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Corn and
Conversation Maryo Gard Ewell Larimer County, Colorado, is
undergoing rapid change. Like many parts of the United States, prime agricultural
land is being converted into subdivisions almost overnight. The pace of
change is dizzying. Growth seems to be in control of the people rather
than the other way around .. this in a county whose western end includes
the breathless beauty of Rocky Mountain National Park. As in so many other places, people
in Larimer County couldn't seem to address the issue. Dan Kemmis, mayor
of Missoula, Montana, may have described "public gridlock" best
in his Community and the Politics of Place. As neighbors, he says, we
have become increasingly unable to work things out. To talk productively,
to air differing views, to come up with local solutions. Instead, we shout
our increasingly polarized opinions at elected officials, implying, "We
elected you, you fix it!" As a result, there is conversational gridlock
and "solutions" are either imported ("it worked in Bangor,
let's try it here") or so watered-down as to be ineffective. As Kemmis implies in the book,
and Michael Jones of the DIA*logos Institute says in a recent article,
"The new leaders will be those who are able to create spaces and
processes for skillful conversation. Through surfacing the underlying
images and structures of our thinking, and making the implicit explicit,
we create the possibility of re-imagining ourselves, our organizations,
and the quality of our work." A year-long project intended
to address these issues - sponsored by the Loveland Museum, the Larimer
County Commissioners, and the Colorado Corn Growers Association - has
just ended. The intent of the project was to use the arts to begin to
re-create the art of conversation, so that local public solution-crafting
can be creative, interesting, productive and inclusive. The project was
supported by the Colorado Council on the Arts and other local groups.
Here's what took place. The group - spearheaded by installation
artist Sharon Carlisle - called for citizens who did not think of themselves
as artists to step forward to participate in an experiment in which people
might think about growth in Larimer County in different ways. Twenty-five
people came forward - a real mix of people, including realtors and developers,
ranchers and farmers, students, teachers, a baker, a hairdresser, and
more. They then issued a call for twenty-five visual, performing or literary
artists. They put the names of each groups in hats, and randomly paired
people. During the year, each pair was
to meet three times at least, and just talk...about themselves, their
families, their reason for living in Larimer County, their views on what
was happening. From their conversations was to emerge a collaborative
work of art. The artist wasn't to simply interpret his or her partner:
no, it was to be a truly collaborative endeavor, in which each person
became vulnerable to the other's viewpoint as well as to the other's creativity. Almost every progress report,
filed about halfway through, began, "At our first meeting we saw
had nothing in common ... we were going to drop out..." Yet everyone,
every one of the twenty-five pairs, finished their collaboration. The
actress ("I will never be able to afford the down-payment on a house"
and the realtor. The hairdresser and the painter. The baker and the writer.
The projects themselves were
extraordinary. Eric Elshtain and Bill Wylie, whose conversations began
in earnest when they recognized that they both liked to fish, began by
fishing, then by historically investigating, then by even scuba-diving,
the Poudre River. Their installation project was a photographic and literary
"diary" of a twelve-day journey along the river from Rocky Mountain
National Park through Ft. Collins through farmland through national forest
through an area near a major meat-packing plant. Their piece includes
a collection of objects from the water, the banks, the river's bottom;
the photo-journal postcard series they made with Eric's photos and Bill's
writing; and more. "We went into [the project] dealing with the river
beyond the definitions that most people place upon it...we wanted to start
with a blank slate and create a work that would definte it from there." The Denver Post article
on another project began: "The partnership began a bit unsteadily:
he is a Republican. She's a Democrat. He enjoys a good steak now and then;
she's a vegetarian. He's up at dawn; she's lucky to make an 8 a.m. class."
The article continues: "'We kind of got over all that, and we just
talk like real people now,' music therapist Christine Stevens said."
For his part, farmer Steve Olander said: "Sometimes you get into
a rut and can get tunnel vision because you can't see [another perspective.]"
