MAYBE SPRING WILL NEVER COME

Collaborative post-apocalyptic dinner party consisting of measly amounts of foraged and cooked foods for audiences to consume, and installed with scavenged materials, inappropriate ambience, and dismal light.

Highlights include – bits of homemade bread, home-brined lupini, foraged ramps, stunted pea shoots, old dates, and mystery juice.

What is it about the changing of the seasons that provides a sense of renewal within us? Is it the chance for new life, old life, growing life and decaying life to start over, (or start again) in the same span of years from birth ‘til death?

The act of survival and the act of growing – they can be considered synonymous. Without growth there is surely death. Without preparation there is surely demise. Is my grandfather so strange for returning to his garden year after year? We keep doing what little we can with what little we have, to make more from less. Especially, if there is any case in which less becomes even lesser than it was.

I want you to imagine that it stops.

February rolls in to March and the daffodil leaves stand stubbornly cocked waiting only to fall down.

Now I want you to pretend that eating is your job. It will take a long time because everything is measly and far apart. You might never feel full because of the distance between tiny mouthfuls, and consequently you could eat forever and never have time for anything else.

It could be okay. We could do most stuff indoors. We already do.

maybe spring will never comeis an opportunity to slow down and consider our position. As humans we tend to describe ourselves as operating outside of nature – artificial or man-made being the opposite of natural. At a time when our relationship with nature is becoming ever more tenuous, this project asks what we mean when we say artificial? Do we need to make this distinction? What is it to be human, and more importantly, what do we want to be?