally deterritorializing.

Continuous with our agricultural system, our food paradigm reduces the value of a food to those elements that can be easily read as quantifiable information. As far as nutrition goes we are trained to think in terms of a handful of vitamins and minerals. So you can grow acres of corn which is deemed to be all the same in quality, process it so as to extract exchange value in forms such as oils, starches, sugars, and materials that can be used industrially for glues and plastics as easily as for food ingredients, reconstitute some of those ingredients and as long as you add certain readily identifiable vitamins and minerals, voila! It serves as food. But it ignores the complex nuances of human digestion, and does so tragically in light of the disease and misery propagated by the “American diet.”

5. organism plus

“Darwin proposed a theory of natural selection and evolution in which the unit of survival was either the family line or the species or subspecies or something of the sort. But today it is quite obvious that this is not the unit of survival in the real biological world. The unit of survival is organism plus environment. We are learning by bitter experience that the organism which destroys its environment destroys itself.”

Gregory Bateson
Steps to an Ecology of Mind

Bateson made this point in a 1969 lecture called “Pathologies of Epistemology.” Any perceptual or intellectual separation between myself and the environment that sustains me is a grave epistemological mistake producing fraudulent or misleading categories. Earlier I defined the territory as the matrix in which all the scales of our existence come together to sustain (or undermine) life. The expanded unit of survival—organism plus environment—may serve as another way of conceiving the territory.

The ongoing question is how to refine this definition in a way that encompasses our interdependence. It entails a deep study of the environment itself and an inquiry into the joints and ligaments between that environment and we organisms among other organisms, an inquiry into the processes that unify us. The question is how to grapple not only with the concrete attributes of these relations but also with the constitutive abstractions. It is tempting to conflate the territory with the intimate and the local scales because of their immediacy, but then we have omitted all the ways we are participating in the larger scales of our existence: the national, the continental and the global. The question is how to identify our roles within all the scales, which have a tendency toward abstraction. The question is how to grasp the abstract in the concrete and the concrete in the abstract.

Developing the concept of a comprehensive phenomenon he calls “mind,” Bateson frames relations of the concrete and the abstract as “eco-mental systems.” Further in the same lecture he elaborates:

“When you narrow down your epistemology and act on the premise ‘What interests me is me, or my organization, or my species,’ you chop off consideration of other loops of the loop structure. You decide that you want to get rid of the by-products of human life and that Lake Erie will be a good place to put them. You forget that the eco-mental system called Lake Erie is a part of your wider eco-mental system—and that if Lake Erie is driven insane, its insanity is incorporated in the larger system of your thought and experience.”

In the end, the question is how to reterritorialize in ways that restore a coherent understanding of the values and detriments inherent in our practices. How do we constitute a territory that acknowledges the augmentation of ourselves by our environment? And then, how do we care for that territory? How do we constitute a territory that bears the marks of caring instead of the marks of wanton exploitation that we see all around us?

6. site/nonsite

“Artists are expected to fit into fraudulent categories.”

Robert Smithson
Cultural Confinement
, Artforum, October 1972

I really like this quote for reasons I will explain in a series of detours. I found this statement in the process of searching for a different Robert Smithson quote. In my original, certainly misremembered, citational destination, Smithson observes that because the artist is not in control of the value of the artwork, the artist is performing alienated labor. This idea has provoked me since I encountered it some 20 years ago. If we look at the artist as a contester of presumed values, isn’t it a contradiction to posit her as alienated from the value of her own labor? Do we confuse a specific quantifiable value with meaning? In other words, if artists are not adequately in control of the monetary value of their work, don’t they at least have some agency in determining notions of value in the field of meaning?

The story of artists trying to sort this out unfolds over many decades, to the point where many of us aspire to practice an intricate, processual and research-motivated version of art that resists evaluation by the prescriptive team of institutions and markets. The French artist Francois Deck talks about working in the moment “before value.”[iii] To me this means deferring that supposed endpoint of all efforts in our culture, the point where value is conferred and, conforming to the logic of capitalism, can be separated from vital activities in order to be circulated as capital, be that monetary or cultural. This is the force of alienation that potentially ambushes our every endeavor. I’ve come to see Continental Drift as a project inviting me to continually suspend the moment of value. I pursue it as a way to open up intense and problematic spaces of perception, or, to operate in the moment before value, an extended moment in which exploration of the territory connects me to vital and urgent questions about our collective existence.

