#7 Almanacs as relational thinking
Dear friends & colleagues, dear faraway nearby,
You know that I’m really interested in the way we perceive time apart from our neoliberal linear thinking. I wrote about it here on Routine as the death of relational thinking or here about cycles vs. momentum. So I did find the thoughts of Almanacs and cyclical time of writer Austin Kleon really interesting, and on his recommendation had a blast reading the piece The Quiet Mysticism of Almanacs.
Attention has always been a commodity, though not in the same way it is now. Where paying attention was once something that afforded farmers a plentiful harvest, now our attention is increasingly something to be captured and capitalized upon by others. Our attention spans are often described as “scarce.” Some scholars have even started referring to advertising as “attention harvesting.” An almanac is, of course, a product (and it does sell other products in its advertisements), but it more frequently turns readers’ attention to things that cannot be bought or sold, to remarkable phenomena that can only be found in the natural world: bird migration, meteor showers, eclipses.
[…] Almanacs strike this balance between the practical and the poetic. That tightrope act is even starker in older editions. Looking through 18th-century almanacs, there might be a recipe for refining sugar on one page, a poem on the next, a list of court dates after that, and a smattering of dry jokes and witticisms sprinkled throughout. The Old Farmer’s Almanac tagline has long been “useful, with a pleasant degree of humor.”
Their “useful” quality — something that is diametrically opposed to how I use them now — was foregrounded in early editions. They were first intended to provide structure for farmers, to help them plan their planting, growing, and harvesting seasons. These small, handheld books carried sunset and sunrise times, tide tables, even predictions for days best suited for sowing certain seeds or mating certain animals.[…] Now that we no longer need them to make it through the winter, almanacs have become both escapism and a kind of meditation. They invite us to take things as they come, to delight in the sediment of everyday life. They are a call to observe the natural world, both the grand and the humble: eclipses and harvest moons, but also changing leaves and hatching insects. Watching things grow — even reading about watching things grow — connects almanac readers to a tradition that exists outside a highly technologized, often isolated, modern world. With their reminders to count acorns and to avoid killing spiders, almanacs have this wisdom — of small things.
I’ve been very intrigued by this idea of a personal almanac and what an almanac for a writer, curator, artist… might look like. How instead of a tool for productivity it is more like a devotional practice for relational thinking.
The family of my father comes from a lineage of farmers, predominantly olive farmers based in Portugal. There is a certain rhythm to their year and work, their lives are tied to the seasons of the year and to the specific region. They do keep a natural knowledge about when it’s time to plant, harvest and cut back. This knowledge is essential for them and they naturally observed over the years climate change, the dramatic increase of wild fires and droughts in the area and how certain vegetables no longer grow as easily due to the changed conditions.
I’m living a much more urban life and my living is earned through creative work. When I think about my work I think about the rhythm of projects, of the way some projects require a fast sprint in terms of the way I work and large-scale projects feel more like a marathon. The work I do feels every time a bit different but the more I think about it, the more I’m interested in correlations, certain rhythms and relations that are attached to my work and the seasons in the Northern Hemisphere, particularly to me living currently in Switzerland.
As a curator and writer there are certain recurring yearly events that structure my year, events like certain conferences and art fairs. They naturally tend to accelerate the time during spring and early summer before a majority in Europe takes a break during summer.
What would a personal almanac of a curator or writer contain? I’d love to hear your suggestions, so far I’ve been thinking about the idea of how our environment influences the way we work.
What would an almanac for a curator outside of art centers look like?
What would an almanac of writers who are parents contain?
What would an almanac for artists in the countryside show?
The charm of an almanac, different to a journal, is in the commitment to relate personal observations about certain things with knowledge for others. I like how instead of being a mere tool for productivity as we see in the bullet journal community where every inch of life gets tracked and documented,often without noticing relations with a wider picture, almanacs feel so much more mundane and less serious. They encourage serendipitous findings and polyphonic existences without a harsh structure (something that encourages playful connections).
But almanacs don’t just relate to the environment they often contain recipes, and that’s a connection I’m particularly keen on. As many other folks relating to a migrational lineage, I do find the relationship with a specific area can be sometimes challenging. As it is often the case when I have to bridge the mishmash of regions I connect with, I go back to food as my preferred love language. My personal almanac would include a recipe section, and there are many “seasonal” recipes in this personal collection like the famous garlic breads my dad made me when I was sick as a child (they were meaningful because my dad almost never cooked, he’d even manage to burn eggs, so the garlic bread is more about care) there is also cookie recipes of my mother for Christmas, the ice-tea recipe of my grandmother to make hot Spanish summers bearable.
What are preferred recipes of writers around deadlines?
What do curators like to cook as a way to connect with others?
There are so many more things I’d be interested to see in an almanac for creatives:
creative days of interest (aka where we commemorate one of our creative role models)
days art peeps thought to be lucky or unlucky (I once worked with a curator who would never open exhibitions on Tuesdays)
short poems/ spells/ phrases people recite before they have to get on stage (having to present something of importance)
certain rituals of luck people perform before doing something meaningful. I once worked with an artist who would always hide a few coins in the corner of her exhibitions for success.
News
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Recommendations
Reading
On growing an idea. Writer and visual artist Larissa Pham discusses what makes a good essay, the benefit of having a community of readers, and giving yourself the space you need to complete a project.
The Louvre Shouldn’t Exhibit Trafficked Antiquities from Libya and Syria
Belonging to ourselves, each other, and the earth. From decolonization to... re-indigenization?
In case you’re feeling creatively stuck this is a writing tip of Austin Kleon that I’ve been doing in several versions myself.
[German] Ein wichtiges Thema: Altersarmut und Künstlertum
As always, I love to hear from you. What would your personal creative almanac contain? You can leave a comment (this is a new feature and I’m really excited about it) Or drop a line by replying to this letter or get in touch directly via anabelroro@gmail.com. You can also find me on Twitter or Instagram.
Your presence here is so appreciated.
In solidarity.
Yours,
Anabel