Stories Around Food

In Collaboration with Sprout MN, 2019 - 2020

About Stories Around Food

When I began this project, in 2019, I wanted to engage with community members around the subject of food. I am a curious person, and love to engage with folks in a casual conversational manner, therefore, instead of a focus group of particular questions, I would just go to where the people are... around food.

I conducted creative activities at the Little Falls farmers market, as well as talked with restaurant owners, farmers, and everyday folks, gathering my own inspiration from these interactions. The Farmer's Market was the most telling of the activities, as I had grown to appreciate the careful engagement of the booth owners, with me, an artist in a big blue trailer. To find common ground, we could only take time, that just like the harvest, cannot be rushed, to find things to talk about besides the weather (even though that is quite important as the storm is rolling in). After a few weeks of showing up to the market, the real harvest, we all waited for, of tomatoes, started rolling in. On the weekends, you saw families looking for unique veggies, fruits, and jams to feed the kiddos. On the weekdays, bright and early, you had those on a mission: men and women working on their precalculated batches of salsa, tomato sauce, preserves, and goods.

I knew this was all business, when a woman came, unkempt with her hair in a messy bun, with a list of exact poundage she needed to complete that day's worth of salsa. Peppers. Tomatoes. Cilantro. Onions. She loaded up and went on with her humidity filled day of cooking and canning. That straight forward intentionality is something I am familiar with as a preserver myself... but also as a child... because not much later, after this woman, my dad showed up with his same list and intention. That day, I realized I had something very much in common with these folks. A seize the day sort of attitude... maybe more like seize the harvest before it goes bad.

Preserving food is a much-needed part of survival in Minnesota, and while I personally can't eat another tomato from roughly October until after the new year, I know that my happiness depends on the late summer and early fall efforts of food preservation. My vitamins get into my system through a soup made of squash, whether it is canned or frozen, and masses of friends and family benefit from my tomato canning when I make a batch of my Aunt Mary Lou's spaghetti sauce. And this is not just about veggies, but also hunted game, fish, and farm-raised beef, also make their way into my stash through jerky, pickling, and freezing. We do not waste; we know plenty can be lost if you have no plan.

Making a Statement through my art:

At the end of 2019, I started developing a project idea around the items we use in our kitchen, from the pots and pans to the little gadgets that help make our meals easier to prep, cook, and serve to our loved ones. I was intending to build a sculpture of these objects, yet, I realized I didn't have the audacity to alter these still practical and useful tools just for the sake of art. I struggled through my original idea because I knew there was a better representation of our stories around food.

Then 2020 hit. March was a time when we would be starting our seedlings for our gardens in May, but instead, we were faced with a confusing shutdown from a virus we knew little about. People rushed to the stores to grab essentials, while others looked at them like they were fools. I felt a bit of comfort in that I could feed my family because of my stash of food in the freezer and on the pantry shelf, because like many of those who I met at the Farmers Market that Fall, I was ready. I had a farmer on speed dial if I needed some beef or pork, and I conveniently had back up with my parents, if necessary. While toilet paper seemed to be a concern (I found a small stash at the local meat market), the food issue was little concern until well after the harvest...

When we had a shortage of Mason Jar lids.

This was a horrible reality for the salsa makers in my life (DAD), and the value of lids skyrocketed due to the fact that those who never canned a dang thing before 2020 decided that they'd give it a go. Lids *(without the rim) were nowhere to be found, and I know this because of the talk amongst the elders. There may have been some stubbornness in this search because when I suggested that my dad buy the lids with rims, or (gasp) a new pack of jars with lids and rims included, I got a tormented "psh!" as that is completely against the entire philosophy of preserving foods in the first place.

You see, the Mason Jar is a symbol of days gone by, but also one that in any of its typical years it represents a value of the earth and its elements. When the jar is empty, often stored on a shelf or in a box in the basement, it represents a new season of certain uncertainty. When the jars start filling, getting labeled, and placed on the pantry shelf in beautiful, color-filled rows starting in mid-Summer and into the late Fall, the Mason Jar represents perseverance and preparedness. And as we empty them, one at a time, they feed us, and we wash them, and place them in their rightful spot in our storage, to be ready for a new season.

As the pandemic left many of us in our homes uncertain of what to do, I started documenting my empty jars, with a camera, and through many sketches, understanding the symbolism of the Mason Jar in a time of uncertainty. I envision my ancestors using these during the Great Depression, to do their best to feed their families in a time of struggle. The simple Mason jar was a symbol of hope for many, and that WE will get through. I, therefore, decided to paint a large representation of different jars, that are too old to hold my tomato sauce for next year (chipped, most likely), or simply too cool looking to sacrifice next harvest (because they can break in the hot water bath if they are too old or cracked), to share my love of this form of survival me and my family, and so many of my community, I found. Ball (TM), Mason(TM), Golden Harvest(TM), and Atlas (TM) are all represented in this painting, abstracted in brushstrokes that make me happy. Colors shift in glass forms, in ways that are frustrating but exciting, not much different than how the weather can affect our harvest each season.

The end result is a 10-foot wide by 8-foot tall painting installed in Sprout Marketplace in Little Falls. This work was challenging, not because of the content, but because of the times. Food became the center of our 2020 year, as we spent more time with our families, depended less on the restaurants, and at times, couldn't get certain types of foods. I watched kids and their parents working in the kitchen together because their usual recreation of sports, concerts, and school events no longer required them to be rushed out the door with convenience food in their hands. Doing things from scratch was no longer a privilege, but a necessity, not for the food itself, but for the simple fact that you can connect with each other before, during, and after that meal.

The food systems that existed for years, because a focus to those of us who had no clue what got us fed daily. The inequities in food access became extremely evident. The need for the community to step up, like it surely can, became more important than ever. As I move forward with my work as an artist, I will still use the symbolism of the mason jar as my personal approach to life's uncertainty. You can prepare for the unknown, in your own way. That preparedness isn't to be hoarded, however, but to be leveraged into an entire meal to feed those around you. This is our time to remember that and hold it as a community value.