Since my ruminations began, I have found the Smithson reference I was looking for:

‘The artist sits in his solitude, knocks out his paintings, assembles them, then waits for someone to confer the value, some external source. The artist isn’t in control of his own value.”[iv]

Here I think Smithson is referring to value as an amalgam of monetary equivalence, institutional validation and value-laden meanings. The artist’s isolation under conventional conditions of production denies her agency in the determination of value. The ability to approximate the value of one’s own work, artistic or otherwise, is what opens the possibility to affect the fundamental values and priorities of collective life. Indeed, in the same passage Smithson goes on to say,

“….art is supposed to be on some eternal plane, free from the experiences of the world, and I’m more interested in those experiences, not as a refutation of art, but as art as part of that experience, or interwoven, in other words, all these factors come into it.”

The desire to interweave art with experiences beyond art’s normative province is a desire to escape fraudulent categories. Separating the practice of art from other experiences of the world is tantamount to separating the organism from its environment, an epistemological move that drives us into pathogenic quarantines. Art is not the only “profession” that forces its practitioners into positions catastrophically isolated from broader experiences of the world. Positions we might call fraudulent as they perpetuate the misconception that we can separate the circulation of value from processes that connect us to each other and the earth.

The organization of knowledge into disciplines has accomplished dazzling things. But the deforming of disciplinary investigation into careerism inhibits access to the comprehensive perspectives so urgently needed as we confront unprecedented social and ecological dilemmas. Disciplinary foundations can still be productive but only if we develop the means to build connections between them.

The process we call Continental Drift is an attempt to penetrate disciplinary boundaries. I am an artist pursuing a collective form of self-education about the forces of production and consumption that shape our present and future, forces decidedly outside the traditional prospectus of art. Most significantly, anyone can do this. Art does not have to be the starting place, in fact, the idea is that anyone can and should step beyond their prescribed discipline or profession to walk paths that don’t yet exist, paths of connection. It doesn’t require any particular specialized knowledge or expertise, only the willingness to make a sort of dérive in the field of knowledge.


[i] The Continental Drift through the Midwest Cultural Corridor is documented in a book called A Call to Farms. Although the print version has long sold out, a pdf is downloadable at http://www.heavydutypress.com/books/farms_pdf/view

[ii] For our marvelous trip through Argentina we are indebted to Graciela Carnevale, Mauro Machado and Lorena Cardena of El Levante in Rosario. Also to Leandro Beier and Sergio Raimundo of the Museo del Puerto in Bahia Blanca and to the Chilean artist Alejandra Madrid who accompanied us as well. Many, many people participated in the China Continental Drift but we were especially facilitated by Elaine Wing-ah Ho, Michael Eddy, Xu Ge and Xiao Ouyang of Homeshop in Beijing, Jing Yuan Huang of Where Where in Beijing, Mai Dian of the Womenjia Youth Autonomy Lab in Wuhan and Jay Brown of Lijiang Studio in Lashihai Valley, Yunan. All these people and also Chinese-Midwesterner Dan Wang were immeasurably generous in guiding us and tirelessly translating our encounters.

[iii] Conversation with the author, May 12, 2011

[iv] “Conversation with Robert Smithson on April 22nd 1972,” edited by Bruce Kurtz, The Writings of Robert Smithson, edited by Nancy Holt, New York University Press, New York, 1979.

The Learning Walk

May 13, 2011

“Celestin Freinet established the Modern School Movement in 1926…. He developed three complementary teaching techniques: (1) the ‘learning walk’, during which pupils would join him in exploratory walks around town, gathering information and impressions about their community (a pedagogical application of the derive…). Afterwards the children would collectively dictate a collective ‘free text’, which might lean to pretexts for direct action within their community to improve living conditions (local councils were particularly wary of Freinet’s pupils); (2) a classroom printing press, for producing multiple copies of the pupils writings and a newspaper to be distributed to their families, friends and other schools; (3) interschool networks: pupils from two different schools exchange ‘culture packages’, printed texts, letters, tapes, photographs, maps, etc.”

