To Be a Farmer in America

AÐ VERA BÓNDI Í A M E R Í KU

VALA KJARVAL

STATE UNIVERISTY OF NEW YORK AT OSWEGO

DEPARTMENT PHOTOGRAPHY INDEPENDENT STUDY DARKROOM INSTRUCTOR PAUL PEARCE FALL 2012

WITH THANKS TO SPRING LAKE FARM INGIMUNDUR KJARVAL TEMMA BELL MELKORKA KJARVAL PAUL PEARCE JULIEVE JUBIN

A Ð V E R A B Ó N D I Í A M E R Í KU TO BE A FARMER IN AMERICA

VA L A K J A R VA L

A Ð

V E R A

B Ó N D I

Í

A M E R Í K U

TO BE A FARMER IN AMERICA My father once told me an Icelandic saying, “bondi í vesturheim” translating to “a farmer in the western world.” The phrase originates from the trend in the 19th century of Icelandic farmers immigrating to Canada.

At that point in history, life in Iceland wasnt easy and the thought of a fresh start in a new country was appealing.

Some found success, however many found their new lives did not reach their preconceived expectations and discovered challenges foreign to them, such as mosquitoes.

The idea of the western hemisphere potentially offering a better life is as old as the discovery of North America by the Norse in 1000. The American manifest destiny was derived from the same frame of mind. Leave your life behind, go west and find wealth. Romantic idealizations of what new land can provide is the basis of the American dream, in which ones past does not dictate future successes. Conceptually the freedom that Americans are provided with is enough for achieving success through hard work regardless of circumstances of birth. The image of American farming has been long intertwined with the idea of the American dream. Today, I wonder how the American Dream holds up. Are farmers are actually capable of fulfilling the American dream anymore? Or is there little room left for success?

The industry has been progressively dominated by large factory farming, leaving little opportunity for success. Dairy production for example used to be a profitable industry for upstate New York, now only relics of that time remain.

In the 1950s a farmer could live comfortably with a small dairy operation. Opposed to today when the few that remain struggle to survive. Farmers were forced to compete with larger scale farms and expensive modern technology.

Most of these farms today are either abandoned, leaving belongings behind.

Silos litter the landscape like gravestones, marking farms that once existed. Silos, iconic symbols of American farmland ironically lead to a number of farms to drown in debt.

Farmers were encouraged to invest in the new technology with promises of increased productivity but in the end could not afford the costs and were forced to declare bankruptcy.

Idealized bits of past American identity colliding with the reality of today is a consideration throughout my photographic work. Systems that may have worked successfully fifty years ago but fail today, that still exist as malfunctioning reminders of what was. Physical manifestations of an older version of American dream decaying while others spring to life to redefine it.

At the same time iconography such as silos gain new definitions, the idea of what it means to be a farmer is also redefined. Today some small scale farmers stand on the cusp of regaining their dominance in the industry and find themselves in a strange purgatory before finding success.

Despite the odds small scale farms face, a shift in the food market has given hope to regaining a foothold.

Rise of popularity of organic, hormone-free, grass-fed, ethically produced or local food movements in the past few years has given circumstances for farmers to grow. One of them being Spring Lake Farm, located in upstate New York State and run by my family. Born and raised in Iceland, my father Ingimundur Kjarval moved to America after he married my mother, Temma Bell, a painter. He has been raising livestock in New York State since 1985 with the knowledge he learned firsthand in the Icelandic countryside as a boy. My father became a farmer in the west, bondi í vesturheim. A landscape of trees and hills foreign to Icelanders now defines his home.

Until a few years ago my father primarily raised sheep and sold the livestock directly to market. Being a small scale farm during a time in which factory farm monopolized the industry posed a challenge for my parents. For a brief time my father considered breeding Arabian horses instead. Unimpressed with the profits and at the end of their rope, my parents decided to take a risk and invest in a new structure.

Appealing to customers interested in hormone-free and grass-fed meat my parents began to raise cattle, pork and most recently poultry. Instead of selling the livestock wholesale in a market, my parents now have it processed at a slaughter house and then sell the cuts directly to customers locally or as far as New York City.

As I enter my twenties, I find myself watching the farm I grew up be redefined and evolve into something new late

in its life once again. Before my family owned our property it was like many others in our area, a dairy farm. Remnants of Spring Lake Farm’s past life as a dairy operation still exist, whether it be the rusting Chevy truck tucked away in the woods or the old barn slowly returning to the earth. As I grow out of my childhood dresses, the farm too grows out of its parts that no longer serve any purpose.

As both my parents and I age, I question the promise of the American dream. All my life I have witnessed both of my parents work extremely hard to make a living but only find themselves on cusp of true success later in life. By definition, isn’t the American dream a promise of rewarding hard labor? Possibly my question reflects my age and naivety and neglects to factor all of life’s complications.

Að vera bóndi í Ameríku, to be a farmer in America; a romantic notion. I am unsettled if the idealized American dream is still relevant or if it like many old tools has lost its purpose. In this body of work I proudly stand witness to my parents journey and rather than attempt to answer the question, I explore what it means to be a farmer.

Vala Kjarval

THE LANDSCAPE

REDEFINITIONS

F U T H E R I N F O R M AT I O N Vala Kjarval is a Cinema and Screen Studies Student focusing in Photography, Cinematography and Film Theory at SUNY Oswego.

She can be contacted at vkjarval@hotmail.com.

INFLUENCES August Sander’s series, “People of the 20th Century” 1911 Micheal Tumming’s series, “Hidden” 2011 Susan Worsham’s series, “Blood Work” 2012

CAMERAS USED Yashica D Nikon 2000

FILM USED 35mm Kodak Tri-X 400 35mm Ilford Delta 400 120 Kodak T-Max 400