Remember– it’s
not the barrel of a gun
you’re looking down
only a corridor
of time-
402 days.
a journey that,
God-willing,
doesn’t end with 403
So…so
what if you
don’t have all the answers?
Live the questions,
just LIVE
each day will
provide
its own answer
and – inevitably-
new questions.
Yesterday, the news invaded my classroom. I think the kids aren't paying attention. I think the kids only care about the news as it relates to Justin Bieber. I think they aren't listening or capable of advanced thought. Every single time I think one of those things, I sell out the ninth-graders that come traipsing through my room every day.
I’ve noticed that have a certain obsession with women who curse online.
Okay, let me rephrase that… I have a certain curiousity and admiration for women like her, her, and her, who have no compunctions about liberally sprinkling their blogs and marketing collateral with curse words. Maybe it’s because I was raised to be a “good” girl or because I grew up in the South, where cursing isn’t ladylike…but it seems to me that the coolest women online are the ones who aren’t afraid to let a good curse word out as part of their well thought out, well written online communications.
Writer Justine Musk is one of those women.
I can’t tell you how I stumbled across Justine’s website. What I can tell you is that I was enticed by her tagline–”because you’re a creative badass”–and dove in to see if there was substance to her nose-thumbing flair. And boy did I find substance… every post was like she was smacking me upside the head with substance! She managed to do something I only dream of doing–create a blog full of thought-provoking posts, written in a personable, extremely relatable voice.
As I read, I naturally began to build an image of Justine’s personality in my head. She was this intelligent, beautiful, extroverted blond who easily charmed everyone she came in contact with through her wit and flashing smile. She never met a stranger. People flocked to work with her because they immediately felt like they’d known her forever… she was the Kelly Ripa of the online world except with a broader vocabulary.
Except… she’s not. Imagine my shock when I read that she considered herself an introvert. That she prefers solitude to socializing and she suffered (at least initially) from the same worries about “putting herself out there” that every other creative I know stresses about.
I knew right at that moment what her one question would be:
And this is what I wrote to her:
I was plainly stunned when I saw you write that you were an introvert, because your writing style is so distinct, direct, and lively, I would have sworn you were a very extroverted person. Of course I realize you’re a professional writer, but my personal experience has been that storytellers often have the hardest time expressing their own stories and I think this can be a real obstacle to their ability to reach the right audience. This is the foundation of my question for you; I’m curious to learn how you managed to parlay your strengths as an introvert into an action plan that helped you authentically promote your writing and the projects that you’re involved in, and what learning stages you experienced as you developed that skill.Maybe I’m simply a nosy bugger, but I think learning more of your story and your take as an introverted creative will be useful and interesting to my readers...
It would be a massive mistake to try to pretend to be someone you’re not.
I’ve been thinking a lot about vlogging the last couple of weeks.
I have this ache to express myself in a new way; to be raw and open in a way that I have never been in my life. I’ve always been the think before you speak person, contained and concealed. Less than a handful of people are privy to the bulk of my thoughts and even within that small population, what I share tends to be a small percentage of what I’m feeling or thinking.
And that’s not enough for me anymore.
I had a coaching session with Jo Anna Rothman of the Receiving Project at the end of January in which we talked about my fear of falling apart. “Have you ever considered,” she said, “that maybe you’re simply breaking open? Or maybe even breaking out?“
I’ve been sitting with her words ever since… a slow, quiet zazen where I attempt to notice what rises.
Mostly I notice fear.
Fear that curls itself around my spine and roots itself in the pit of my stomach. Fear that keeps my back stiff and encourages me to self-medicate with caffeine and sugar. Fear that tamps down excitement and joy “just in case” I soar too high and, like Icarus, plummet to the earth in a shower of false wings.
It seems to me that at the crux of every human’s journey there is a desire for two things:
Right now it sometimes feels that I am standing at the edge of a great divide. I can step forward into the unknown, where I have this sense that I will finally show and share myself as God intended, or I can take a step back to “safer” ground.
Which circles us back to vlogging.
Vlogging feels like my bid for achieving desire #1. As much as I LOVE the written word, it doesn’t push those communication boundaries for me. It’s as easy for me to hide and guard myself with writing as it is for me to breath–no thought involved.
At the end of the day, video blogging feels risky to me and that’s why I’m going to try it.
**********
So, what about YOU? Are there any places in your life where you feel like you’re breaking open? Where are you pushing your own boundaries?