Ian Pindar and Paul Sutton
Translator’s notes to Felix Guattari’s The Three Ecologies

We have just finished a month-long iteration of Continental Drift! This time in Argentina with the gracious support and participation of members of El Levante in Rosario and El Museo del Puerto in Ingeniero White. Graciela Carnevale, Mauro Machado and Lorena Cardena from El Levante organized many visits and encounters for our group (which also included artist Alejandra Madrid from Chile and Leandro Beier from Bahia Blanca). Highlights from Rosario:

  • a review of the big cereal export operations as seen from a boat in the river (you can’t otherwise get near these securitized ports),
  • meetings with urban growers and attendance at a local Seed Fair,
  • an unauthorized tour of a copper mining port,
  • a meeting with the director of the Museo de Memoria
  • a visit to Sueños Compartidos who employ residents of villas miserias to build new housing, and
  • meetings that brought together people from very different positions in social and economic production.

We drove through the pampas during soy harvest and visited with farmers and toured a sneaker factory to learn that an average of 700 pairs of hands touch a typical sneaker before it arrives in a store. We landed in Bahia Blanca to be hosted by the Museo del Puerto somewhere between an enormous petro-chemical plant, the port, and the “neighbors” –neighbors provide the interviews, historical objects of working class culture, and weekly pies and cakes that drive this deeply beautiful museum whose heart is a kitchen and large dining room. Among other things, we accompanied a group of school kids who had designed a tour searching for the border between their neighborhood and the satanic towers of the petrochemical complex.

We did a workshop about the drift in Buenos Aires and asked for suggestions from participants about walks we could explore in the city and thus spent two afternoons guided by enthusiastic locals in our collective experience of perception.

For more details of our itinerary as it unfolded, see Brian Holmes’ Continental Drift blog (in Spanish) (with photos by me).

Home now and ruminating on the process – its limitations and potentials – I came across the above passage about the educational methods of Celestin Freinet and was struck by the parallels to our own methodology.

I also just reread Guy Debord’s Theory of the Derive. Our process of drifting certainly took a loose inspiration from the situationist concept but has not been modeled on it, so it is interesting to look at the 1958 text and ponder what has changed. The original derive was a specifically urban experience while we are intent on going to the edges of urban centers and beyond in order to recognize the ways that cities are always a part of larger domains. The exploration of scales and the interscale is key for us: the intimate or human-scale; the urban/regional, the national, the continental and the global: we live all of these scales simultaneously. While we practice in small groups and so conjure a territorial intimacy, the point is to think beyond that as we go.

Debord writes about “psychogeographical attractions”, “antideterminist liberation”, “the discovery of unities of ambiance”, etc. The emphasis on an enrichment of perception makes it an aesthetic project albeit with political implications in terms of denormalizing a relation to the city. I set out on the first mobile Continental Drift (through the Midwest Radical Cultural Corridor) with the intention, among other things, to make research an aesthetic encounter, something experienced with the entire sensorium. But that is not an end in itself. One of the things I like about Freinet’s learning walk is that it is part of a larger process which includes experimentations in communication, exchange and action.

Hooks and Loops: Reweaving the Local

January 18, 2009


I live in a laptop, I live in the Internet, I live in airplanes and airports, I live in my library, in radio broadcasts, I live in my camera and often in other people’s cameras. As much as these virtualized sites levitate and excite me, I suspect they are eroding my vitality. Even as they put me in proximity to a wide variety of realities, they make others elusive. All these life-links occur in a similar kind of time. Perhaps I could call it info-time: the time it takes for information to travel electronic connections, for books to arrive by UPS, for jet fuel and other forms of credit to burn. Perhaps most attenuated of all is the time it takes me to comprehend what I am receiving.

There is so much to understand and it all feels so urgent. Urgency occupies a very tight temporal zone, and I find it spatially cornering as well. In the field of urgencies I have so many ways to contemplate my world at a distance, distance determines the macro and there is also a distance in the abstraction that delivers the micro. I am missing the velcro, the experience that sticks, the tactile weave of loops (needs? desires?) and hooks (invitations? exigencies?) that orient me both physically and conceptually.

