Stack Collapse / Systems Forming, LivLab Watershed Project Space, Sylva, NC, 2022
Plaster, fiber reactive dye, flood debris / broken hoses, yellow, orange, red zip ties, yellow landscaping twine
Stack Collapse is a resistance to mass production, capitalism, and consumerism as driving forces of climate crisis through handiwork, care, and repair. It is a coping mechanism for a catastrophic climate event through miniaturization, and a recognition of toxic nostalgia. It is a historical record of my region through trash, and a contemplation of global economics and cultural norms. It is a lot of things.
In August 2021, a flash flood devasted the horse farm I was a hand on. As we worked to clear and clean up the property (after emergency evacuating all animals) I collected plastics and other manmade detritus that came from upriver. It was once recommended to discard your household appliances and garbage into ravines and rivers in Appalachia, and the flood unearthed decades of this history. This trash, inset into many of the 1,382 HO scale (model train size) shipping containers I cast over a year, reflects the estimated number of shipping containers that fall into the sea annually.
In the months leading up to the flood I was collecting broken garden hoses from my community via social media while thinking about water and its impacts. Systems Forming, made in a week, after completing Stack Collapse, echoes the speed at which climate emergencies can happen. The colors of the zip ties correspond to NOAA’s categorization of storms that impact the Southeastern United States.
Wednesday November 27, 2024
Two months ago on this day in Asheville, NC a catastrophe we never could have imagined happened. I’m beyond grateful my home, person and pets were unharmed. So many others lost everything. Loved ones, homes, businesses, entire communities - just gone. I honestly don’t remember how long we were cut off from the world. No communication, major highways gone or under landslides, nothing but sirens 24-7. No power. No water. A tiny solar powered radio was our only connection to our community. We would listen to the reports issued by the city at 4pm daily and hucked buckets of water up from a creek in the backyard to flush the toilet. Our neighborhood came together in a way that brings tears to my eyes as I write this.
We are still in a mess. Social media and the politeness of the screen cannot even begin to get close to what it’s like in real life. Nine days ago we got back potable water.
When Tropical Storm Fred hit in 2021, there were 6 deaths in the Western counties of NC. Hurricane Helene has a verified number of 103 as of yesterday, just in Buncomb County.
Reading back on what I wrote a few years ago, it feels pallid in comparison. It was the worst climate event I had ever been through, and I’ve been through my share of storms and hurricanes on the coast of NC. The water line was so high the smallest horses swam in their stalls to survive. The mud that came in and settled had cemented them in their stalls by the time we were able to get there. We walked them over a bridge we didn’t know would hold. In the morning, upon my return to take photos for the owners (they were out of the country) it was hard to process. Entire pastures with giant trees were fields of rocks and boulders. The mud was halfway up my shins. There was debris in the remaining trees over 10 feet up.
We had warning before Helene, but nothing and no one could have predicted what has happened.