(Oh, and speaking of challenges… tomorrow I have one final “One Question” Interview to share with ya’ll featuring the wonderful creative badass Justine Musk. If you’re a shy creative wondering how to get comfortable sharing your work with the world, be sure to tune in, k?)
I have Leonie Dawson to thank for discovery today’s guest, artist, author, and owner of the site Sustainably Creative, Michael Nobbs.
Michael was a speaker in the World’s Biggest Summit and I was totally smitten when I heard him discuss his philosophy on accomplishing your important work.
In an online world where gurus seem to constantly encourage you to THINK BIG and LAUNCH EPIC SHIT, Michael gives advice that seems almost like internet sacrilege. Through his blog, podcast, and books, he encourages his audience to accomplish their creative goals by slowing down, focusing, and celebrating each achievement along the way. (And drink tea… how can you not love a man who has made tea into a productivity tool?!?)
His words were like a balm to my perfectionist, everything-should-have-been-accomplished-two-days-ago, heart.
Inviting Michael to participate in the “One Question” Series was totally a long shot. He was on my list of “dream” interviews… one of those people who I knew would be absolutely too busy to participate. I also knew, sending the email, that he had decided to take time off in January to rest from the intense work of meeting his latest book deadline.
Nevertheless, I decided it couldn’t hurt to contact him. So I sent him the following email:
I love the online world and the ability to engage in community with artists and writers that I may not have had the opportunity to meet in my offline world… however, I notice that most people share their best sides online… their success and triumphs… and it can be easy to believe that everyone else is accomplishing great things at the speed of light every single day… while I’m just plodding along. Here in the United States, there’s a lot of pressure to achieve and produce quickly… the idea of committing to a path and taking daily steps toward that path is very counter cultural. Yet, I believe that for many creatives, that daily practice of creating and working toward your important work is a better and more fulfilling choice… and that’s where my question to you comes in.
What tips, suggestions, or techniques would you offer to creatives who need help shutting down the “not enough” spirit that makes them feel that they aren’t accomplishing enough in their creative life?
You can’t imagine my glee when I received his positive response… with one of his signature audios attached!
And I honestly can’t think of a better way to end this series than sharing Michael’s advice with you.
I encourage you to brew yourself a pot of tea, get comfy, and listen as Michael shares his tips on battling discouragement, respecting your own accomplishments, and getting your important creative work done… one small act of creativity at a time.
************
I just discovered that Michael is offering a chance to win a signed prepublication copy of Drawing Your Life on the latest episode of his podcast, One Thing Today. Be sure to go over and listen, for your chance to win!
T.J. Brown’s Summerset Abbey, the fruit of a strong woman’s passion and determination
I think most creatives are familiar with the experience of juggling their creative work around other responsibilities, such as day jobs, children, extended family, religious commitments, etc.
Often one of the biggest challenges creatives face is committing themselves to making time to do their creative work regardless of what else is occurring in their life… It’s all too easy to fall into the trap of believing that your creative work is expendable. To be successful, however, we have to break ourselves of that mindset. After all:
Most of the important things in the world have been accomplished by people who have kept on trying when there seemed to be no hope at all. – Dale Carnegie
No one better exemplifies this attitude than our guest today, T.J. Brown, author of the recently released novel Summerset Abbey. Last spring, just days after signing a contract with Simon and Schuster imprint Gallery Books, T.J. was diagnosed with throat cancer.
T.J. had a contract with a tight deadline, requiring her to complete four book in less than a year. Facing such a deadly illness requiring brutal radiation treatment, she could have easily bowed out of her deadlines, citing her valid need to focus on her recovery.
She could have made that chose, but she didn’t.
I had these books to write and I made up my mind that no matter how bad it got or how horrible I felt, cancer was not going to define the career I had worked so hard for. So I told no one except my agent, put my head down and wrote through five months of treatments and recovery.
It wasn’t bravery, it was pure stubbornness.
When T.J. shared this story with me, I knew I had to feature her in the “One Question” series. And this is the question I asked:
You know, that is such a difficult question to answer.
I ended up with a really nice contract with a major publisher and cancer all at the same time. I think what it came down to was determination and resolve.
Resolve is why I got the contract in the first place and helped me to reach a certain level of success.
Determination got me up and to the computer.
But after I opened my document, it was the story that carried me away.
