The Number of Inches Between Them

<p>The evening unfurled easily, mixing together long-time collaborators and strangers, farmers and urbanites, young and old. The tone was ceremonious, reflective, and unaffected. As the light changed, the attendees followed the artists’ presentations from a drawing exhibit in the hayloft to a performance of a short play in the greenhouse. One artist, with alluring music and poetry, led observers through the barn to the edge of the pasture. There was a song in the driveway, photocopied drawings handed out under the chestnut tree, and a frenetic movement piece involving almost all performers. And finally, a statement read by Hall. Backlit by the lights from the porch, Hall stood on the lawn and read a short reflection on their physical and emotional experience of <em>The Number of Inches Between Them</em>. In their eloquent and to-the-bone way, they ended by saying, “I did not realize until this week that the project’s critique of self-reliance and of the myth of able-bodiedness was taking place on a much smaller scale in its fabrication and installation. In the midst of feeling so powerless in relation to all this weight, I realized that I had made something that forced me to be taught, yet again, that I need lots of many kinds of help. The sculpture itself was teaching me, with my body, the thing that I need to know: No one ever does anything alone.”</p>