A sunny afternoon at Get Bentz Farm

Living in New York City reminds me of all the things I miss from my homeland of Minnesota. The kind people, the ever-present nature, but mostly the slower pace of life. My good friends Theresa and Jake own Get Bentz Farm and are are some of the kindest humans that I’ve met. A few years back I was lucky enough to visit their farm for a hearty meal and an autumn sheep shearing.

They live on a beautiful acreage, producing beautiful wool from sheep that they raise from lambs, a year-round commitment to their craft. Living a life far removed from the hustle and bustle of the city has provided comfort, and an added layer of responsibility that I can barely imagine. During my visit, I settled into a calm I hadn’t felt in ages, a testament to slower living.

“After growing up in the city, we felt a need to be more connected to where our food came from. In 2014, we found a farmhouse for sale with a barn & a little acreage where we could start our farm.”

“We raise Icelandic sheep on our beautiful farm which overlooks the Cannon River Valley.

We source local fibers & turn them into beautiful roving for yarn. Our sheep graze on 30 acres of woods and prairie, using sustainable practices, ensuring that they are healthy and happy.”

I had no idea what the process of shearing sheep looked like, but it was strangely elegant, kind, and fun to observe. Marcus Irrthum is a professional shearer who works across North America and partners with the farm to handle their sheep. The process of shearing, cleaning, and spinning the wool is fascinating and efficent, requiring a steady hand, a lot of muscle strength, and patience.

Once a year, the Bentz family has a crew of shearers, friends, fellow farmers (and in this case photographers,) come join for a day of intense work and a potluck to follow. Returning to this environment gave me new insight into the labor and care involved in producing clothing from scratch. It very much made me reconsider my approach to fashion and sustainability.

This wool-producing practice has been utilized for generations, and produces the most water-resistent, anti-microbial clean sweaters, socks, carpets, and workwear. They sell their sustainably produced garments and wool here. Something I’ve been thinking about a lot in the past few years in the harm fast-fashion has on the earth, from waste water to microplastics. Wool truly is one of the most sustainable fabrics that exisits.

“We shear the sheep in the spring and fall. Their winter coat is wonderful for bedding, spinning, yarn, and felted products.”

Life on the farm is consistent work, but the relationship the Bentz family has with their animals feels holistic and happy. You can tell simply from looking at these photos that their ecosystem is balanced, and there’s a mutual respect between human, animal, and the land. I absolutely fell in love with their wares and lifestyle.

I can’t wait to visit my friends back in Minnesota for another meal, good conversation, and hopefully a cozy pair of socks. You should look into visiting their farm, too. Connect with them online and their Instagram to help support local farmers doing good things for the environment.

Six years, eight months, and ten days ago...

Back in 2017, I had only ever experienced life in Minneapolis. I abhorred the company that I worked for. My team showed no interest in helping me grow, and I had no interest in investing creatively in the work I produced. During my downtime, I lived in a stunning exposed-brick loft in the heart of downtown with my cat Sumi, a parking spot in a neighboring garage, rooftop access, all the city at my doorstep—it seemed like the quintessential life for a 30-year-old.

In reality, I loathed my existence. I indulged in countless fried meals per week and drank excessively, all while ignoring my body’s plea for workouts, exploring the outdoors, and breaking out of a vicious work-sleep-repeat cycle. While hosting social gatherings, I found myself unable to be fully present when my friends arrived. I was ensnared in a life of stagnation and low vibes, without realizing how far I’d fallen. I knew that there was more out there… I just had no idea where to find it.

Luckily, around the same time, I took my first trip to New York City to visit dear friends and see a live Goldfrapp concert in Brooklyn. Her music has always provided me with solace, and I find that during periods of transition, I’ve always been able to travel to see her perform, leading to major revelations each time. On the subway to the venue, I noticed something odd— I had eyeliner on and was dressed exceptionally gay for the concert, yet not a single soul batted an eye at my appearance! At this moment I realized that I felt a level of acceptance that I’d never experienced prior... and it was exceptional. Anonymity is a blessing after years of being stared at for no reason—and I felt at home for the first time in my life.

Soon after the concert, I met up with another friend who worked near Domino Park in Williamsburg. We got falafel and strolled down to a charming enclave with weathered wood benches, illuminated by the golden-hour sunset. It was the first time that I had ever seen the city from this vantage point, and a thought hit me like electricity:

“I could live here.
This could be my view,
every single day.”