When everything around me felt negative the energy of my own creation kept me going. So I guess, you have to really, really want it with all your heart, your mind, and your body.
My tips:
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Angela Giles Klocke is a writer, photographer, speaker, and princess
Although I’m only about half way through the 30 days that I challenged myself to, the “One Question” series is winding down. Spending the last two weeks waiting for my aunt to pass was difficult; as usual, I tried very hard to be stoic and to carry on as though I didn’t feel like my insides were being torn apart. I thought I’d keep focusing on the series, on work, on everything and anything but feeling grief and that would be the magic balm to prevent me from feeling anything.
Unfortunately grief doesn’t work like that.
So today, as I made arrangements to travel to my aunt’s funeral in her home town this weekend, I decided that there were worse things than giving myself time to grieve. That maybe it was time to remember the trust tending lessons I’ve learned from Kristen and be gentle with myself.
What that means to you is this will be the last week of “One Question” interviews. I am REALLY proud of this series and the guests that I’ve featured. I also think that these last guests are some of the most amazing in the series… specifically because they are reminders to me that sometimes our pain, grief, and struggle can be transformed through our creative gifts into blessings that benefit others.
No one is a better example of that than today’s guest, writer, photographer, and speaker, Angela Giles Klocke.
If you met Angela out and about, what you’d probably notice first is her beautiful smile. Admittedly, I’ve only “met” Angela virtually, but I’ve known her through our shared online writing group for around five years now and the great smile that you see in her pictures comes through in her writing as well. Angela radiates exuberance and a positive, thoughtful spirit. Under any circumstance her exuberance would be engaging… it becomes completely remarkable when you learn about the horror that Angela experienced as a child and young adult, suffering physical, mental, emotional, and sexual abuse.
For some people, just overcoming that horror would have been the whole of their story, but Angela has gone beyond that, using the power of her camera, her words, and her experience to create “The Tiara Project.“ Through the Tiara Project Angela works to help other women who have suffered through similar painful experiences understand and reclaim their self-worth and beauty. In her own words:
This project is dedicated to every woman who has ever been hurt by words, by hands, by any means of control. For every woman who never made it out. And for every woman who physically got away but still battles the chains around her mind. This project is for all those who can’t yet speak out for themselves, and for those who can. It is also for me, to continue on my own journey of reclamation of self.
I sifted through a number of questions to ask Angela before finally settling on this one:
I’ve always known I want to create change with my words and photography.
The first time I made someone cry with my writing, I was hooked. One photo client cries every time I give her new photos, which fills my heart with joy. To move people like this through regular, everyday creative work is what drives me toward ideas and projects that raise awareness and advocate for those who might not be able to.
In both my creative endeavors, I began merely for the sake of creating and enjoying the process. With time, however, I came to realize that every exciting idea I had – the ones that grabbed hold and wouldn’t let me sleep at night – were bits of my own story that I could use and grow into projects to grow positive change. With a background of abuse (physical, sexual, mental, and psychological) and having been a teen mom, I knew I wanted my work to grow into something more valuable – something that money couldn’t buy but was priceless all the same.
The Tiara Project was born out of the idea of reclaiming my self from the ugliness of my past. When I looked in the mirror, all I saw was ugly. I couldn’t understand why family and friends would call me beautiful. I didn’t see beauty. I saw scars and pain, and I heard whispers that I was nothing, a waste of space. As I began to reclaim myself, I found beauty in my smile, in my eyes, in my whole face. I stopped hating myself, and nothing on the outside had actually changed. It was all a healing of my heart that finally revealed the princess I am inside. And a good part of this took place as The Tiara Project idea was forming.
I knew that I had been given gifts of writing and photography coupled with strength and determination to DO SOMETHING, not just make money or receive applause for making art. I didn’t know how to do anything more than pick up my camera and put words on the page, but I believed having my heart mixed into it all would lead me to and through.
It’s not about being famous or making money. It’s about reaching people, touching their hearts, helping them to heal or prompting them to act. Sometimes I reach hundreds, sometimes just one. But I don’t believe in “just” one. I believe every one person is important enough, and if I spend an hour on an essay and photos and only one person sees it but is changed, that is ALL that matters.
Anyone can step out in faith with their creative works and start a chain reaction of positive change.
Big chains, little chains, it doesn’t matter as long as we act.
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.
