I learned something after surviving a life altering brain surgery. When I struggled to speak coherently, I could write coherently. I am a visual artist and this has always been true for me in my creative life. I create to hear what I am thinking, to catch the fragments that hang in midair, the unseen that longs to be discovered and expressed.
Again, this writer speaks from the heart of not only the difficult, but the place where art often emerges: in the wound. I do hope you are, as I said earlier, writing a Substack on art!
I am smitten by the Elizabeth Bishop poem. There are cultures in which women (why it always has to be the woman I do not understand) following the birth of a child will sacrifice something small; a lock of hair, a favorite bowl, and each year the offering gets progressively more difficult so when the child is offered to their community and is no longer just their child. In this way they are being prepared for the ultimate loss.
I read this offering twice now, Mary. I keep thinking about the idea of finding the narrative of our own lives. I think maybe art, for me, is that—both in the making and the consumption of it. In making story or poetry (and I think this applies to visual art and dance and music and art in all its sundry forms too) the shapes and threads tell me who I am, who I aspire to be, who we are, who we might be, how we separate ourselves from and return to the natural world (for aren’t we all / isn’t everything the natural world?)
And maybe, too, we make art to try to be as beautiful and complex and simple as the trees that turn into seed and the ocean that becomes cloud. How can we not see all that wonder and try to make it too? Isn’t mimicry the best form of flattery?
Ha, now I’m just riffing. Thanks for this piece that allowed me to take a mind wander and share it.
Why do I make art? I'm not sure I'm making art but I think I'm making something necessary. To discover something I don't know but that something may be the answer to a question consciously asked but maybe even more revelatory to a question that I'd never thought of asking. Now, you got me thinking Mary:)) Love from Palermo xo
I do not make Art. I am not creative person. But I absorb art. I live by art of others. But it is always Art of the past, and your serious essay roused in me so many, not so serious memories: I am at the lecture of History of Communist Party of SU. Instead of writing after professor, I am engrossed in the banned Nietzsche's Thus spoke Zarathustra, shabby book published before revolution. I have some personal relations with Kafka and his (I and mine) father. Virginia Woolf: Walking along beautiful ocean beach I imagined how happy I will be to enter some day this magnificent luminous water and not come back. My thoughts were about Virginia Woolf. Of course, these writers, as V. Woolf said "go alone", their alienation from society is caused by making their Art.
I love the way you express your thoughts here. You underestimate your innate gift, Larisa, and I've been teaching a long time and can see that gift in this comment, so beautifully, imagistic, wonderfully expressed. xo ~ Mary
Mary, thank you very much for such an incredible compliment. If you read my story War by Eyes of a Child, you would know, how old I am and it's too late to learn anything. I already wrote my memoir Wrong Country, which I offer to read on substack. It's my the only creation and it's not art. It is only a memoir about Soviet Russia.
It's never too late. Think of Penelope Fitzgerald who won the Booker prize at age 80. I have a lesson on her! If you comment on the course and send me links to your memoir portions via the comments with any questions or concerns, I will help you. A memoir about Soviet Russia is key, particularly now.
I will reread Penelope Fitzgerald, not because I wont to win Booker prize but because I would like l read your lesson on her. Mary, I am absolutely ignorant about any links besides Email, so I don't know what to do. But substack is open to you and me, so you can read my stories any time, as I understand. And thank you again!
thanks for this rich feast of ideas and the question - why make art? I agree w/ Liz and others, it's a bit like asking why breathe? Can't help it. Another question that stays with me was asked by one of my MFA mentors during a reading - What makes it art?
The question of finding a narrative shape for a life is intriguing. It seems to work for episodes, but not (yet?) the whole thing, if that makes sense. Reading those critics and your thoughts, I felt very sad that modern people (not "man") have made ourselves lonely by separating from the living world into a world entirely made by, for, and about us. Time to break free!
Such a thought provoking offering. It’s comforting to read the brilliant minds in quandary, seeking some sort of sense in the senselessness. I love your phrase, “all the ways life betrays the living”?”
Though, on reflection, does life betray us, or do we betray ourselves with expectations and resentments? Maybe life is just getting on with it, without considering us at all.
I loved this as well. It says so simply and directly what stories are. And they examine how do people respond to these betrayals, and why do they respond the way they do? Thought provoking essay, I’ll be thinking about it.
I'm with Liz in my answer. I just had this image, quite suddenly, now, of being a child on the beach, in the sand, and reaching my hands into it and beginning to shift it around, push and mold, make something. And few, I think, would ask the child why they do it.
Love this Mary. Some of my very favorite works weaved together so seamlessly. Now I must go back to Nietzsche! And Kundera cycles to him and Kafka, also questioning this narrative direction, as you say. Thanks you I shall keep thinking about this!
I learned something after surviving a life altering brain surgery. When I struggled to speak coherently, I could write coherently. I am a visual artist and this has always been true for me in my creative life. I create to hear what I am thinking, to catch the fragments that hang in midair, the unseen that longs to be discovered and expressed.
Again, this writer speaks from the heart of not only the difficult, but the place where art often emerges: in the wound. I do hope you are, as I said earlier, writing a Substack on art!
I am smitten by the Elizabeth Bishop poem. There are cultures in which women (why it always has to be the woman I do not understand) following the birth of a child will sacrifice something small; a lock of hair, a favorite bowl, and each year the offering gets progressively more difficult so when the child is offered to their community and is no longer just their child. In this way they are being prepared for the ultimate loss.
What eloquent and moving words that, in fact, does more than build on my essay; it expands what I tried to say. I hope you are writing a Substack!
Thank you so much. I am ready to tiptoe into this platform. I appreciate your encouragement.
GO!