In fact, I live in the Midwest, a real place. Here burdock grows vigorously in “disturbed soils.” The seeds of burdock are not airborne but are designed for contact: covered in microscopic hooks, they stick to passing loopy textures (fur, hair, cloth) to be dispersed further down the path—loosened in another touch between mobile and sessile. Growing up in Georgia, we knew “beggar’s lice,” a similar hitchhiker on socks and sweaters that became a toy or miniature building block for tiny worlds in our fascination. Legend has it that burdock inspired the inventor of velcro, George de Mestral of Switzerland. Burdocks, stickweed, tick trefoil, a panoply of hooking seed designs populates temperate, tropical and subtropical zones of the globe. How do I know this? I live in a computer, a library, a world of stories. Living in layers of narration is rich and pretty inevitable for the humans. But signs abound that we have lost touch with something.

The designers of our government’s interrogation policy (the one that advocates torture as a counter-terrorism necessity) cite Jack Bauer more than they do the U.S. Constitution. Who is Jack Bauer? The fictional protagonist of Fox television’s “24,” as in 24 hours, the always urgent time frame in which Bauer must prevent terrorist attacks, mostly by torturing suspects into giving up silver bullet answers. How do I know this? From books and news articles. People in power operate in a selective and sensational media world, a spectral bubble where they cannot feel the consequences of their own acts. Having little power myself (despite inexplicable privilege), I am eager to understand consequences.

So this summer we took to the road with Continental Drift, our ongoing collective learning seminar (see 16beavergroup.org/drift) on a 10-day trip through what some have begun to call the Midwest Radical Cultural Corridor, planning a sequence of events and meetings in Champaign-Urbana, Chicago, Milwaukee, and many towns westward in Wisconsin.


[map by Sara Kanouse]

One of the themes of my attention that evolved as we traveled together through the Midwest was people’s hunger for reality, for making lives in which ineluctable reality is the teacher. We encountered a variety of attempts to localize, to build collective knowledge and purpose through material and social engagement, through specific experience and experiments that necessarily unfold in time and place. The localization I am seeing coexists with global awareness and habits of broad-based connection. At the same time it is also about overcoming parochialism. Maybe I should call it relocalization, because it is about repositioning the local, with sophisticated insight into how the local fits into larger schema.

At the Frederick Douglass branch of the Champaign public library we met with members of the C-U Citizens for Peace and Justice, a group formed around the unfinished business of a former manufactured gas plant that left a legacy of cancers and displacement in a poor black neighborhood. Criminal environmental degradation unfailingly occurs in the spaces of segregation. This is one of the ways the wealthier beneficiaries of industrial progress are protected from its ongoing catastrophe; from Bhopal to Aniston the worst side effects (so far) happen elsewhere to the seats of power. At our meeting Professor Ken Sela summed up the objective thus: if you want environmental sustainability work for social justice. As long as we segregate the risks and rewards of environmentally toxic industrialization, sustainability remains a specious marketing idea.

At Growing Power, the last farm in Milwaukee, we saw a 20-year-old, intensely local experiment in community development, food security, vermiculture and radical permaculture. The nine greenhouses and grounds combine the year-round cultivation of fish, sprouts, greens and other horticulture in intensive, low-impact systems that maximize local resources. Those resources are not only material—composting wastes from local breweries and coffee roasters for instance—but also social, including training programs for low-income youth and immigrant populations, and maintaining relationships throughout the region to produce and distribute healthy food.


Will Allen, founder and director of Growing Power, Milwaukee, WI

When I asked Julie, our guide, about a comprehensive training document, she replied that although they do make handouts for their courses, their approach emphasizes the coordination of the needs and surpluses specific to local contexts. There is no master manual, because a Growing Power type operation in another city would have to be different. But the model is inherently transferable. Will Allen, the founding director of GP is invited all over the world to advise urban agriculture projects; the Milwaukee site is visited by international delegations all year long. The experiments constantly unfolding in situ are undertaken in full cognizance of local and global problems begging for solutions.

