The Wool Gatherers; or, How Can You Save the Planet if You Can’t Save Yourself?

By Michelle Nordmeyer

My wife, Megan, and I were talking about the different parts of the creative process she has been going through with a writing/research project. She explained the first step, the time spent thinking expansively, allowing different threads to emerge, as being a wool gatherer walking through the wilds, picking tufts of wool out of thickets and fences (she’s British, so this scenario is not fantastical thinking like it would be for me). Then you have the stages of carding and processing the wool before weaving it into the final product. What a lovely image, right? This work is essential to innovation or boundary stretching. There must be time for ideas and connections to come together outside of what you already know will happen. Expansive, open thought combined with narrowed, focused work is the evolutionary power source that drives the entropic spiral, keeping humans ticking along through time. Both parts are necessary. Yet, while I often hear people talking about emergent thinking and saying, “Small Is All,” we keep getting caught up in the wildly unsustainable, exponential growth death spiral.

In my work at a community arts hub in Chicago that has exhibitions, classes for all ages, and events, many of my conversations have a root of “value” or worth about them. Working for a nonprofit means that you need to ask those with extra wealth to hand it over for you to do your work, often while proving not only the value achieved for their dollars but also the sustainability of your organization. And despite our aspirations to prevent it, like spring rainwater seeping into your basement, the trap of exponential growth finds its way into the softest and gentlest arenas of our society, the community arts nonprofit. Not only do I often have conversations with people about whether we’ll be able to sustain our efforts (this organization is over 80 years old), but also among my students the topic of “is it worth it for me to make this” comes up time and again. The trap is set so completely that even when we sign up to learn and take time for ourselves, even when we create spaces that are welcoming and encouraging, that aim to use restorative justice processes to resolve conflict, that cultivate learning as a way of life, we question whether the things we make in the process of learning are worth it. We don’t champion wool gathering like we do the production and profit. We need to build the habit of valuing it.

Which is why I’m going to highlight an amazing artist and community activist, William Estrada. William and I met at the Art Center when he was teaching summer camp. He had gone to the School of the Art Institute and came out of school wondering how to continue his art practice. He spent the next 20-ish years engaging in making art with the communities that he grew up with as a kid—mostly the South, Southwest, and West Side parts of Chicago. This took the form of a photobooth to take family portraits in the park, a mobile art cart that he could bike around on and make buttons or screen prints with people, puppet shows, and performances. For many of those years, he would just show up at parks on the weekend, block parties, and community events, anywhere he could make art with people as they went through their regular lives. And even though it was hard to define the type of artist he was, he persisted, allowing joy, conversation, and connection to lead his way. A wool gatherer moving through the parts of the city where art is often a low priority, teaching others the value of wool gathering in their lives while confirming their contribution to this world and acknowledging their existence. Now that he has gotten recognition for this work, and is spending more time in the traditional “art world” circles of the city, he often fields this question: “This is great work, but is it really sustainable?” It’s the polite way of asking how this work makes any money, how it could be scaled up and spread to other areas, cities, et cetera. We can all learn from his response: “Well, I love what I do, so it’s sustainable as long as I can do it.”

Artist William Estrada in the studio

Being in a community with people like William reminds me that life on this planet succeeds because it continues to make more seeds than it needs, and it doesn’t stop just because they land on concrete. Life makes seeds and trusts that one or some will continue the work of living. Yes, we need to make money to meet our needs, to secure our safety, and sometimes that means working a job just for the money. But we can build a community and a personal life that allows for wool gathering and doesn’t rule out options because they’re “not sustainable” or because they don’t fit what society values. We often get trapped by obligations—like student loan liabilities or family circumstances—into taking a job that pays rather than a job that follows our passion, and think it’s over, that we failed to live life to our fullest. That is the ultimate trap. When this happens, we can cultivate the view of softness and compassion with ourselves and others. Instead of giving in to the slog and giving up, know that you just need to go slow at times. It’s sustainable as long as we can do it, in whatever capacity we can do it.