Back in the late 80s, when I was a youngster starting high school, I became friends with a girl whose sister was so totally kickass I couldn’t bear to look at her. Joanne was three years older than us, smart as hell, a totally amazing artist who also wore combat boots, dyed her hair crazy colors, and wore spiked collars around her neck.
I had just moved to Atlanta from a smaller city in Louisiana where everyone dressed in the same guess jean overalls and polo plaid shirts… and the most outrageous thing you did with your hair was wear it flat. Joanne was the complete opposite of everything I thought you were supposed to aspire to be as a teenage girl. She wasn’t sweet, she wasn’t cute, and she certainly never dreamed of wearing some football jock’s letterman jacket.
She scared the bejezus out of me… but at the same time, there was a part of me that envied her confidence and freedom. In a school ruled by girls who made the ones in that “Mean Girls” movie look tame, Joanne snubbed her nose at being anything but who SHE was. I admired her for that more than I could ever say.
20 years later, I have that same admiration for gamer, writer, game designer, and historical couturier-in-training, Rowan Cota.
I decided to contact Rowan because of a post I read on her blog entitled “The Same Conversation.” In it, she speaks about her heartfelt love for the games, movies, books, and art that make up geek culture and her pain at the feeling that she and other gaming/geek women continually had to force the men of the culture to make space for them at the table. She says:
But the place at the geek table that is made for me is still so small I don’t fit in it. I get to pull up a chair and sit right outside the conversation. I get told that when I play a video game that has the option to play a woman character, that should be enough. I shouldn’t want that character to reflect what I look like, what I sound like, what my hopes and fears and motivations are.
And I’m tired of it. I love you geek culture and I’m tired of you telling me you will only love me back if I comply with the place you’ve already made for me. So I fight. I push and shove and criticize and point out where the cracks are. Because I want you to show me you love me too, not just tell me that it’s okay if I hang out.
Although Rowan wrote this speaking specifically of geek/gaming culture, I felt like it spoke to issues that women still experience at large in the world… where a woman’s creative work is only accepted and respected if it’s frame in someway by male acceptance. And that made me wonder why women bother to continue to compete in the game in the first place.
So I wrote to Rowan, saying:
As I get older (and more cynical), I think I lean more and more toward “taking my ball and going home” versus beating my head into the wall of trying to gain acceptance from those who are hell bent on denying me opportunity for their random reasons. I’m interested in understanding your thoughts on why joining the guys on their turf is important to you… (if it is). My one question for you is..
Especially in Western culture (which is the culture I’m soaked in and stuff) if you break off a separate space that’s “women’s space” it becomes ghettoized. Even if the women involved cherish and respect it (which they usually do) in the context of larger culture it’s seen as a secondary space. The “main conversations” never happen in women’s space in geek culture.
For an example of that, you can kind of take the Brony phenomenon. Even though My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic is a show targeted at girls (and maybe at women to some extent) there’s an aura of aggressive ownership that male fans (aka Bronies) have taken over it. And I’ve seen situations in which girls and women were criticized for being the wrong kind of fans, even though this is a media property that they should feel really comfortable being fannish about in whatever way appeals to them.
Because of that, I think it’s important to carve out a seat at the “guys” table and say things that make it clear that this can be our space too. And it helps when creatives in the “guy” sphere want us there. (My favorite example right now is the comic Hawkeye, which makes it really clear that it’s got a progressive, woman-friendly framing.) But to get to have a stake in geek fandom, we need to make sure that we’re participating in the main conversations as much as we can.
Because of that, I’d say my biggest piece of advice is, “Be willing to hold your ground and own your voice.“
People will tell you that you’re wrong, or they’ll try to talk over you, or whatever, but if you’re a fan or a creative…if you have an interest in the thing…you have as much right to be there and participating as the next person. And there are people out there who want you to be part of this community.
If the people in front of you don’t, it’s their loss. You don’t need to change yourself to accommodate them.
**********************
Guys, I’m popping in to tell you that I’m taking a small break from the series. My aunt passed away today and I’m just too sad to put words together in a way that does justice to my guests.
I’ll start the series back up on Monday. In the meanwhile, if you’ve missed any of the first 12 interviews, here’s a great opportunity for you to go and get caught up.
Yesterday, PRDaily.com reported that Google+ is now the second largest social network in the world. As a huge G+ fan who joined the platform as soon as I could beg a beta invitation, I felt both vindicated and sad at the announcement. The world has now discovered G+ and that means I will no longer have a super secret source for discovering amazing artists like today’s guest, accomplished oil painter Lena Levin.
