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Creating and making art is a big part of my identity, specifically the power I have and can exert with my hands. Whether it be making little trinkets for myself or loved ones that bring smiles and utility, making/mending in support of boycott movements and my politics of refusal to fast fashion and consumerism (Bettina Love, 2019), or learning new skills and trying new techniques in different mediums, I perceive the world of making, for me, through a completely asset-based framework. I trust myself to learn from my mistakes, to be able to try new and difficult things and to appreciate and be proud of every step of the way. I find power in the process and in the things I am able to learn and do when I let my creative brain run free.

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Similar to how these earrings represent creating and making art as power to my identity, so does the fact that I can make art that is wearable. I love every part of making things that myself and others can wear, specifically in the embracement of things being homemade, and not in a way to make it seem like it is not homemade, but to celebrate the identifiable imperfections, time, labor, and creativity that defines the care that went into the process. I like to wear things that I make or that I have mended as an expression of not only myself but also my own queerness. One of the first things that comes to mind when I think about Queer epistemology is the art and creativity that the Queer community bleeds. I also think of community and chosen family; familial capital and how it intersects with resistant capital (Yosso, 2005); the survival patterns, similar to that of Bettina Love’s (2019) ideas of educational survival and the educational survival complex, within the basis of We Keep Eachother Safe. I think it's a beautiful thing to be moving through this world and be able to witness queer people as art and as pure expression. These silly little earrings represent a tiny portion of that for me and of my identity, and I love that I can extend that to my lovely chosen family to whom I gift them.

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I learned how to box this bag from a woman named Nancy. I was showing off a tote bag that I made for my girlfriend’s sister’s birthday during the show-and-tell section of a monthly club I attend at my local public library called the Fabric and Fiber Makers’ Club. Nancy, a hilarious and unbelievably talented quilter, asked me if I knew how to make it so it stands by itself, I said I didn’t, and she showed me the bag she made to hold all of her quilts that gloriously stood all by itself. She shared with me that if you fold and sew a perpendicular line at the bottom corners of the bag, then it boxes the bottom and miraculously stands by itself. Firstly, I felt very intrigued by this simple but effective technique and was excited to try it. The second feeling I had was an overwhelming feeling of honor and gratitude. Here I was, in this figured world (Holland, 1998) of this once-a-month-club, where I got to sit down with a bunch of wonderful older women in my town, who all shared my love for making; to gab and gossip, and listen to stories about their kids, and grandkids, a lot of of the time who they would be making for; to experience handmade art that, oftentimes, was the culmination of years, decades, and generations of knowledge, and be able to then talk about the patterns and stitches and techniques from the hands themselves. Dr. Tara Yosso (2024) at a lecture given at Macalester College talked about positionality in the sense of, “Who is telling the story and why?” This space, which was almost entirely comprised of older women, getting together, sharing stories, and exchanging methodologies represents something much bigger. It represents the timeless nature that is the labor of love, it represents a generational knowledge and labor that has stayed alive in many different cultures and thrived because of spaces similar to this, and it represents a labor that is historically gendered but knows no bound to who can learn it. Learning this technique from Nancy was simple, but means a lot more than both of us could ever realize.

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The Fabric and Fiber Arts Club, where I learned how to make this bag, took place at my local public library, the Fairfax Library. I grew up only a couple minutes away from the Fairfax Library. I got to grow up knowing that if I needed any kind of help, it was always a five-minute walk from anywhere in town to where there would be somebody to call my parents, to get water or use the bathroom, to find resources for school projects, or to find escape in magical stories in what I knew was a safe and comfortable place. This was such an incredibly meaningful resource for me, even when I became an adult, and had the capability and independence to get myself places, the Fairfax Library was usually the place I would get myself to after school to study, which is how I found out about the Fabric and Fiber Arts Club in the first place. Greg Gaut (2019) describes public libraries as “free spaces,” that, “are first and foremost places for people” (p. 1). He also defines libraries as “places where knowledge of how to nurture and expand the public good has been created and shared,” (p. 3). There are not that many spaces in this country where you do not have to make a purchase to be able to exist in, that actively strive to make knowledge accessible and non-discriminatory, and that are solely in the interest of people and of their own community’s needs. This is why public libraries mean so much to so many people, myself included, because no matter why someone enters their doors, the library is going to be there for them.

