Hawk & Handsaw: The Journal of Creative Sustainability


Introduction
Homeward Bound

“I am but mad north-north-west. When the wind is southerly I know a hawk from a handsaw.” (Hamlet Act II, Scene 2)

When Shakespeare’s Hamlet says he knows the difference between a hawk and a handsaw, he is asserting far more than his ability to identify objects. To begin with, there is the pleasing duplicity in his choice of comparison: the hawk is both raptor and carpenter’s tool. As such, it embodies liveliness and growth. By contrast, the handsaw severs and divides—splitting wholes back into an aggregate of parts.

Both tools have a place in the construction of homes and ideas. But knowing when to employ one or the other takes a mind that is simultaneously practical and clever. It’s easy to assume that Hamlet was neither: certainly his friends and relatives were inclined to accept the grief-stricken madman routine he so enthusiastically dons in Act II of the play. But, as scholars have been reminding us since the early 17th century, this “protective madness” is shrewd business indeed. Not only does it prevent Hamlet from prosecution (under Renaissance jurisprudence, a person found insane could not be punished for a capital crime), it also grants him the space he
needs to exercise a new kind of inquiry: one in which he can throw off the mantle of his Wittenberg education, eschew the ‘saws of books,’ and ultimately find more satisfying modes of truth-telling.

We, too, are interested in an alternative kind of narrative. Not, mind you, one about familial fidelity in the Danish kingdom, but rather, about sustainable ways of being in the world. Like Hamlet we, too, know which way the wind blows. We know that living a sustainable life can be messy and meaningful—that it requires reflection, deep philosophical commitment, and (more often than not) a good sense of humor

Hawk & Handsaw, then, was born out of a deceptively simple pair of truisms: first, reflective sustainability is crucially important to the collective health of our planet; secondly, figuring out how to be successfully sustainable requires a lot of thought and no small amount of patience and whimsy. This is a journal that celebrates the care and deliberation behind both of these maxims, as well as the triumphs and foibles we inevitably meet along the way. Contradictory? Perhaps. However, we can’t help but hear the ghost of Ralph Waldo Emerson, gently reminding us that a foolish consistency can be more troubling than the specter of a murdered father. With that paraphrased maxim in mind, we here at Hawk & Handsaw value work that questions the status quo either in content or presentation—work that bumps up against convention and genre, and even gives either one of them a good nudge now and then. Through this innovation, we hope to discover a new narrative for the discourse of creative sustainability.

This, our inaugural issue, examines notions of home. We chose this theme deliberately as a tribute to the classic idea of ecological home: the Greek oikos—that from which we come, and the place where we so often return. This word maintains a familiar saliency in our cultural discourse because it resonates for us in so many different ways: from confronting the multi-species effects of climate change to embracing that part of ourselves still residing in a disused tire swing or grandmother’s teacup, home is one of the most powerful reminders of where we fit in the universe.

The contributors to this issue of Hawk & Handsaw offer an appealingly multivalent account of oikos. For some of our authors, home is second nature—the unshakable, grounding core; the sacred that makes our lives seem real. For others, it is the place we need to escape in order to find ourselves or that strange little space we try (with varying degrees of success) to make our own. Read in concert, these voices reaffirm what we have suspected all along: the notion of home is an undeniably complex one—whether we are finding it, accepting it,
or coaxing it into vitality.

The same might be said for the art appearing in this issue. The artists represented here address the notion of home in a sidelong fashion: there are no attempts at the grand statement, but rather, close observations of the particulars that sustain us. Twigs and water and reflections and the accretions in a junkpile: these images speak of the mundane as well as the exalted. The nearby gas station is as much a part of our home as the snow that lies on the branches. Some pieces reframe the familiar. There are the sweaters transformed into feats of labor and abject heroism, ice and hay illuminated and picked out by light, and abstractions that complicate and simplify. All of speak to the work and play and endurance of living.

We couldn’t imagine a better testament to the importance of creative sustainability.

There is a power and beauty to the sum of these contributors’ parts. But it doesn’t come without a cost. Launching a new print journal in a time of resource depletion and concern over material waste is audacious at best. For that reason, the editorial staff of Hawk & Handsaw is committed to leaving the smallest environmental footprint possible. In preparing for the publication of this issue, we spent at least as much time deliberating over how to construct it as we did what to include within it. In the end, we struck a compromise we think embodies a lived sustainability. The paper you hold is manufactured by Boise Cascade and contains a minimum of 30% post-consumer fiber; the remaining 70% is harvested from mix-sourced stands certified by the Forestry Stewardship Council. Both are processed using biogas energy. There are paper products out there with higher post-consumer content—and some that may score higher green ratings. We remain committed, however, to the idea of access for our readers and, in the end, decided that making the price of this journal affordable for the everyday subscriber is an important part of sustainability, too.

Economy—another kind of oikos—also dictated our printing values. We have partnered with a community designer and nearby printer for the production of this journal. Doing so helps support the local business economy and reduces the overall carbon footprint of this publication.

Thanks for reading—and welcome to Hawk & Handsaw. 
-Kathryn Miles, editor