Lena is one of the shining stars of the G+ art community, leading or co-leading popular art initiatives such as G+ with Brushes and In Studio with Masters and an active participant in the First Friday Art Walk and Friday Art Critique communities.
Although my tastes generally lean toward abstract art, I love Lena’s landscapes and still lifes because of the vibrancy and energetic expression of emotion that I find in each one. Her pieces seem to whisper a story to me… and not the simple tale you might expect from a study of a lily or a tranquil landscape. Lena always amazes me with her ability to not only draw inspiration from a myriad of place, but use that inspiration to instill a surprisingly complex depth of meaning into each seemingly simple composition.
This is especially true for her latest works, a series based on translating each of Shakespeare’s 164 Sonnets into paintings. It’s this talent that I chose to explore with her one question:
A common concern I hear in the writing community is how to find inspiration for new stories… it’s not uncommon to hear writers (especially new writers), complain that they can’t find anything to write about or (as a secondary concern), they can’t find anything unique to write about. What I find extremely appealing about your new series is how you take a written medium and use it to inspire your visual work… and generally, not as a direct “illustration” of the written work either.
Your question touches a very fundamental aspect of my practice, my approach to painting and art in general.
I feel that to answer it properly, I need to establish a context, to outline the worldview within which I live and work. Not because there is anything original about this worldview (I have not invented, but rather inherited it), but because it differs from what seems to be widely believed (or assumed) by artists nowadays (in any medium, be it words or colors). The difference has to do with the relative role of the unique and the universal, the “self” and the humankind, the subjective and the objective.
For lack of a better term, I use the one introduced by Wassily Kandinsky in his book, “Concerning the spiritual in arts”: the inner spirit of art, or “pure artistry”. For Kandinsky, this inner spirit is an objective element in arts, independent of all differences between personalities, times, cultures, etc, which all add their subjective, outer, elements, or forms. As an aside, this means that when people talk about all art being subjective, they simply disregard this inner spirit (maybe because they don’t sense it?), reducing art to its outer forms, to its external, meaningless shell.
I feel I have to stress at this point that this concept of “inner spirit” of art as an essential part of humankind’s spiritual life transcends the still highly divisive religious boundaries (theism vs. atheism, idealism vs. materialism, etc.).
That is, depending on one’s beliefs, one may think of it as God’s gift to the humankind or as a one of miracles of evolution.
It doesn’t really matter, because either way, it is grounded in what we all share as members of this species, not in what divides us. It doesn’t matter what came first – the body, the soul, the spirit – because they are indivisible anyway. What is essential is the artist’s access to this universal power, their connection to the inner spirit of art, and their inner need and their ability to convey at least part of it to others, “externalize” it in the outer world in some form and medium, express it.
When all is said and done, there are but two pathways, two kinds of connection to this universal power. One goes through one’s own self, also known as “soul”; and the other is through the rich world of outer, external manifestations of art created by our predecessors.
It may seem that I’ve come back to the “self” after all, yet in the context I am trying to establish, the “self” is not at all what one should strive to express. Rather, it is viewed, for the purposes of art at least, just as an instrument of access, a window to the universal and eternal, to what is shared by all. One’s peculiarities, one’s uniqueness, one’s style – all these things which many nowadays hold as a goal to achieve – they limit and weaken one’s connection to the universal, inner spirit of art.
The goal should rather be to break out of the prison of one’s uniqueness; not to cherish, glorify and express it.
The “self” (the soul) is, as it happens, the only means of direct access to the universal: so, the only way to “get” the pain felt by every human being is to feel one’s own pain; and the same with joy, love, awe, wonder, inspiration and everything else. The point is, though, not to construe one’s feelings as unique, but understand them as shared, universally human, experiences.
The whole enterprise of art aims to break the prison cells of our bodies, to connect us to one another in new and powerful ways, to share our insights into the universal, our feelings and thoughts, our worldviews. The art-mediated pathway to the universal might not be as direct as the “self”-oriented one, yet it may be more powerful and liberating.
It might seem that a human being of our time, rich as it is with centuries and millennia of recorded and preserved history of arts (literature, painting, sculpture) and its arguably unsurpassable achievements, could have nothing more to say, nothing of value to add; anything seemingly new would be just a forgotten old, just not quite as good. To tell you the truth, that’s the way I used to think myself. But then, doesn’t this way of thinking devalue all this history of arts, all the nearly miraculous achievements of human spirit?
