Time and Labor

Time and labor.  These unquantifiable properties, that are most often thought of in relation to their value, their measure.  How much time?  How much work? What is all of this worth?  I think about my time and labor often; more often than I would like at times.  As I find my way as a teacher, artist, volunteer, (and like many blooming teachers and artists, server at a local restaurant) I am often asked, either by others or myself to quantify my time, my labor.  It's rare that I feel I'm getting what I deserve monetarily from many of these pursuits, but, it's worth it.  How do I know this?  I don't.  What is interesting about all of these constructs: time, money, labor; is that the value they hold is not inherent, it is assigned.  Not only assigned, but guarded by each of us.  None of us want to waste our time, our work, our worth.
These were among my thoughts I as made my way to the museum yesterday, organizing my "to do" list in my head, and thinking: given how guarded many of us are about sharing our money or time or labor, the willingness of people to volunteer to contribute to this work of art is really quite amazing.

It's funny how experience can confirm your musings.  When I arrived at the museum, the first evidence I saw of volunteer contributions made to the piece, was in the bobbin wall.  It definitely appeared to me to be thicker with more spools of thread.  Also, more telling were the bobbins that, rather than being composed of one thread or analogous threads, were contrasting threads combined on one bobbin, giving subtle spice to the smooth spectrum. 

I also saw depleted quantities of quills, the paper spindles on which the bobbins are wound.  I sat down to create more of these first.  A woman, who was waiting on a group of friends also sat down to make quills with me.  It seemed that her group, part of a weaver's guild, had come to the museum with the task of making quills.  All museum visitors can make quills as well as bobbins, but the process is a bit more finicky, and does not reap the reward of watching the thread build into a colorful little mas
Shortly thereafter, Jason Brown's sculpture class, from UTK came into the exhibit and were led through the bobbin winding process by Chris Molinski.
It was so satisfying to see the whole room filled with participants.  The room is designed very much like a factory, in rows all facing the same direction, so the sounds become hushed small words between people sitting next to one another as they focus on their task.  A friend from the class comes to sit next to me, and like me, he becomes amazed by the whirring thread.  He mentions he'd like to come back and bring friends.
This contrast between the overall construct of this piece: that visitors become laborers, factory workers doing a repetitive task, their small part becoming a colorful stripe in the cloth against the individual experience of creating each bobbin, the meditation that occurs, the focus on a small thread, is such a lovely metaphor.  The key to this balance seems to be the color.  I wonder if we were all endlessly winding gray thread if we would feel the same ownership, the same sense of value in our efforts.
I take a relatively small spool of gray thread from the table and get to winding.  I figure I can probably finish off this spool in the time I've allotted to be at the museum today.  I will test my tolerance for uniformity.  I wind the first bobbin of gray thread.  It's smooth and a good weight and winds smoothly.  I wind two more.  I abandon my experiment.  I need pink. And yellow, and blue. Gray just doesn't seem worth it today.