In their early conversations, Steve mentioned that the kids in the subdivision
bordering his property were constantly hanging on the fence - they had
probably never seen a food-growing operation before. And, "Cows do
get out and the neighbors call me saying, 'They are making hoofprints
in my brand new grass' - and they are really torqued." Steve and
Christine decided to hold a neighborhood barbecue on his property, and
they invited neighboring farmers as well as everyone who lived in the
subdivision. The idea was to become comfortable with people whose path
you'd have probably otherwise never have crossed. During a well-attended
meal Christine held a drum circle (popular enough that Steve invited Christine
to hold one at the next meeting of his Young Farmers chapter). And afterwards
people had to "buy" their dessert with a sentence, maybe a couplet,
about what this evening of conversation had meant. Steve and Christine
turned the phrases and sentences into a ballad, "The Other Side of
the Highway." And then there was the "Growth"
dance. Jane Slusarski-Harris, Chair of the Dance Department at Colorado
State University, was paired with Jim Geist, a farmer whose family has
been on the land for several generations. "I can't dance, won't dance,"
said Jim initially, so their idea was that Jim would write down his family's
story, and Jane, with help from some of her dance students, would dance
it. But as their discussions continued, the idea evolved, and the final
work that they created, set to the Emperor Concerto, was so much more.
It began with a poem written by Donna Geist, read by Donna and Jim - questions
about land, and food production, and the farming lifestyle, and growth
and change. The poem gradually gave way to the joyous dancing of the life-forces
of earth, air, water and fire. The land produced, all was well - until
the realtor character emerged, clearly seeing the land as merely real
estate. Now the entire Geist family - Donna and Jim and their two children
- joined the dance, invited to dance first by the life-forces, then by
the realtor, then by the life-forces, then by the realtor. The piece ended
ambiguously, returning to Donna Geist's questions, as their five-year-old
son, on his miniature John Deere tractor, attempted to wrestle up the
"For Sale" signs - some of which he could, others which he couldn't..
What are their choices? What will happen to their family? Will their son
have any chance of being the next generation on the land? If farming disappears
in the county, what will it mean for food production? The exhibition, the readings,
the performances, all shown at the County Fairgrounds in September to
a large crowd, were powerful. The Mayor of sprawling Ft. Collins was there.
So were County Commissioners. Everyone was moved. But, ultimately, did
it make any difference? That's the question, of course.
Certainly, some things are happening. A photo-journalist and a writer
have documented the entire project, and a book will result shortly, perhaps
inspiring other people, other communities, to do a variant of this project.
A video-documentary, likewise, is being produced, and perhaps cable channels
across the country will air it to inspire others. The barbecue will become
an annual event. Sharon Carlisle, the project coordinator, has been approached
by the Young Farmers chapter to do an artist-in-residence project with
them. She is seeking grant money to continue the project - perhaps with
artist residencies with all of the groups that worked on the project,
using a variety of artists from the project, so that relationships can
continue. The County Commissioners have purchased one of the works for
the County Courthouse. The Environmental Studies program at the State
University has raised funds so that the dance can be presented again,
this time in the context of their science program. The hairdresser has
begun taking paper-making classes. Some of the pairs of people have become
fast friends. Jane Slusarski-Harris has said that this has totally changed
the way that she thinks about making dance. Has anything really changed,
though? Has public dialogue in Larimer County been affected? This we'll
not know for a time, maybe not ever. Maybe the debates in the County Commissioner
Hearing Room will take on a different quality. Maybe, as Commissioner
Jim Disney hopes, artists will bring their way of thinking to the dialogue
so that the meaning of the land can be admitted as appropriate parts of
public dialogue as well as its economic viability. Maybe artists will
become increasingly present the public table, regardless of the issue...the
Sharon Carlisles seens as crucial people in the broad community. We do know, though, that individual
lives have been changed. That 50 people are thinking differently. And
that, of course, is where change begins. For more information, or to receive information about order the documentary book or video, contact Sharon Carlisle, 459 E. 12th St., Loveland, CO 80537; phone 970-667-3778.
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