Four Years Old
Four Years Old
Not wanting to dig into my teaching archives to find the exact number, let me use my prone to exaggerating figurations for how many course preps I did back in my tenure-track days. For those not in the know, a “course prep” means a class you design to teach that is unique from other courses you’re offering. So say, you’re assigned a 4:4 load (yes, this is academic lingo), and you’re offering two sections of one class, in addition to two other classes your first semester, then you’d have three preps. This is meaningful from a labor standpoint because if you’re teaching four completely different courses in one semester (which surprise, surprise happened to me a lot as the only tenure track faculty member of my academic program) that four course prep is going to be more work than three. Each lecture you prep, each assignment you craft, each syllabus you write, takes time and labor so if you can offer the same class twice in your schedule it does allow for a bit of breathing room simply because you won’t have to prep two different lectures, you could use the same one twice. Now, back to the amount of “preps” I had in my day. It’s a wildly outrageous number because I was teaching almost every single course in our curriculum - all the intro courses for non-majors and majors alike, all of the senior seminars (a favorite really because the students do so much more of the work). And then almost all of the elective and core-courses required for our WGS majors. A healthy and supportive academic program and/or department would not require one person to do all of this. But alas, we know I was not in a healthy or supportive academic environment.
The point of trying to get to the bottom of my course preps doesn’t really even matter, because I am a person who cannot leave great alone. Even after I hit a stride in a course offering (prepped it) I would go back in and tinker. I would sub out a final exam for a final presentation or vice-versa. I would change assignments up because I did not want to be bored by seeing the same things over and over. I would assign different books which the bookstore really hated because then they’d have to order new books instead of just having students sell-back the last ones and have new students buy the same returned books again. Sure a book could be fine, but I wanted great. And I wanted to read new things, and push myself to teach new things. I recognize this is my way; I like to build a system and structure and then see if I can improve on it. Even if something is great I think I need to make it excellent. Nothing is safe from critique. Nothing is safe from a rebuild.
I’ve recognized this tendency to tinker has bled into my approach to this newsletter project. As a four-year old project I have integrated so many innovations instead of sticking with the original format I started out with in 2020. That would have been much easier. But definitely not as much fun for me. Of course in my integrations I do have a tendency of adding, adding, adding, and rarely (if ever) subtracting. Which is interesting because this is also how I put a painting together, but that’s for a different newsletter. There have been some firm structures that have always been a part of the newsletter, like this long rambling essay that I send to you and wonder if anyone truly reads.
But let’s review some of the big ways the newsletter has shifted and changed over the last four years in my estimation:
At the suggestion of a Painter Friend I started (trying to) integrate more images to break up my long text - I still wish I was better at this. Workflow requires taking photos and prepping them for inclusion and I often do not think of this until publication time.
Two years in I started (almost always and when time allows) recording a podcast version of the essay where I read the work to the readers who prefer to listen.
I received grant support from the Minnesota State Arts Board to integrate reviews of others’ art in my newsletter for a new “what I’m seeing” segment to cycle in and among “what I’m reading” and “what I’m hearing” or “what I’m playing.” These little reviews of shows, podcasts, albums etc. are fun, but also seem to be the second to go when I don’t have the time I want for this publication production.
I’ve played around with different thematic frames for the essay to guide a small series that span several months or a season. I’ve also experimented with different shorter essays that are more time-capsule moments when I’m extra busy.
I’ve shifted (because of the original platform closing) to a new platform to send out these messages to your inbox.
If you think I’m gearing up to say that I’m done with this project, fear not. I am not shutting it down or anything. I’m simply trying to reckon with the growth and scale of this project and the difficulties of sticking to my twice monthly posting schedule. To pull the curtain back a little more, this whole operation takes me about 8-16 hours from start to finish. While that may not seem like a lot, from drafting, to editing, to recording, to editing, to formatting, to sending it is (except for one glorious grant cycle) largely uncompensated labor that I do on top of everything else I have going on in my studio and life. I believe in excellence and do not want to send out half-assed newsletter essays. And believe it or not, this project adds quite a bit of stress on the front end (production side) and back end (distribution side) that every so often wracks me with so much worry, guilt, shame, and fear that I have to take a half-to full day to recover. Sometimes these letters to my readers take so much out of me. And I want that. I want to feel pushed to the edge, I want to log the sentences so that my craft improves. But if you all knew the amount of times I’m halfway through drafting and think “why would anyone care to read this” and I erase it all and start over again, you would likely be very surprised (unless you too are a writer that is).
