Artful Function

Yesterday I wrote about my love for functional art.

This morning I’m thinking about how simple function can still be artful. That creations built purely for function can actually be elevated to art form, by way of their pure inventiveness.

The Bohemian would not necessarily call himself an artist, but his inventions, ever-practical in their execution, are simply exquisite.

Take his current passion- worms. He began with seven of them and a mound of soil. He has increased their numbers over the last year and a half to tens of thousands. They live off of what we discard: paper, cardboard, and kitchen scraps. What they give us in return are their ‘castings,’ or poop. Worm castings are an excellent source of fertilizer for all plants, and a great enrichment for the soil. Worms turn our trash into treasure.

And what the Bohemian has done to support the worms is also a demonstration of his artful ability to create functional tools from other people’s waste. His evolving worm farm shows that even the most functional of construction can certainly be rooted in artistic vision.

2015-09-29_farm outside
the worm farm

 

This is the worm farm, the Bohemian’s epicenter. Originally it was a small clearing in the trees. He has significantly expanded the space over the last year.

2015-09-29_inside farm
inside the worm farm

 

It began with reclaiming an old truck bed liner and putting it on blocks. He drilled air holes on the sides and it became the home for the worms. The surrounding pallets were all in the give-away pile, now serving as a fence to keep out wild pigs. The black cloth on the sides is old ground cover that was slotted for the dump. Under the blue tarp is an unwanted bathtub, which now acts as a drying station for the castings. All of the wood you see were scrap pieces left over from other farm projects, which the Bohemian gathered and utilized.

Notice the shreds on the ground inside the interior of the area? That’s cardboard and paper. Our family never takes paper or cardboard to the recycling center, because the Bohemian regularly shreds all of it with a basic, office-style paper shredder. We have mounds of the stuff. And it’s a key ingredient in keeping the worms fed and giving their home a balanced moisture.

It’s apparent that I am in awe of my husband’s inventiveness. I know I’m biased in my showcase, here. But even if the man were not the love of my life, I would still be most impressed with how one human expresses the creative spirit through purely functional means.

Hence, his most recent invention, the sifter. With the worms now producing a large amount of castings, the idea is to have a machine that can sift the clumps, separating any cocoons or stray paper pieces. This saves time and energy when dealing with large batches, and produces a finely sifted fertilizer with a multitude of uses in the garden.

The sifter that the Bohemian thought could do the trick was available online for $2,500, not including shipment to Hawaii. As I was slicing red peppers in the kitchen, he was carefully studying the images of this machine on his iPad. Not long after his web search, he’d wandered downstairs to the garage, where soon the sounds of drills and saws were drifting to my ears from down below.

What ensued was just as focused, passionate, and brilliant as any painter splashing color across a canvas. For days, he was coming home from work and moving straight to the sifting machine project. He would work into the night, long after dark. Sometimes I would bring him water, as he was so enthralled with his creation, he’d forget to drink.

Not everyone can build structures. For those with the knack, they typically go to a hardware store and purchase the materials needed. It takes a special kind of builder (a very artistic one, I would venture) to know what materials are needed, and to then try to find them in the discarded scraps of what other builders have tossed aside.

The main frame of the Bohemian’s sifting machine is all built from wood that was the crate housing a huge piece of machinery delivered to the farm last year. At the time, he offered to disassemble all of the wood planks and brought them home for future use.

early stages of the sifter project
early stages of the sifter project

 

Other pieces of the sifter come from old PVC pipe and an abandoned curtain rod. He did purchase the screen, itself, when he found that using vinyl window screen was not solid enough for the job. The motor of the sifter is a sawzall that was left behind by a previous tenant at our house.

making progress
making progress

 

The video below, is only phase one of the sifter project. Since the filming, he’s already added wheels for smoother traction, adjusted the angle of the sifting bed, and modified his catchment system underneath. The footage is amateur, but hopefully it conveys the magic I sense when I see trash become treasure, as it is constructed to be of use, rather than waste.

The worms are experts at this. And, clearly, so is my husband.