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I grew up surrounded by nature. I grew up with the privilege of seeing green in my backyard, having access to the earth to ground me, and only having to look up to understand what the strongest conservation legislation can look like. Nearly 85% of the county I grew up in is preserved from development, a feat that could not be possible without settler colonialism, attempted genocide, redlining, segregation, and much more. With this, I was allowed to enjoy nature growing up in a way that is inaccessible to most. Having a close connection to nature gave my childhood joy, curiosity, belonging, positive aspiration, and abundance, and shaped the person I am today in more ways than I even know. I was not raised by religious parents, or instilled with a preexisting understanding of the universe, meaning I got to create my own. I believe that nature however should not be accessible only to people who look like me, or viewed as something to be controlled. I grew up ignorant of the politicization of the place around me, and my first ideations of the world reflected that. However, gaining a more nuanced understanding of my childhood and of the systems I benefit from in this world, in addition to a deep connection to nature, is what I am truly grateful for. My ideation of spirituality has grown and changed over my life so far, and I hope it continues to do so, but as of right now, it involves something similar to the cycle of nature, a responsibility to community and collective action towards bringing down the empires that prevail exclusivity and oppression, and to an appreciation of life as a gift of existing as being that knows and feels things, at least for now.

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I perceive the life I’m living, and the energy I hold currently, as a miniscule little part of an infinitely massive ecological and spiritual sandwich. It comforts me to zoom out and think of the infinity that has preceded me, and that will succeed me. I believe that nature is the end-all and be-all to the place that we exist in, and the consciousness that I hold right now comes from an eternal, ever-reproduced, energy that will eventually be passed to something else. I think humans, with our beautiful yet ill-fated self-consciousness, get too hung up over the specifics of our lives, such as death and power and relations to other entities, to be able to recognize the magnificence that is our place in this collective crazy intricate universe. I think the energy that I hold right now, that makes my body move and feel and allows knowledge and consciousness to exist in my brain, will succeed my body and will one day return to the Earth; to nature. I have the hope that it, along with the energies of my loved ones, will find its way to the mycelium network (as was the inspiration for my collage) so our connectedness can continue into a next shared place, but who knows! What I do know is that I find this process lovely and fun in addition to terrifying and melancholy, just like I find life. I also know that nowhere in this universe is true solitude and isolation. My humanness and aliveness intrinsically connect me to other human and alive things, my own self-consciousness allows me to understand the feeling of being consciously alive, and that I find meaning when I am intentionally interacting my life with both of these realities. A quote from the Dibaginjigaadeg Anishinaabe Ezhitwaad: A Tribal Climate Adaptation Menu put together by the Great Lakes Indian Fish and Wildlife Commission (2019), stood out to me and reminded me of this: “The intentionality of life is to be valued and cherished for the knowledge and connections that are intrinsic to place” (p. 11). Overall, I believe that energy does not exist in a vacuum, and the place my body and energy exist in now is just as meaningful and exciting as the next place, and (as a linear perception of time is the only way it makes sense to my current consciousness) it will be for the rest of time.

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The way I have thought about land has been very plant-focused. I grew up on Coastal Miwok land, what is called the “back-yard” of San Francisco, CA, where monoculture is rare, and everywhere you look there is an abundance of colors. Nature was a safe place and quiet place that was always there for me. I was taught to respect nature and I learned compassion through the plants and flowers I loved growing up. When I was little, we were taught about invasive plants, like the Eucalyptus grove we’d smell as we passed on the way to the beach, and I would imagine them as the bad guys that were trying to attack my home. This was my school’s one and only piece of curriculum that ever hinted at what colonization is, and in this narrative, I was the victim. I have since gotten the opportunity to learn a little bit more about the importance of Native plants, Native species and animals, and Indigenous knowledge and stewardship. Instead of remaining static in my knowledge and understanding of the plants I interact with and the land I call home, I have the power to use my body to pull invasive plants like Black Mustard (introduced in the 1700s by Spanish colonizers) up by the root when I see it, be in active community with Coastal Miwok people and support landback efforts in any way I can, as well as planting native plants in places in my community that are now being affected by erosion and wildfires (things that are a direct result of colonization).

