The hero’s journey includes crossing water, usually a large body of water, till he gets closer to the center of the action and himself. The changing point in this journey is when the hero seems to be as far away as possible, both physically and mentally, from that which he seeks or needs to obtain. Then the ground shifts and actions propel him fully…maybe not in the direction he seeks, but anyway, all is moving finally along (finally). That is my restart with this blog. I was in Tbilisi, Georgia till October 2009. I crossed water. Now I am near the Kanawha River. You can go home again. Been thinking about New York City, too. I have often said that I grew up in West Virginia, but became an adult in New York. I have looked at the Appalachian ghosts square on. Not sure I have looked yet, fully, at the ones floating for me still in the Big Apple. They will have to wait a while longer.
The folks I have been reading lately blend together: Lilian Gish stating a well-worn notion that “Art” (her capitalization, not mine) is for the few. This is melding with a wonderful essay, The Mask and the Movietone (1929), by the writer H.D. in which she worries that films are like our dolls come to life and she frets about what will happen to our imaginations once our “dolls” become too perfect.
My husband gave me a couple of books by Twyla Tharp for Christmas. I am not much of one for writing assignments. In fact, I generally hate writing exercises. I don’t mind writing nonfictional analysis on demand, but I never want to write creativly what someone else tells me to write. Collaboration is fine; that I like, but I don’t want to “Imagine you are in a field and only one person from your life can walk toward you. Write that scene.” I got enough on my emotional writing plate, thanks.
I find a good chunk of Tharp’s thinking about creativity very competitive and quite black and white (I stand by Merle Haggard’s notion that creative people shouldn’t compete, and, I also often think of more traditional societies in which everyone dances, everyone sings, everyone imbues art in their daily objects–where that life force is just part of everyone’s life, and I think, what good is Western reach for the new, Western reach for the novel, Western reach for “perfection” and “be all can you be?” Who the hell am I, really, to judge? I can like or not like something, but that in no way makes me, or you, right… and who cares? I am still opinionated, but those opinions, really, doesn’t friggin’ matter….).
In any case, Tharp is not screwing around, though, when it comes to one list of questions she calls “Your Creative Autobiography.” It’s in a chapter in which she discusses “creative DNA”–basically, what is your imprint, what is important to you, and what mark do you leave, what framework do you work from?
I am going to work on these questions. They feel like the right place to start. Then, I am going to work on them in the programs I am beginning to learn, then I am going to post some kind of results here.
One last note, I don’t know whether it was Tharp, but something I was reading the last few days also spoke about the tug between being alone and being in company that creative folks have… the strange impulse for creation, which often takes solitude (even when creating with others, it may take a way of being undisturbed, at the very least) and then an impulse to share with an audience, and, how the latter can always be disconcerting. I know for me that when I share my work publicly, as publicly as I have in the last year and a half, when I first release what I do, I feel like I have been caught with my pants down. I feel that way until some unsolicited post-publication feedback comes in, and then, my face doesn’t burn, or, burn as bright. My sense is that many more people feel that way. I wonder.