In western Wisconsin we visited many people applying the skill of commitment to long-term processes in a particular place. Growing fabulous children and vital communities, finding ways to lessen the American burden on the rest of the world takes time. We saw this at the Holm Girls Dairy, a family farm run by Sara, Erika, Andrea, Laura, Rachel, and Mary, and their parents Doran and Mariann. Originally from the area, they were living in California when they decided to buy a defunct dairy farm in the late 90s. They have spent the last decade improving the soil and cultivating organic pasturage for their herd of 70 or so charismatic Jersey heifers. They are part of the Cooperative Regions of Organic Producer Pools (CROPP), known perhaps to you the conscientious buyer as Organic Valley. CROPP is an example of a new existential scale: networks connecting one localized form of integrity to another.

In the anarchic process of planning our drift, we didn’t decide to focus on resistant practices of food production and distribution. In the end almost half of our planned events and many of our ad hoc stops revealed ways that food is organizing new approaches to natural and social interdependency. I think we drifted this way because food is currently one of the most invigorated and invigorating vectors for expanding autonomy. Creating a mutually beneficial, sustaining relationship to the natural world and to other humans requires us to engage in many kinds of time. Most valuable things in nature and human development can’t be rushed. Worms make perfect soil from plant-based garbage. You can set up optimum conditions for them to do their job, but in the end it takes as long as it takes.

In his 1994 book A Sense of Place, a Sense of Time, landscape historian J.B. Jackson elucidated the degree to which community, or richness of place, is a function of both space and time. Community as defined by place is aggressively marketed to us, because that seductive fiction can be packaged as real estate by opportunistic developers, one of the forces that makes place-based community suspect . Time, on the other hand, is sold to us in the form of technological devices to speed things up, or at least relieve the drudgery of survival in a punishing world. We can also buy time in the form of lower-status, lesser-paid labor. But the kind of time required for a livable world can’t be bought.  We have to make it ourselves, in collective experiments, with no guarantees. We can continually work on creating optimum conditions, but it takes as long as it takes.

Not all our events were food related (though most included potluck). In Chicago we invited author and filmmaker Sam Greenlee to a public screening of the 1973 film “The Spook Who Sat by the Door,” adapted from Greenlee’s 1966 book of the same name. A Chicago native, Greenlee spent 1957-65 in the Foreign Service “rubbing shoulders with successful revolutionaries in the new states of Africa.” His fictional protagonist is the first black man recruited to the CIA, where he is basically shelved for five years. But his training in counter-insurgency is not lost on him; he returns to Chicago posing as a social worker in the rising black bourgeoisie while secretly organizing street gangs to prepare for disciplined armed revolt. Acerbically funny and breathtakingly radical, this work basically shut the door on Greenlee’s employment and further publishing opportunities, though it hasn’t stopped him from writing and from fearlessly speaking his mind. In the Q&A Greenlee mentioned that while his character could infiltrate the world of Washington yes-men, a street gang is almost impossible for outsiders to infiltrate because you have to be “from the neighborhood.” Faking a sympathetic ideology, idiom or style is not enough. He didn’t have to point out that the U.S. faces a similar obstacle to infiltrating terrorist organizations today.

Author and filmmaker Sam Greenlee speaking at Back Story Cafe

Author and filmmaker Sam Greenlee speaking at Back Story Cafe

But to recognize the tenacious power of premodern foundations of identity—clan, turf, religion, race, ethnicity, nationality—is not the same as advocating such identifications as a fitting solution to the devastating deracination that afflicts us all, in different ways, today. The draw of such structures reflects a desire for traction in shared lived experience. But the choice is not between the twin alienations of insular protection or rootless anomie. The current gravitational pull of localized experience gathers extended connections in a deeply textured world. Drifting or settled, let the hooks and loops multiply.

keeping the message close to the ground

keeping the message close to the ground

For a photographic record of the Continental Drift through the MRCC, see http://www.flickr.com/photos/27761309@N04/collections/

To download a copy of the book we made together about the drift, see

Beyond Face

January 18, 2009

Note: This essay was first published in Talking with your Mouth Full: New Language for Socially Engaged Art, published collaboratively by Green Lantern Press and Three Walls, Chicago. It’s sort of my definitive statement to date on the artist as Public Amateur.