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I think Guerrilla Gardening is a badass way to combat monoculture and green inequality, and that is why I’m excited to fill the seed shaker I made with Native plant seeds I know and love, such as: Lupinus Albifrons, Common Yarrow, California Poppy, Baby Blue Eyes, Narrow-Leaf Milkweed, and Five Spot Flower. I originally chose California instead of Minnesota to orient this Guerrilla Gardening seed shaker around because I just moved to Minnesota and have yet to gain a deep understanding of the relationship between this place and its Native plants and wildflowers. However, considering Chef Sean Sherman’s thoughts about how putting a focus on Indigenous food knowledge and Indigenous education is integral to understanding land and the diversity of place (Sherman, 2020), I then realized, sure, I can recognize and name more plants and topographical characteristics that are Native to California over those in Minnesota, but I have little to no understanding of Indigenous education in either place. I frame both the place I am from and the place I live now more from the lines drawn by the settler state than the tribes I am surrounded by and their specific knowledges of the land. This includes Indigenous knowledges of: “wild foods, permaculture, native agriculture, seed saving,” and much more (Sherman, 2020, 11:54). I think this seed shaker, when it is filled and when I am in California to use it, represents more than just increasing the amount of Native plant life in one given place, but a personal responsibility to learn Indigenous education in the places I take up space in and on land that I love.

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When I think of social movements and making change, I think of people. Every facet of every social movement involves the power of people. From those with ideas and dreams to communities and comradery, to those with specific skills and abilities, and to those who literally have the capacity to organize, educate, uplift, motivate, and empower others. Social movements take place in the streets as well as in communities and homes, they exist through art and culture and persist through violence and brutality. To recognize the greater systems of oppression in one's place, and then recognize you can help fight those systems are both important steps to making change, but also a big leap between them. That's why knowledge is power, education is crucial, and meeting people where they are at is fundamental. This little crochet square represents all the different people, skills, knowledges, and communities that hold social movements and the people’s power together. Without the different strings working together, interlocked, some showing more than others at certain places, and with some areas requiring different stitches or techniques in order to be strong and grow, it would just be a heap of yarn. A heap of yarn is still worthy and valid, but it is potential energy.

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Gaut, G. (2019). Reinventing the People’s Library. Independently Published.

Holland, D. C., Lachicotte Jr., W., Skinner, D., & Cain, C. (1998). Identity and agency in cultural worlds (pp. 40–65). Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press.

Love, B. (2019). We Want To Do More Than Survive: Abolitionist Teaching and the Pursuit of Educational Freedom. (pp. 42, 68). S.L.: Beacon.

Schomburg Center for Research in Black Culture, & Love, B. (2019). We Want to Do More Than Survive. Retrieved from https://www.c-span.org/video/?458837-1/we-survive

Sherman, S. (2020, September 18). The (R)Evolution of Indigenous Foods | Sean Sherman | TEDxSiouxFalls. Retrieved from www.youtube.com website: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RhkJ-tSLUKk&ab_channel=TEDxTalks

Yosso, T. (2005). Whose culture has capital? A critical race theory discussion of community cultural wealth. Race Ethnicity and Education, Vol. 8(No. 1), 69–91. Routledge. Retrieved from Routledge.

Ziigwanikwe (Bresette, K.), Caldwell, C., Chapman, E., Opichi (Clark, R.), Croll, R., Gauthier, G. J., … Swanston, C. (2019). Dibaginjigaadeg Anishinaabe Ezhitwaad: A Tribal Climate Adaptation Menu. Great Lakes Indian Fish & Wildlife Commission, 1–54.