Drawing as Imagining Absence: Sometime prior to 1963 a person sat down at a table to draw a map. This person could effectively communicate with lines across a page, possessing the technical skills of rendering exact scale ratios of a three-dimensional space on a sheet of paper. The task of this artist was to draw a blueprint that would be used to harness a river for industrial use.
The State of Minnesota has settled with 3M companies over legacy pollutants in groundwater east of St. Paul, but what, exactly, will the settlement pay for?
Since Hurricane Katrina, state, federal, and local officials have greatly strengthened storm protection around New Orleans. But have they prepared for the previous storm, and not for what climate change will bring with the next one?
Learn a place by learning its stories, from the multiple people who have lived there and related to it. Then we can understand better what to do moving forward.
Wilderness is a feeling. It is more than that, of course—wilderness is the wind and the water, the turtles and coyotes, all that exists beyond and around and within our human selves. But when we speak of wilderness, we’re so often speaking about a feeling: that feeling of smallness, strangely comforting, or of connection, or of wonder at how much there is in the world.
When I’m asked to speak about the work I do as an artist, a cultural organizer, and Collaborative Director of Water Bar & Public Studio, I often struggle with two important points of departure: How do I introduce myself when I have so many different roles in my artistic and organizing life? And where do I begin telling the story of this complex, evolving project—which I did not imagine or develop on my own, and which is more of ecosystem that I tend with others than it is a definable creative project?