I work like a gardener… Things come slowly… Things follow their natural course. They grow, they ripen. I must graft. I must water… Ripening goes on in my mind. So I’m always working at a great many things at the same time.
Joan Miro
Tag Archives: writing
Nr.9 – 2024.05.10
Nobody will stop you from creating. Do it tonight. Do it tomorrow. That is the way to make your soul grow – whether there is a market for it or not! The kick of creation is the act of creating, not anything that happens afterward. I would tell all of you watching this screen: Before you go to bed, write a four line poem. Make it as good as you can. Don’t show it to anybody. Put it where nobody will find it. And you will discover that you have your reward.
Kurt Vonnegut
Nr.7 – 2024.05.08
Write hard and clear about what hurts.
Ernest Hemingway
Nr.6 – 2024.05.07
I’m not telling you to make the world better I’m just telling you to live in it. Not just to endure it, not just to suffer it, not just to pass through it, but to live in it. To look at it. To take chances. To make your own work and take pride in it.
Joan Didion
Nr.5 – 2024.05.06
Go into the arts. I’m not kidding. The arts are not a way to make a living. They are a very human way of making life more bearable. Practicing an art, no matter how well or badly, is a way to make your soul grow, for heaven’s sake. Sing in the shower. Dance to the radio. Tell stories. Write a poem to a friend, even a lousy poem. Do it as well as you possibly can. You will get an enormous reward. You will have created something.
Kurt Vonnegut
Relief and broken routines
For the past few months, I have been diligently filtering through a variety of advice pages on routines, establishing priorities, and generally trying to get myself into some productive and (perceived) useful habits.
Now, after weeks and months spent getting some of these routines in place, forcing myself to be regular, marking crosses on the calendar, I find that I have a missed a day. I wasn’t being reluctant, I simply forgot: before I realised it, it was after midnight, and a day had passed without me doing what I’ve been trying to discipline myself to do all this time.
And the surprise is that it’s almost a relief. Why is that? Is it because I’m trying to establish a routine that isn’t worth much? Is it because I actually don’t want to be doing what I’m convincing myself to do, and perhaps have other things that are worth more?
Or is it perhaps simply that a change on occasion is a good thing, that it highlights the importance (or otherwise) of the task in question and makes it easier to prioritise amongst all the things that are a drain on already limited resources? Of course it would be best to have a routine that is unbreakable, something so intuitive and instinctive that I don’t even need to come up with a system to make myself adhere to.
In some ways, the task in question is already some of these things: after all, I realised that I had broken the chain, and the accompanying sense of something akin to guilt means that I do miss it emotionally when for some reason I don’t get around to it. In short, it puts the routine nicely into perspective, the relief coming from a realisation that routines are simply that, systems that are good to have but not forced upon one, rather a self-imposed task chosen out of want, not need.
Digging up the dead
Ironically, this is the third reference to anonymity in a row, although in an entirely different context: “rescuing these soldiers from anonymity.”
I refer to a BBC Radio 4 – Crossing Continents podcast on the volunteers making extraordinary efforts to find the bodies of Russian soldiers fallen during the second World War.
The story touched me both for the emotional aspect as well as the psychogeographical element: there is a strong psychological and historical element regarding where these men fell, how they were “incorporated” into the landscape (i.e., overgrown, intertwined with trees, planted over, lost [actively] in the forest), and how their simple historical reality is reflected in their physical presence in the landscape (literally).
Anonymity
Once again the crossing of several topics from different podcasts: always a good sign that a subject is somehow indicative of a general mood or trend. In this case, two separate BBC Radio 4 – Analysis podcasts (broadcast on 3 Feb and 17 Feb) covering aspects of the current wave of social movements and social voice falling under the broad labels “anonymous” or “anarcho-populism.”
In addition to the psychological facets of the desire or need for anonymity, and apart from the major trends of rebellion against establishment and blending of social media with a rather introspective desire to forcefully express oneself and ones wishes, the key topics covered touch on justice and certainty, as well as vulnerability and openness. In terms of justice, as one of the interviewees points out, the rule of law has always been based on the fact that a case is tried in the open, that there is no anonymity: exactly the opposite of what is done when documents are leaked or truths/conspiracies are aired in the media by unknown persons. One factor here is certainty, in the sense that a heightened degree of certainty often hardens people in their views and leads them to take matters into their own hands (something undoubtedly made easier by our modern connectedness).
In both cases, the arguments seem to revolve around the relative embededness within society of the two concepts. Overall, it appears to be a sign of degree. After all, a small number of anarchists or anonymous do-gooders is no bad thing: but what happens when more and more people fall into this category? Are these not movements which, paradoxically, are unsustainable once a larger fraction of the population claim to be adherents?
Victorian revival
From the following Start the Week podcast with its key theme being things related to a Victorian revival, there were a number of pointed notes related to stories, communication, and generally the fundamental differences between different times and ages of development.
Firstly, the topic of books whose narrative and colour is based on other literature from the era, as opposed to history. A certain style, mood, and perception begets itself, reinforces an image that is quickly popularised, and leaves aside some of the grimy and non-linear details inherent in the process of history itself. The story of history rarely proceeds in a straight, logical line, apart from when it is recounted in hindsight.
Secondly, the idea of authors wishing to “complete” the stories of characters from the Victorian era is one that struck me. It seems to have at its core the gaps and differences in how communication, diaries, self-description and -documentation are changing how our lives and our world are interpreted (and made interpretable). The reference to Erving Goffman cross-references nicely with a Thinking Allowed podcast of some time ago: all about how people are always putting on a show, how they present themselves, and which media they choose in which, and with which, to do so.
Goldsworthy
One of my favourite artists is the land artist and sculptor Andy Goldsworthy.
There are plenty of descriptions of his art, as well as images, to be found online: what always strikes me about his art can generally be put into two categories:
- How ephemeral the work is. It doesn’t hang in a gallery, or stand (with an accompanying sign) in a public park. It challenges the age-old cliche of whether something really exists if there is none there to see it. Well, for someone to have created it the answer must be yes, and even when the elements are back in the seeming randomness of their environment, a shadow remains.
- How precisely formed the work is. Out of all the stones in the field, or twigs in the hedge, what emerges is a well-ordered and shapely mass that has a meaning. It makes me think of writing, or painting: a honed, polished structure within a jumble of words or colours that has been given meaning, context.
The film produced about some of his creations and the creative process is also worth seeing: I watch it in quiet moments when I enjoy seeing the sculptures melt back into nature, having nevertheless left behind and imprint.
shiptorch 
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