Function that is artful and greatly needed in a disposable world.

Good job, Bohemian!!

 

On Being a Worm (and other lessons from the compost pile)

Before I knew that doctor appointments would take up two of the week’s work days, I had committed to being a driver for Jeb’s school field trip.  Once a week the children gather at a nearby organic farm where they experience every aspect of growing food – from seed to harvest.  They eventually sell their produce at their school’s farmer’s market.

Yesterday was compost.  One by one, the children step up to a large bin on a scale and add their weekly bucket of food scraps to the heap.  Everyone gathers around the slop, many with their noses tucked beneath their collars, as our farm leader looks and inspects each contribution cheerfully.

“Yes, this one has had a lot of air.  A good fresh batch.  This is great.  Oops, a few stickers on the banana peels.  Let’s just get those off.”

She sorts her fingers through the decomposing food without a trace of hesitation.

Another bucketful gets added and the children have to step back not to be splashed by the slush.  The scent of ripe and rotting scraps wafts warmly in the air.

“Ooooh!” says one of the children, pointing at the new addition.

“Yes,” says our farm leader, matter-of-factly, “this is more chicken food than what we want, ideally, for our compost pile.  Does anyone know what those are?”

The five and six year olds don’t answer right away.

“Those are maggots and they come from flies when flies lay their eggs.”  She goes on to explain the life cycle of a fly and then suggests that we don’t let the compost sit around quite so long.

“Make sure you bring your compost every week,” she says with an encouraging smile.

Jeb and I haven’t brought compost at all.  We have a system of our own at home.  But I think about how all the children and parents have gathered around to see the different bucket contents revealed.  I can tell that Maria’s family had beets that week and it’s clear that Adian’s parents drink lots of coffee.

photo by Jessica Dofflemyer - all rights reserved

I may be brave enough to reveal my heart’s inner longings and the biology of my womb on WordPress to a world of strangers, but I feel way too private to show my compost to the peering eyes at our neighborhood farm.

This week’s contribution weighs in at 65 stinking pounds.  Flies swarm and the children’s olfactories are hitting max capacity.  Applause all around for what will be a great addition to the farm soil and the saving of space in our island land fill.

Our sweet farm leader with her strong, tanned arms and well-worn, woven hat takes us to the big compost pile where food scraps are transforming into rich fertilizing soil.There is a formula of layering.  Wet, dry, soil.  She shovels our wet slosh to the top of the pile, layers dry banana leaves on top and then adds  scoops of earth.  We all repeat the formula together.

“Wet, dry, soil.”

The magic recipe for transforming old into new.

My metaphoric mind and I turn over the layers of life’s lessons.  Which ones are wet?  Which ones are dry?  And what would be the soil?

“Hey, there’s a worm!” one child exclaims as our farm guide adds more earth to the heap.

“That’s right, he’s a good helper for our pile,” she confirms.

One child asks about how they breathe as the worm is buried in another scoop of dirt.  The adults are amused and stumped.

Ever-positive, our farmer says, “That’s a good area of study.  We’ll have to find out more about the respiratory system of a worm.”  She’s smiling.  “They certainly are breathing!”

It’s hot, the kids are thirsty and the compost smells.  I’d been resistant to this farm trip because I didn’t think I could afford to miss more work.  But occasionally Jeb will come over, put his arm around me and squeeze.  He’s happy to share a moment standing in the new carrot sprouts.

courtesy of My Anatomy from University of Illinois Extenstion

I’ve got my own inner compost pile to sift.  Stacking the wet of deep-seeded funk with the brittle truth of dry.  There will be worms and maggots and even butterflies that are not beneficial but nothing goes to waste here in the garden.  We use what we’re given, work with the elements, learn to transform. To grow.

Back at home I discover that worms breathe through their skin instead of lungs.  As long as they stay wet they can absorb the oxygen.  I liken the wet of worm to the openness of human feeling.  May I stay supple and fluid to life’s lessons.  Allow my feeling heart to flow.  Let my instincts guide the rooting through the darkness, transforming muck into something rich and good.