I embraced this idea as my new mantra, resigning from my job within the year, transitioning to full-time freelance, and parting with all my belongings, which I sold to my supportive and amazing community of artists in Minneapolis, many of whom have become my closest friends, and biggest supporters. For the first time, I felt a deep passion and clarity, knowing what I needed to do to pursue my happiness. I also managed to save more money than ever before and set a move-out date for April Fool’s Day, (which was pleasantly on the nose for my detractors). My best friend, cat, and Honda CR-V embarked on a 2-day journey from Saint Paul to Brooklyn, and this marked the beginning of the most important journey I've ever undertaken, all spurred by that golden hour sunset.

My favorite part is, through COVID, through every hard layoff, and through every moment of heartbreak, this park and this view of the city has been the backdrop of my spiritual moments of healing. I talk to the city often. I've meditated to this view, cried to this view, and learned that the city truly listens to me when I need it the most. It's always given me what I need.

Before I leave for London later this month, I’m going to sit in Domino Park and thank New York for everything it’s done for me over the last five and a half years. I will think back to the time, six years, eight months, and 10 days ago, when I first laid eyes on this view, and everything fell into place.

My reluctance & acceptance of AI art

When I was a kid I’d spend hours doodling in notepads. To alleviate boredom during church or when my imagination went into hyperdrive after 10pm under a blanket fort, I’d create scenes of house cross-sections, tiny stick families within their prospective rooms, a forest with moving trees, roots connected and communicating (which I read about in a book years ago). I’d painstakingly craft a scene with construction crews building skyscrapers, their little cranes hoisting metal beams, dump trucks hauling rocks and supplies… though I had never seen construction like this in real life, I could create an accurate version because Incredible Cross Sections by Stephen Biesty was one of my favorite books, and my dad built residential homes for a living.

As I became a teenager, my interests began to favor theater, tennis, dating pretty girls, parties and playing hours of computer games… my creativity and time spent doodling slowly slipped away, fading to memories that my mom safely tucked away in storage.

Now at 37, I’ve realized that spending time mindfully—recreating those childhood creativity binges—is crucial to my mental health and daily fulfillment. These days finding myself lost for hours in “the flow” is a very rare phenomenon. If it can be reached at all, it’s usually quite brief, and replaced by long hours of work and responsibilities.

Because of this disconnect I’ve started devoting a certain amount of time per day to making. I call these creativity breaks “hour glass sessions” based on a tremendous hour glass timer that I purchased online. The actual dimensions of the timer turned out to be similar to a tall desk lamp, versus the size of a bottle of cologne as I had anticipated. When flipped over the sand doesn’t fully empty for an hour and a half. This is the perfect amount of time for making decent progress in a novel, starting a watercolor painting, reading a spread of tarot cards, doodling in Procreate, or as I’ve discovered, rendering AI art.

This last action feels slightly controversial as a practicing artist and designer, a lot of my friends and colleagues have very strong negative opinions on AI, and rightfully so! It’s a terrifying, awe-inspiring, life-changing set of tools that can in theory eliminate countless jobs. Conversely, it can inspire artists to create any visual image without supplies, budgets, or resources standing in the way of imagination.

I got a membership for Midjourney during one of the initial beta phases. When I rendered my first image, I was absolutely blown away by the detail in the scene I had described with a few sentences.

“A tomato vine in a sunbeam.
Crumbling bricks along an
English garden wall.”

The first image looked nearly photo-real. I made several different versions, moved onto a man in a cathedral with stained glass in the background, then a global village with black and white ceramics and onyx sand. Soon after, an ocean-side village with intricately designed terra-cotta pottery. I ran out of free renderings and instantly bought a membership to the site.

The thing that really struck me is that I get lost… the same feeling of pure creativity I had when I was a kid. I found “the flow” yet again, imagination running wild, thinking of how anything could be created, the only roadblock being how well I could write, what prompts were imagined, and of course how horrible earlier versions of Midjourney were at rendering fingers.

Today, we’re in a much more solid beta, the program knows how to create hands for the most part, and AI’s integration into our daily software and lives has expanded rapidly: Photoshop, Illustrator, Squarespace, even Spotify has AI features baked in. I saw an article talking about how people absolutely lost their shit when Xerox introduced the copy machine in 1970, how it would be the end of writers, how the creative world would go down in flames with this new form of techno-oppression!

I understand the initial hesitancy with AI. After all, having your industry change and embrace a new technology overnight is jarring. We don’t truly know what this software means for our jobs yet. However, after playing with it intimately for a few months, I feel confident that AI does have limitations and it’s a tool for creatives, not a replacement for us. Check out my renderings from Midjourney on Instagram.

Let me know your thoughts in the comments below on all things AI and art.