In Jack London’s story, The Lost Face, two wanderers find themselves in hostile territory, on the brink of starvation. They are captured by a prosperous, belligerent people who shelter them briefly until deciding the beggars would be put to best use feeding the local hunger for spectacle. The hero of our story—I can’t remember his name, so let’s just call him Damien—watches his companion undergo gruesome torture for the clan’s entertainment and solidarity until the poor man is mercilessly exterminated and the crowd turns to him. “Wait! I know a secret potion that protects a man from death. If you give me time to prepare it, my own execution will serve to show that it works!”

Like wealthy headmen everywhere, the chief had everything he could possibly want; the only thing he feared was death. He loved the idea and for weeks, Damien demanded various ingredients and conditions. An elite circle of most loyal insiders studied his arcane procedures to learn and possess the secret. Damien enjoyed their luxury entertaining them with novelties and tales, while they provided him whatever resources he ordered to create the fabulous elixir, including a workshop, servants, the ministrations of women, and sweet time to let the ingredients age properly. The chief grew moody and at last exploded with impatience and suspicion. “Good news!” replied Damien, “everything is ready! Let’s prepare a feast for the great occasion. Tomorrow after just one swallow of this brew, I will bare my neck for you and when you bring the ax down with all your might the whole crowd will see it spring back from the force of life within me.”

The chief spared nothing for the next day’s show of his glory. At the height of the festivity, Damien sipped from the great stew of magic and knelt to lay his head on the block before the chief. The ax came down before the hushed crowd and Damien’s head rolled before them, severed in an instant.

One way or another all artists are socially engaged. However individual artists choose to acknowledge their engagement, artists generally expect and are at least nominally accorded more than the common share of autonomy. Autonomy is always conditional, always a negotiation. A persistent feature of artistic practice is that it resonates primarily in the realm of the symbolic. Often the presumed autonomy of the artist is symbolic, or imaginary.

Read the rest of this entry »

We Don’t Do Carrots

July 17, 2008

When asked about possible incentives that might cause North Korea (or Iran) to end its nuclear ambitions, John Bolton (then as the U.S. Undersecretary of State for Arms Control and International Security) famously replied, “I don’t do carrots.” Carrots as in sticks and carrots, of course, in this case leaving only the sticks, as in the big-stick, unilateral “diplomacy” that characterizes U.S. dealings with the rest of the world.

Presumably the stick works through fear. Often the left also thinks this is the best approach to getting what we want. But spending valuable energy echoing the daily messages of hopelessness only overwhelms most of us and paralyzes the best intentions.

So I was disappointed to read an article (Turning Your Lawn into a Victory Garden Won’t Save You — Fighting the Corporations Will) on Alternet by Stan Cox . Apparently Cox doesn’t think we should do carrots either.

Read the rest of this entry »

Anecdotes of Research

April 7, 2008

Last week, The Public Square in Chicago, along with ITVS hosted a screening of King Corn, made by Aaron Woolfe, Ian Cheney and Curt Ellis. They had invited me, along with the fabulous LaDonna Redmond, to make comments after the feature length video and then take questions on the issues raised.
(For what it’s worth, after the film there was barely half an hour left for comments and discussion. Do programmers think audiences simply cannot tolerate an event longer than 2 hours? What do you think?)

The Genre
The film is another example of a growing genre, the documentation of a self-initiated investigation that combines in varying proportions personal narrative and focused research, often anchored by a gesture or act that loosely qualifies as an experiment relevant to the motive question.

Read the rest of this entry »

No regret to not inform

March 17, 2008

blogger’s delinquency: although posted in march 08, this was written in october 07

Last week I went with a couple of friends to the Renaissance Society in Chicago to see a new piece by Steve McQueen called Gravesend, a 17 minute video (transferred from 35 mm film, projected in a HUGE dark space) about coltan mining in the Congo.

The poster essay [see Renaissance Society website] written by Hamza Walker describes the film as “unapologetically abstract” and “resolutely purged of any information illustrating economic links….”

I feel unapologetically bothered about such an artistic strategy.

