I think the unknown is terrifying; that's why photography is less stressful. You start with something you see even if you end with something else, but it feels like a safer starting place. The blank sheet always frightens me tho what emerges is a surprise and a delight (when it works) to discover. When I write, if I don't surprise myself then I may as well not bother because I write to self-communicate and one of my selves doesn't know what might appear and writes to find out. Lovely piece.
I like that—starting with a sensation. I draw with black sharpies on white paper. I was making monotypes, but they started piling up and the entire enterprise was becoming cumbersome—materials, space, teachers to help. I stopped. Lately, I’ve come back to my sharpies, to where I started. Good luck.
Actually many poets and novelists describe these artists experience of following the words that seem to come from…who knows? Maybe essayists often begin with an idea—or an opinion and artists just let the materials speak. Also, “recording” the words as they emerge seems riskier. The writer has to be willing to face unambiguous truth and then find the courage to share it with readers. It seems to me you have developed into a very fine essayist. But if you are itching for another art form, I’d say go for it!
Thanks for your encouragement. I like the feeling of approaching all avenues of expression as a child who can't make mistakes because there are no mistakes. I don't really think I start with an idea, more like a sensation which then resolves into an idea or ideas.
Risking not-knowing looks to me like changing the lighting above and around a mirror. What if I soften the light? What if I don't see the wrinkles around my eyes? What if I start to see myself as more beautiful than the way my mind interprets my usual image? What does the person I am then have to say? And how shall I say it?
Swimming or floating, yes. Soooo right on. And I suspect, in that vein, you'll love my next three weeks' posts... <grin> (Where are the substack emojis!??)
I feel like there might be an elephant in this essay. Something—everything— is upsetting you terribly. “Not knowing how we’ll survive this horror show and, of course, for all my pretense of living in the questions, when it comes down to it I ache for answers.” Write about it. Please.
Alice...Each time I sit down to write, no matter what the primary focus is, the looming crises threaten to overshadow the subject. I am determined not to burden readers with undigested darkness over and over again. We all know what the issues are and I want to speak to them when I have something new to say. Otherwise, I find that I prefer to acknowledge what we're up against and wait with as much patience as I can muster to make a contribution. How does that compare with your process?
Sure, if you don't want a seriously organized approach. I'd be happy to look at stuff you want to send me and send feedback. Just one or two pieces at a time, though. How does that sound?
That's very kind of you and I might take you up on your offer at some later date. At the moment, I'm not there yet. Maybe what I'm looking for is suggestions for reading poetry...for specific reasons. This poet is wonderful with rhythm. This other poet has a gift for vernacular language. Something like that.
Oh, Susie, I have had this internal conversation all my life. I want to create, but I know that I do not channel inspiration from outside myself. There's nothing mystical about what I do. My creativity is limited to playing around with words. It has taken me years to accept that that's enough.
I'm touched by your response, Don, and amazed that I find myself wanting to "fix" it just the way I try to fix everything else. Part of this desire to wander in the paradise of not knowing is learning to forgo that temptation. You do what you do and you do it so well.
Many thanks, Richard. I'm looking for more focused guidance...Like someone to suggest poets to focus on who, for example, have a gift for rhythms or poets with a great ear for the vernacular. I don't feel up to wading into the deep water of all of poetry.
What an anthology does is expose you to the field. When you see something that clicks, you can check out that poet. If you want a suggestion try Raymond Carver, Rita Dove, or Mary Oliver.
Dearest Susie, I tremble on the edge of the unexpected unknown every time I sit down at my bench to make my jewels( or when I sit down to write). Every creative act requires acceptance that the materials (metals or words) insist that I allow, permit, open. Will Rogers said, "Go out on a limb. That's where the fruit is." Unsupported, "a swinger of birches". Love, too. Hugs, Linda
I think the unknown is terrifying; that's why photography is less stressful. You start with something you see even if you end with something else, but it feels like a safer starting place. The blank sheet always frightens me tho what emerges is a surprise and a delight (when it works) to discover. When I write, if I don't surprise myself then I may as well not bother because I write to self-communicate and one of my selves doesn't know what might appear and writes to find out. Lovely piece.
Thinking about multiple selves could be very useful. I tend to posit a level of overall control that is undoubtedly an illusion.
