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musing on [number four. 3. 31. 08]
This is the
fourth issue of
musing on the muse,
my no-longer-new, monthly newsletter about creativity. If you don't want
to receive more musings, click this
As you may already know, I'm doing another three hour
workshop The last one on March 4 was great and serious fun.
What you see above is a sea fan. It looks like a plant but is actually a colony of living corals, which are animals, of the same phylum as some jellyfish and anemones (cnidaria). By joining together and creating a wood-like substance, the individuals form these beautiful structures which they "know" how to place across the current to better trap their food. What is visible to us is the skeleton of the colony but if you were to look very closely as the sun went down, you could see tiny tentacles reaching out of tiny cup-like bodies within the elegant structure that is their collective work. visit my website for more marine life.
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Originality is overrated. We don’t exist in a vacuum. Even the most isolated artist has her influences. For some this is a source of anxiety, as the critic Harold Bloom has made much of, taking a hyper-Freudian stance that creators fear the power of their artistic “fathers” which manifests as “influence.” Bloom put an Oedipal spin on it with “son” killing father by breaking free of his influence. I take another view, perhaps influenced by sitting on the Jungian side of the aisle. I celebrate those whose influence – consciously or not -- has shaped my work. I see myself as part of a continuum, a community that stretches beyond the usual boundaries of time, space and culture. The examples of creative “geniuses” who borrowed, stole, reworked, transformed, appropriated others’ work are endless. Shakespeare drew from a common stock pot of plot and character. The Greek playwrights did not try to be “original” when they animated myths and mythologized history. Of course, I’m not talking about literal plagiarism, stealing something word for word, note for note, without attribution, permission or acknowledgement. I tend to celebrate my “influences.” I’ve just
finished recording
a ne try this: Sit down some place comfortable. Take your shoes off. Close your eyes and take a few deep breaths. Without making any effort, allow an image to bubble up into your awareness of some “artist” – singer, composer, writer, painter, dancer, actor or a teacher in any creative area. It might be a “great” artist or an “unknown,“ someone from the past or present, living or dead. If a number of figures arise, just pick one, it doesn’t matter which. When you're ready, open your eyes and write, non-stop for 10 minutes, a letter to the person who came to mind while you had your eyes closed. Tell them what their work or their life has done for/to you, how it affected you, your work, your beliefs, your goals and/or anything thing else you want them to know. If writing the letter energizes you, try writing, in the voice of this person, a response to the first letter. At different times in my life, I’ve carried on dialogues in the form of correspondence with historical or imaginary figures over a period of months. It's a process I first learned from writer and teacher Deena Metzger (see right sidebar) For less abridged reflections, please visit my blog yes we can department:
I don't want to end this musing without mentioning one
more thing. I'm currently reading a book that is surprising me almost
every time I turn a page. The book is Dreams
from my Father. I imagine you all have heard of its
author by now. I've been supporting since I first heard him speak and
then I heard the speech -- the one in which he broke th |
For my latest work-in-progress recording, Bobby Z., click here
It was in one of Deena Metzger's workshops sometime in the seventies that I first started writing with any understanding of why and what I was doing. She's a visionary and someone we are lucky to have on the planet right now. Her book on writing (above) is one of her many genre-busting works that I recommend to anyone interested in creativity in all its permutations. click on the book to purchase or on Deena's photo to go to her site.
Here's a response to the exercise-offering from the last issue by Betty Plevney, a gifted writer who took part in several workshops of mine.
photos: left and center column are corey's (except for the dylan photo of unknown origin): on right, photo of corey by craig damon; of deena by ayelet berman cohen |
w hybrid spoken-word/song/rap/blues piece that is an unapologetic
e code of
silence, among candidates, about racism. What his memoir makes clear is
that he has made his journey through the dark night
and is willing to tell the story. And he has the skill to do it in a
moving and direct way. I can't think of any president since Lincoln who so keenly
feels both the tragic and the transcendent dimensions of human life.
Most importantly, he has, through his struggles to understand his own
identity, acquired real empathy for all who struggle (which is every
human, I believe) and has learned in his heart that we are all connected.