These achievements are here, accessible, recorded and preserved, to enrich us, to open broader highways to the inner spirit of art, to refine our feeling and thinking “selves” – not to silence us in barren admiration.
This, in short, is the context from which I approach painting Shakespeare’s sonnets.
Sonnets in colour III: Shakespeare 19-34, 80″x80″ (Collage of individual paintings by Lena Levin)
See, as a human being he is about as far removed from me as I can hope to reach meaningfully: any further in time, space, language, culture and the whole endeavor would be hopeless (or should I say, even more hopeless than it is?)
On the one hand, we are separated by centuries, oceans, political boundaries, devastating wars, cultural and industrial revolutions, medium of expression, language, religion, gender. And still he can and does reach me and touch me (along with millions of others, of course) – to the very depth, so as to influence and shape my worldview, my understanding of life, love, and death.
If this is possible, if I can feel his pain as my pain, and his love as my love (and vice versa) – this as close to the universal pain and love of humanity as one can imagine.
Yet in an even grander scheme of things, we do belong to the same time and culture, the post-Renaissance humanistic European tradition: I still have access to the language, even though nobody speaks it anymore; all in all, we still live in a culture shaped by his stories and his time. And, for me, poetry is the second most essential art form, after painting – at least as far as responding to art is concerned; familiar from before I can remember myself, in the voice closest to me, that of my father. This means I can also directly open my senses to the art and form of his sonnets, without intermediaries of translators, without insurmountable cultural divides. I can still “get”, to some extent, the subjective, “outer”, temporal aspect of how these poems are done, their whys and wherefores.
In sum, Shakespeare sonnets promise to broaden for me both pathways to the universal spirit of art: both through my own emotions and through the great art of the past. In terms of “inner spirit of art”, I hoped to achieve a place universal enough to obliterate even the difference between a poem and a painting, and return from this place with a painting.
It must be obvious from what I’ve said that I wasn’t looking for a source of inspiration to create something uniquely my own; something original.
What I’ve really tried to do was something nearly opposite to this:
I’ve been guided by a hope to find the universal painting equivalent for each sonnet, both in terms of the feelings it conveys and in terms of how it is done; to find that place within myself that directly connects to his emotions and that place in the domain of painting which translates the sonnet.
To this end, I’ve learned each sonnet by heart, listened to it recited by others, recited it to myself, read various commentaries and analyses; and then, having soaked myself in it, tried to see it (most often, in my sleep, having read and reread it to myself in my head as I was falling asleep). The image emerges gradually in this process, sometimes clarifying itself only after I’ve started painting. But once it emerges, it has this compelling force, at least to myself, as though it is the “true”, the only possible, painting counterpart to the sonnet.
Of course, it isn’t really so; and cannot be: I have to fill the paintings with my own experiences, both visual and emotional; and stylistically, I am inevitably of our time (in spite of various stylistic “quotes” from the past in the sonnet painting). So the form these paintings take is necessarily subjective (exactly as Kandinsky says, by the way), colored by my own life, shaped by the spirit of my time.
And yet my path to them is lit by the hope that on the inner, objective, spiritual level they are indivisible from the sonnets. That their core is not “mine” and “original”, but belongs to the universal; that it comes from the same place where Shakespeare’s sonnets came from.
I am not sure I’ve adequately answered your question about strategies of creating original artwork inspired by others. But that is the point, isn’t it? The worthy goal, I believe, is not to try to do something uniquely your own, but to touch the universal, or at least something much larger than yourself, to feel oneself as a wave, or even just a drop, in this eternal ocean of art and human spirit. And this what the works of great artists help us to do, if we don’t just see their outer forms, but are touched by their innermost core. It’s “easier”, in a sense, to find this real source of inspiration through works in other medium, since you cannot directly “borrow” the outer form of a poem for a painting: you are forced to go deeper than that by the very difference between art forms.
And you know what?
For better of for worse, the result is bound to be original, whether you want it or not.
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I’m particularly interested in what you guys think about Lena’s idea that the purpose of art should not be to create the unique, but to explore the universal as reached through our personal experience. It’s uncanny how that seems to echo Ksenia’s thoughts on writing from personal experience.