I like that—starting with a sensation. I draw with black sharpies on white paper. I was making monotypes, but they started piling up and the entire enterprise was becoming cumbersome—materials, space, teachers to help. I stopped. Lately, I’ve come back to my sharpies, to where I started. Good luck.
Actually many poets and novelists describe these artists experience of following the words that seem to come from…who knows? Maybe essayists often begin with an idea—or an opinion and artists just let the materials speak. Also, “recording” the words as they emerge seems riskier. The writer has to be willing to face unambiguous truth and then find the courage to share it with readers. It seems to me you have developed into a very fine essayist. But if you are itching for another art form, I’d say go for it!
Thanks for your encouragement. I like the feeling of approaching all avenues of expression as a child who can't make mistakes because there are no mistakes. I don't really think I start with an idea, more like a sensation which then resolves into an idea or ideas.
As you risk the vulnerability of not knowing, you risk becoming an even better writer, Susie.
Talkin’ to myself here, too… scary powerful risk.
What does that look like for you?
Risking not-knowing looks to me like changing the lighting above and around a mirror. What if I soften the light? What if I don't see the wrinkles around my eyes? What if I start to see myself as more beautiful than the way my mind interprets my usual image? What does the person I am then have to say? And how shall I say it?
Softening the lighting could be what I describe to myself as swimming or floating. No hard edges.
Swimming or floating, yes. Soooo right on. And I suspect, in that vein, you'll love my next three weeks' posts... <grin> (Where are the substack emojis!??)
Looking forward to more writing coming my way from you. Can't help with emojis. I've always been a little suspect.
I feel like there might be an elephant in this essay. Something—everything— is upsetting you terribly. “Not knowing how we’ll survive this horror show and, of course, for all my pretense of living in the questions, when it comes down to it I ache for answers.” Write about it. Please.
Alice...Each time I sit down to write, no matter what the primary focus is, the looming crises threaten to overshadow the subject. I am determined not to burden readers with undigested darkness over and over again. We all know what the issues are and I want to speak to them when I have something new to say. Otherwise, I find that I prefer to acknowledge what we're up against and wait with as much patience as I can muster to make a contribution. How does that compare with your process?
Sure, if you don't want a seriously organized approach. I'd be happy to look at stuff you want to send me and send feedback. Just one or two pieces at a time, though. How does that sound?
That's very kind of you and I might take you up on your offer at some later date. At the moment, I'm not there yet. Maybe what I'm looking for is suggestions for reading poetry...for specific reasons. This poet is wonderful with rhythm. This other poet has a gift for vernacular language. Something like that.
I'll email you a few names in a day or so.
Oh, Susie, I have had this internal conversation all my life. I want to create, but I know that I do not channel inspiration from outside myself. There's nothing mystical about what I do. My creativity is limited to playing around with words. It has taken me years to accept that that's enough.
I'm touched by your response, Don, and amazed that I find myself wanting to "fix" it just the way I try to fix everything else. Part of this desire to wander in the paradise of not knowing is learning to forgo that temptation. You do what you do and you do it so well.
The same is true of you, Susie.
How about trying poetry? Yes, poets use words, but we to let the unknown take the lead.
I dabble but I'm not even on the first step. Would you have any interest in providing guidance?
If you're interested in poetry the finest anthologies are Garrison Keillor's two Good Poems books.
Many thanks, Richard. I'm looking for more focused guidance...Like someone to suggest poets to focus on who, for example, have a gift for rhythms or poets with a great ear for the vernacular. I don't feel up to wading into the deep water of all of poetry.
What an anthology does is expose you to the field. When you see something that clicks, you can check out that poet. If you want a suggestion try Raymond Carver, Rita Dove, or Mary Oliver.
Thanks again, Richard. I didn't know Raymond Carver wrote poetry.
He's really, really good
I can hear the music underneath this essay.
Much appreciated, Mary. Music might be the missing link between pictures and words.
Dearest Susie, I tremble on the edge of the unexpected unknown every time I sit down at my bench to make my jewels( or when I sit down to write). Every creative act requires acceptance that the materials (metals or words) insist that I allow, permit, open. Will Rogers said, "Go out on a limb. That's where the fruit is." Unsupported, "a swinger of birches". Love, too. Hugs, Linda
Thank you for opening my eyes to the sparkling jewels. There are so many ways to reveal what's really there.