Anyways, I have been steadily writing this newsletter for four years of my life. I’ve got a 4-year old newsletter. According to the CDC 4-year old milestones include a variety of social, emotional, language, cognitive and physical markers for development (you should really check the list out if you haven’t had a 4-year old in your life lately). My favorite one on the list is the 4-year old cognitive milestone where they are able to “draw a person with three or more body parts.” The accompanying image is a circle with a face and two legs (SO CUTE). So with this litmus I’d say my newsletter babe is progressing pretty well all things considered. We’re definitely drawing my version of humanity with at least three body parts included.
Since I really enjoy introducing new things to the newsletter while also being conscious of not having much ability to take on much more at this time, here’s another body part I want to practice drawing - a log of my past entries with links to the public posts. Borrowing from the practice of one of my all time favorite bloggers who has been at it way longer and much more consistently than I, Deb Perelman of the Smitten Kitchen always includes nods to what was happening in her kitchen in years past in a section of each of her entries labeled “Previously.” In this recent recipe Grilled Feta with Asparagus Chimichurri she linked 18 different entries that were posted from six months ago to 17 years ago. When possible, I’ll play around with including available links for those who would like to time travel with me to the past. I’m also considering using the past entries of the Art of KCF newsletter as a scaffold for newer thoughts on the previous musings. We’ll see.
As I enter into the fifth year of writing newsletters I might play around with less frequent correspondence. Something has got to give, because I don’t want this to feel like a chore, and I don’t want to feel like I’m disappointing myself or others with what I send out. Entries of late have felt rushed and harried. Though I’ve worked so hard to protect my time on newsletter days, I still frequently find myself in situations like today where in addition to the hours necessary for this project I had a follow-up interview with a national publication in-between drafting. I also need to find several hours today to prep for my last class session I’m co-teaching tomorrow— the end of my 6-month RAPL adventure. And I am heading to Battle Lake to facilitate a 2.5hour workshop this evening. Any one of these tasks would be enough to compete with the furiously serious stitching I’ve been doing on my quilted painting that will be dropped of for exhibition in August. The pace of my life is ramping up to that constant, unsustainable level again. And this is the sort of thing I struggle with for this project: do you want to read about my schedule? Is the specificity necessary to give you a full sense of a day in the life of an independent artist? Is it relatable that I’m still trying to figure it out, while simultaneously trying to give you some well-crafted essay that has at least one worthy turn of phrase to remember me by?
Anyways, here’s to keeping on, because that’s all we really have in these times. And in-between it all, I will practice taking a moment to breathe in the green of spring, and relish the joys of longer periods of sunlight, and smile when birdsong cuts through my mental chatter, and the clamor for the taste of summer fruits and and and…I’ll keep writing. Here’s to four more years. Who’s in charge of bringing the cake for the celebration?
From the Archive:
Four years ago May 15, 2020 Ritual Walk
Three years ago May 15, 2021 The Sport of Art
Two years ago May 15, 2022 The Art of Collapse
One year ago May 15, 2023 Art Encounters of the Third Kind (in Wyoming)
Creative Ritual
It has been beyond difficult to make it into my studio. Save for a weekly co-working session with a dear one, I would be finding it very difficult to log any hours in the studio, mostly due to travel and then recovering from travel. In the last half month I’ve traveled to the other side of the state for a board meeting, and then after getting back and taking care of some business left to do my grave-keeper duties with my family in Kansas. In a recent conversation with another dear friend she noted I’m past my apprentice period and am now fully “tapped in” for the work ahead. I’m resigned and will carry it on with dignity, though it truly has me wondering about the state of untended to graves and what I should do about it. I have been steadily making progress on this quilted painting that I am trying to get ready to hang on the wall so I can see if there are structural issues I need to attend to before delivering it to a show in St. Paul in August. I received a rejection from a residency and that’s totally ok. Upward and onward.
Questions to ponder
How are you keeping on lately?
What 4-year old project milestones are you tracking?
When you find yourself overcommitted how do you scale back?
What is your favorite summer fruit? (Hint it’s definitely berry season, and stone fruit and melon season is nigh!)
Thanks for journeying with me. I hope, as always, that you take what you need and leave the rest for someone else, or for another time.
-KCF
PS: While I outlined how my work is largely uncompensated, I do make 3.5hours worth of salary on this project by the committed supporters of my ko-fi club. If you join them with a monthly subscription you’ll get access to behind the scenes images, a frequent paper planner group zoom on Sundays, and an exclusive Art of KCF handmade relief print to be delivered to you by the end of the year. Plus you’ll know you’re part of a community that supports independent artists. Thanks to my readers who have been here since the beginning or just last month. I appreciate you! Now seriously… let’s eat some cake.