paisleypiper's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- art and life a perfect fall day Last night we went to an essay/poetry reading at the local spot for writers. The writing community around here thinks much of themselves -- they like to get a charge out of their cleverness and brilliance. It can be intimidating and I find myself reminding myself that they want my $5 and my body in one of the molded plastic chairs. This gives me permission and it is sad when the arts communities are such that one needs to feel a sense of permission to take part. And yet we wonder why people do not celebrate the arts more. I told someone at our local rep theatre this -- that to have a group of people in their fancies looking down on everyone else kills the joy. This concept landed with her as she struggled to understand why younger people don't attend their productions. I've written about this before. Our arts community craves patronage from the elite yet that is a small crowd. When their attentions wander to some new fancy, they are reduced to small numbers. So small that for a highly publicized reading they set out 20 chairs and when 50 showed up had to haul out molded plastic chairs at the last moment. We stood around feeling as though we stressed the party, caused the host to put out some sale potato chips that were stale and crushed. Sometimes capitalism can be friendly. Here is my $5, you need my $5, stop looking at me as though I am going to steal your purse. If anything, you are stealing my purse. Our local, famous poet was there. I had just talked to her on the phone earlier that afternoon for work-related purposes. And I sensed her observing me, and I certainly observed her. She moves within a crowd and I would have gone up to her to say hello, but as Quinn pointed out, I have no reason to believe that she would not turn away and become enmeshed in a big conversation just nearby. She invited me to join the group at this spot, to join the inner circle. Part of me thinks I should; part of me is just too afraid of becoming the person I want to be. Long to be. So much safer to be accidental, to always have that sense of missed calling. So much safer to use the two-writer partnership as my way out. I tell myself, Quinn is the writer, Quinn is the artist. I'm the professional. I'm on the career path. Not becaues Quinn makes me enact this, more as protection. More because she is more accessible and successful than me, in small ways, when it comes to creative things. She just has that broad appeal that I have always lacked. It is funny -- in the creative world I fall flat on my face. But in the work world I am valued for being a deep thinker and for being extremely creative. The irony does not escape me. The irony pushes me towards work, all the time, because it is creativity that I love. Work invites and embraces my creativity -- there are no limits. I have made some really innovative products that actually become read and admired. When I write outside of work, I am rarely admired except by Quinn, who reminds me that I have not shared my work enough. I'm standing in a personal leadership moment. Do I forge ahead and start sending out my work for publication? No matter how alone and without a sense of community input? Or do I keep gravitating to the pull of the Death Star (my work) which welcomes my mind and my talents and rewards me? My new challenge is to exercise the level of leadership I show at work in my own writing. And to have the confidence to head down my path propeled only by this hope I have. Back to where I started with this entry. My quandry is not unique. I think the world of work, in these post-Fordist times, provides an unlimited outlet for creativity. Many people who would be thought leaders in the arts, due to necessity and the roll of the dice, are thought leaders in business and education. And with sadness almost wish that it were possible to be part of the arts without living it. But here, in this place, this option takes more effort. One has to check the other box and dare to define it in the line just to the right of the box; dare to add more lines; dare to just be. That is what life has been meaning for me. To accept what I need to do and try to make room for what I want to do, realizing that my wants are needs too. Enough of this analysis paralysis. It is now time to enjoy the crisp air and quiet crunch of the early fall leaves underfoot. 11:29 a.m. - 2003-09-20 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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