Day 4802: Artist, Danny Gregory & Netherland's mushroom farming.

"Blocked": digital collage.

            

  

Want music?

    Click: Hall & Oates, When the Morning Comes.

 

2GN2S

Have you heard of 

Hi j.long:

The new shirt I’m wearing popped up in my email one day as a recommendation from some algorithm. The email told me that based on what I like, I would like this shirt.

The TV show I watched last night was recommended to me because of what I watched last week. Spotify builds me a new playlist every week. My Kindle suggests my next book. A lot of people watch my videos because YouTube thinks they’ll like them. TikTok and Instagram don’t even bother to offer me choices anymore. They just feed me more “content.”

Our whole world is geared to help us consume. It’s a system that makes it as effortless as a goose fattened through a funnel, a calf shackled in a pen.

I am what I eat. The more mainstreamed “content” I am fed, the more I become the same as “most people.” I lose my individuality and quirks. I listen to pop music, read bestsellers, watch top-ten hits. I sink to the mean, a sliver of predictable data, a rosy maw suckling on a firehouse.

Technology threatens to peel away more and more of my individuality, sand off the rough edges that stick up and jam the works, that slow down the ineluctable conveyor belts of progress. Except…

Except when I write something or draw something. When I go from gorging to creating. I make something that never existed before, something unique that only I can do.

Art is unpredictable. It’s different. It’s raw. It comes out of me, a concoction of all the popular crap I’ve snarfed down but also of my lifetime of experiences — the red-headed kid I played with in third grade, the hiccuping bark of my uncle’s cocker spaniel, the sunlight on my grandmother’s counterpane, the pong of the elevator in my first apartment building, my college roommate’s bassoon, the Chito® fragrance of my dog’s ears, my sister-in-law’s shepherd’s pie.

They’re all in there, diced small yet still piquant. No algorithm can contain all the nuances of my life’s experiences, but this sentence can, that drawing can. My creations contain and convey the irreducible, lumpy, bumpy, tasty essence of me. It doesn’t matter if it’s “good.” It’s me, dammit.

In fact, the whole idea of good and bad, of and  is just another infantilizing, facilitating mechanism of the world of algorithms. There’s no real “good” or “bad” because authentic things don’t need to be compared and sorted. They just are. Like trees and sunsets and babies’ smiles. Their realness is always .

​I vow to spend more time making and less taking. More creating and less consuming. That wonky expression of me is what makes me human and not a bot, a byte, an app, or a line of code. Not upgraded, not optimized, not perfect, not and not trying to be. Technology promises to make everything easier, faster, slicker, and more efficient. But that’s not necessarily better.

I suspect I need more resistance, more challenge, more bumps and curves, to force me to struggle upwards to where the view is pure. I suspect I need to struggle to write this essay better, to work on my drawing skills, to redraw and redraw again, to mix my own colors, make my own ink, bind my own sketchbook, to sweat, to fail, to learn, to grow.

I live in a golden age of ease and miracles. But I won’t forget I am descended from scrappy, hairy creatures who survived over millennia of wandering and foraging, adapting and questioning. They remade this planet with their calloused hands and oversized brains.

I mustn’t devolve into a binger and a whinger, a taker, not a maker. I celebrate my imperfection and give myself an opposable thumbs-up. 

Your pal, Danny

* I get Danny's essays free every Friday. Would like to get essays? 

 Go to DannysEssays.com 

I want to share ...

In Japan, the beauty of the chrysanthemum or kiku (菊) represents longevity, rejuvenation and nobility. The kiku is also admired because it begins to bloom just as other flowers are starting to succumb to the cold and frost of autumn and so its bloom is a pleasant reminder to be resilient. There is a saying from an old Chinese poem that I read which typified this idea of being hardy in the face of adversity: “The autumn chrysanthemum braves the frost.”

 

This metaphor reminds us that one’s true beauty comes out when they stand bravely in the face of adversity. As the seasonchanges,the kiku knows that the autumn cold is also coming but it still stands tall and blooms despite the fact that it will succumb at some point to the cold.

 

This idea of carrying out one’s duty despite imminent death is very samurai like. Does a martial art make one resilient or does it reveal what is already one’s nature? I am not sure. What I do know is that studying a martial art can change a person’s life because it teaches them how to understand themselves better which in turn makes them better human beings. When we know who we are, no amount of cold can affect us. The autumn chrysanthemum braves the frost to show us how to live our lives with a sense of grace, dignity and resilience.

Side note: "For me, this chrysanthemum reminds me of Fall football games in Indiana, where I was in college. Sororities each had a color, and ours was as shown above. Standing in the stadium, watching the helmeted warriors, it was a noisy, energy filled mass of movement and memories."

In the Netherlands, mushroom farming is reaching new heights-literally-through vertical columns crafted from recycled egg cartons. These innovative growing towers are part of a broader push toward sustainable, plastic-free agriculture. Instead of using plastic trays or synthetic grow bags, Dutch farmers repurpose used egg cartons into breathable, nutrient-friendly columns that mimic the natural conditions mushrooms love: dark, moist, and pest-resistant environments.

Each column is stacked floor to ceiling with layers of compressed egg carton material, forming a porous surface where mushroom spores can nest and sprout. The material retains moisture efficiently and allows air to circulate, reducing the risk of mold or rot. Most importantly, it deters common pests without the need for chemical sprays. The result is a clean, low-maintenance, and fully compostable growing system.

The mushrooms grown-such as oyster, shiitake, and lion's mane-thrive in these towers, which are installed in old shipping containers, unused warehouses, or even abandoned urban buildings. Some setups are hydroponic, while others use organic substrate mixes enriched with coffee grounds or plant waste. 

The entire system uses minimal water, no plastic, and produces a high yield on a small footprint.This method reflects the Netherlands' leadership in circular farming-where waste becomes a resource and every square meter is optimized. By turning humble egg cartons into vertical mushroom forests, Dutch farmers are proving that sustainability and innovation can sprout from the simplest materials.

 

  

 

A2  minute video, Pipe Dreams , here

 

  

 

Just because ...

Saddle-billed Stork 

 

Friday's Smiles ...