I read this offering twice now, Mary. I keep thinking about the idea of finding the narrative of our own lives. I think maybe art, for me, is that—both in the making and the consumption of it. In making story or poetry (and I think this applies to visual art and dance and music and art in all its sundry forms too) the shapes and threads tell me who I am, who I aspire to be, who we are, who we might be, how we separate ourselves from and return to the natural world (for aren’t we all / isn’t everything the natural world?)
And maybe, too, we make art to try to be as beautiful and complex and simple as the trees that turn into seed and the ocean that becomes cloud. How can we not see all that wonder and try to make it too? Isn’t mimicry the best form of flattery?
Ha, now I’m just riffing. Thanks for this piece that allowed me to take a mind wander and share it.
Eloquent and inspiring, Holly.
Why do I make art? I'm not sure I'm making art but I think I'm making something necessary. To discover something I don't know but that something may be the answer to a question consciously asked but maybe even more revelatory to a question that I'd never thought of asking. Now, you got me thinking Mary:)) Love from Palermo xo
I taught you for a long time: I assert with no doubt that you are indeed making art, my friend!
I do not make Art. I am not creative person. But I absorb art. I live by art of others. But it is always Art of the past, and your serious essay roused in me so many, not so serious memories: I am at the lecture of History of Communist Party of SU. Instead of writing after professor, I am engrossed in the banned Nietzsche's Thus spoke Zarathustra, shabby book published before revolution. I have some personal relations with Kafka and his (I and mine) father. Virginia Woolf: Walking along beautiful ocean beach I imagined how happy I will be to enter some day this magnificent luminous water and not come back. My thoughts were about Virginia Woolf. Of course, these writers, as V. Woolf said "go alone", their alienation from society is caused by making their Art.
Your eloquent, moving comment defines your creativity. You are a writer at heart. Look at my course here: https://marytabor.substack.com/s/write-it-how-to-get-started
I love the way you express your thoughts here. You underestimate your innate gift, Larisa, and I've been teaching a long time and can see that gift in this comment, so beautifully, imagistic, wonderfully expressed. xo ~ Mary
Mary, thank you very much for such an incredible compliment. If you read my story War by Eyes of a Child, you would know, how old I am and it's too late to learn anything. I already wrote my memoir Wrong Country, which I offer to read on substack. It's my the only creation and it's not art. It is only a memoir about Soviet Russia.
It's never too late. Think of Penelope Fitzgerald who won the Booker prize at age 80. I have a lesson on her! If you comment on the course and send me links to your memoir portions via the comments with any questions or concerns, I will help you. A memoir about Soviet Russia is key, particularly now.
I will reread Penelope Fitzgerald, not because I wont to win Booker prize but because I would like l read your lesson on her. Mary, I am absolutely ignorant about any links besides Email, so I don't know what to do. But substack is open to you and me, so you can read my stories any time, as I understand. And thank you again!
Here's the link to the Penelope Fitzgerald lesson, Larisa: https://marytabor.substack.com/p/the-blue-flower-by-penelope-fitzgerald
thanks for this rich feast of ideas and the question - why make art? I agree w/ Liz and others, it's a bit like asking why breathe? Can't help it. Another question that stays with me was asked by one of my MFA mentors during a reading - What makes it art?
The question of finding a narrative shape for a life is intriguing. It seems to work for episodes, but not (yet?) the whole thing, if that makes sense. Reading those critics and your thoughts, I felt very sad that modern people (not "man") have made ourselves lonely by separating from the living world into a world entirely made by, for, and about us. Time to break free!
What glorious thoughts that build on mine with heart and soul, my virtual friend.
A great question, Mary, and you have provided lots of delicious food for thought here! Thank you.
I so want to hear more from you, beautiful, soulful writer!
Such a thought provoking offering. It’s comforting to read the brilliant minds in quandary, seeking some sort of sense in the senselessness. I love your phrase, “all the ways life betrays the living”?”
I loved that phrase too - it stopped time for a moment
Though, on reflection, does life betray us, or do we betray ourselves with expectations and resentments? Maybe life is just getting on with it, without considering us at all.
I do wonder exactly that, Julie. The line comes from my short story "Guarding the Pie" where maybe it does fit.
I loved this as well. It says so simply and directly what stories are. And they examine how do people respond to these betrayals, and why do they respond the way they do? Thought provoking essay, I’ll be thinking about it.
Thank you, Stephanie. I can't stop thinking: Exactly, as you eloquently phrase your comment.
That line: In the short story "Guarding the Pie" --and don't we need to guard the pie!
I'm with Liz in my answer. I just had this image, quite suddenly, now, of being a child on the beach, in the sand, and reaching my hands into it and beginning to shift it around, push and mold, make something. And few, I think, would ask the child why they do it.
I’m with Mary— love this metaphor.
Isn't Jay Adler grand. Not a question: forgive that: watching _The Devil Wears Prada_ -- one of Miranda's (Merly Streep's} lines.
But an answer nonetheless: He is! 😉
Would you believe I’ve never watched The Devil Wears Prada?! Must remedy that, I know.
Oh, you guys! Stop it. I break out when I blush! Holly, you have to see it. It's so much fun. Everyone is wonderful, but Streep Streeps, divinely.
I make art because it's who I am, and I can't NOT make art.
Me either, love.
Love this Mary. Some of my very favorite works weaved together so seamlessly. Now I must go back to Nietzsche! And Kundera cycles to him and Kafka, also questioning this narrative direction, as you say. Thanks you I shall keep thinking about this!
You are lovely, Kathleen. Do stay in touch.
As always, searching and probing the literary arts and provoking deeper thought among those that follow.
Charles Hampton Gragg
Charles, Thank you so and good to hear from you!