Writing Life
I have been doing a lot of reading lately, actually more than working on my art. But I think the trade off of time and mental activity has been worth the effort.
The book I’ve just finished is The Writing Life by Ann Dillard. It is a thin little book, and starts out deceptively simple as a series of entries, sort of like a journal, by writer Dillard. She writes about the act of writing and creating; how difficult it is getting started for the day when alone in a room. “Appealing workplaces are to be avoided. One wants a room with no view, so imagination can meet memory in the dark” (pg. 26); about how life around her affects her work; and how, really, when we have something to do, we simply have to do it. To paraphrase…the sensation of art is that of any unmerited grace. It is handed to you, but only if you look for it. You search, you break your heart, your back, your brain, and then—and only then—it is handed to you.
She often compares her craft as a writer to that of an artist, although one easily makes that leap even without her deliberate effort. I find this compelling, and am always excited to find other artists who see the value in looking beyond their own backyard. “Purity does not lie in separation from but in deeper penetration into the universe,” (pg. 110). We expand our minds when we look to other disciplines to see the similarities and differences with ours. I believe it helps us to step back and view our work, and others, with a more balanced eye, and deepen our understanding and appreciation. Basically, nothing is ever wasted—everything feeds whatever it is we want to do.
Many of the great writers and artists studied the great masters before them. “Rembrandt, Shakespeare…Gauguin possessed, I believe, powerful hearts, not powerful wills. They loved the range of materials they used. The work’s possibilities excited them; the field’s complexities fired their imaginations. The caring suggested the tasks; the tasks suggested the schedules. They learned their fields and then loved them. They worked, respectfully, out of their love and knowledge, and they produced complex bodies of work that endure. Then, and only then, the world flapped at them some sort of (reward), which, if they were still living, they ignored as well as they could, to keep at their tasks.” (pg. 71)
“You were made and set here to give voice to this, your own astonishment. ‘The most demanding part of living a lifetime as an artist is the strict discipline of forcing oneself to work steadfastly along the nerve of one’s own most intimate sensitivity’, Anne Truitt said.” (pg. 68)
Dillard’s writing validates my belief that what must come through my work is that I am doing what I want to do. There is a need and a love for what I do. And I must work at it all the time, without ceasing.
The book I’ve just finished is The Writing Life by Ann Dillard. It is a thin little book, and starts out deceptively simple as a series of entries, sort of like a journal, by writer Dillard. She writes about the act of writing and creating; how difficult it is getting started for the day when alone in a room. “Appealing workplaces are to be avoided. One wants a room with no view, so imagination can meet memory in the dark” (pg. 26); about how life around her affects her work; and how, really, when we have something to do, we simply have to do it. To paraphrase…the sensation of art is that of any unmerited grace. It is handed to you, but only if you look for it. You search, you break your heart, your back, your brain, and then—and only then—it is handed to you.
She often compares her craft as a writer to that of an artist, although one easily makes that leap even without her deliberate effort. I find this compelling, and am always excited to find other artists who see the value in looking beyond their own backyard. “Purity does not lie in separation from but in deeper penetration into the universe,” (pg. 110). We expand our minds when we look to other disciplines to see the similarities and differences with ours. I believe it helps us to step back and view our work, and others, with a more balanced eye, and deepen our understanding and appreciation. Basically, nothing is ever wasted—everything feeds whatever it is we want to do.
Many of the great writers and artists studied the great masters before them. “Rembrandt, Shakespeare…Gauguin possessed, I believe, powerful hearts, not powerful wills. They loved the range of materials they used. The work’s possibilities excited them; the field’s complexities fired their imaginations. The caring suggested the tasks; the tasks suggested the schedules. They learned their fields and then loved them. They worked, respectfully, out of their love and knowledge, and they produced complex bodies of work that endure. Then, and only then, the world flapped at them some sort of (reward), which, if they were still living, they ignored as well as they could, to keep at their tasks.” (pg. 71)
“You were made and set here to give voice to this, your own astonishment. ‘The most demanding part of living a lifetime as an artist is the strict discipline of forcing oneself to work steadfastly along the nerve of one’s own most intimate sensitivity’, Anne Truitt said.” (pg. 68)
Dillard’s writing validates my belief that what must come through my work is that I am doing what I want to do. There is a need and a love for what I do. And I must work at it all the time, without ceasing.
posted by Candy at 12:32 PM
1 Comments:
Great post, Candy. The book sounds wonderful. I'd like to add to your comment, " . . .We expand our minds when we look to other disciplines to see the similarities and differences with ours. . ." - I love to watch films and study how the cinematography is handled. Light, shadow, color, composition - all things I deal with, too.
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