I’ m sure many will find the piece beautiful. In the most arresting sequences we see or barely see in the dim light, miners (black), shoveling in a chiaroscuro pit. We see close-ups of their hands (black) picking little bits out of muddy clumps or out of walls or breaking larger clumps with a hammer, again to pick the bits from the chunks and wash them in a stream…. And then we see close-ups of industrial processes, preternaturally clean, featuring a robotic arm seizing and repositioning what look like coltan ingots to further, in mechanical rhythm, a process we don’t understand. Linking the shots of hands groping mud and the machinic purity, nothing more than a black and white animation of squiggly lines based on the currents or geographic track of the Congo River. After the precise robotic sorting of ingots, we will soon restart the loop back at the mine, after stopping for a ponderous sunset over an industrial harbor, ostensibly referring to the English town of Gravesend, from which the narrator of Conrad’s Heart of Darkness, relates his tale. No additional contexts along the supply chain. Not an abstract peek at that terribly abstract thing, the markets trading coltan futures and other derivatives, nor, more concretely, the parts that go into cell phones and computers or the hands that assemble those goods, nor the price, feature and brand wars that keep cell phones “moving” in the market, nor the mountains of phones abandoned for new models. Outside of the camera’s tight frames on the bodies laboring in shadows and their eager hands, nothing about the decades of war and atrocity in the scramble to control the mineral resources of the Congo.

That job is left to the curator’s essay (Walker’s) which does provide some history and general details about the Democratic Republic of Congo and the economics of coltan. So, the division of labor referenced in McQueen’s film – both obliquely and obviously– is reiterated in the gallery: artist will do the resolutely purified positioning of parts and curator will do the heavy lifting of background explaining and connecting to lived histories in our world now. This is not the only place that conventional divisions of symbolic labor are observed. Read the rest of this entry »

a tale of (at least) two versions

November 12, 2007

Does your mom send you newspaper clippings? Has she transferred this impulse to the quicker clicker, namely email?

My mom regularly forwards various email messages that have been sent by friends or acquaintances of hers. I received this from her several months after it had made the rounds in the spheres of easy forwarding. To this one I was moved to write a response and hit “reply-all.” Here I post the original circular followed by my response.

The Forwarded Message

Here’s some interesting information.
You can check this out on Snopes.com under “The Story of Two Houses”

House #1 A 20 room mansion ( not including 8 bathrooms ) heated by
natural gas. Add on a pool ( and a pool house) and a separate guest
house, all heated by gas. In one month this residence consumes more
energy than the average American household does in a year. The
average bill for electricity and natural gas runs over $2400. In
natural gas alone, this property consumes more than 20 times the
national average for an American home. This house is not situated
in a Northern or Midwestern “snow belt” area. It’s in the South.

House #2 Designed by an architecture professor at a
leading national university. This house incorporates every
“green” feature current home construction can provide. The house is
4,000 square feet ( 4 bedrooms ) and is nestled on a high prairie in the
American southwest. A central closet in the house holds geothermal
heat-pumps drawing ground water through pipes sunk 300 feet into the
ground. The water (usually 67 degrees F. ) heats the house in the winter
and cools it in the summer. The system uses no fossil fuels such as oil or
natural gas and it consumes one-quarter electricity required for a
conventional heating/cooling system. Rainwater from the roof is collected
and funneled into a 25,000 gallon underground cistern. Wastewater from
showers, sinks and toilets goes into underground purifying tanks and then
into the cistern. The collected water then irrigates the land
surrounding the house. Surrounding flowers and shrubs native to the area
enable the property to blend into the surrounding rural landscape.

HOUSE #1 is outside of Nashville, Tennessee; it is the abode of
the “environmentalist” Al Gore.

HOUSE #2 is on a ranch near Crawford,
Texas; it is the residence the of the President of the United States,

My Two Cents on Two Houses

This definitely deserves a response:

1. Commending Mom
2. What does it change?
3. A little more information

Read the rest of this entry »

Case Study in Manhattan

March 26, 2007

I have started following the story of Colin Beavan, ‘no impact man,’ a writer living in Manhattan. Along with his wife (a writer for Business Week) and daughter, he is attempting to live for a year with no or minimal footprint in terms of energy consumption and waste production, although his project guidelines include the energy to blog daily and publish a book at the end of the year. http://noimpactman.typepad.com/blog/

What i find so interesting about his project, is what it contributes to an aspect of our current state in an affluent, industrialized nation: self-experimentation becomes necessary because no one can trust the authorities or so-called experts.

Read the rest of this entry »