The Artist's Way

The Artist's Way by Julia Cameron

This past week, I met with Kate Cordaro, the Director of Education at Two River Theater Company, who explained to me in great detail the history and goals/objectives of all the educational programs that Two River has to offer. She gave me some movies to watch (of high school and middle school Summer Ensemble final plays) and plays to read (Einstein at Bar Rouge- the PlayBack version of Picasso at the Lapin Agile) and a book called The Artist's Way. She said to me that I cannot read this book- I have to do it.

I hesitated in taking her advice- why can't I just plow through this book and read it like a novel? So, I prepared to do just that. I got a good bottle of wine (an Argentinian "La Posta"), a nice blanket, and my favorite reading spot. I started reading The Artist's Way, like I do any other book; however, I come to realize that The Artist's Way is not like any other book. I needed to actively read this one. I grabbed my handy-dandy mini post-it notes and kept tagging the pages that I wanted to remember. After reading The Basic Tools chapter, I realized that almost every page had a little purple post-it. I plowed through and began the first chapter. Then I stopped- picked up my computer and began to write. I wrote down whatever the book told me to write. I wrote lists, paragraphs and little mantras. I began thinking about my past, my Censor, my creative side and then realized that this is not an ordinary book.

I have taken the pledge, signed the contract and will embark on these next twelve weeks of finding and recovering my creative self (-whatever that may be). I will not write again--on this book-- until these weeks have passed. I am finding creativity.

(images taken from http://www.toxel.com/inspiration/2009/05/06/school-of-art-and-design-creativity-test/)

The 19th Wife

The 19th Wife by David Ebershoff

Picture this:
          Driving in a little fairly new Mazda Protege (so new, that in fact you are still forking out $200 a month for car payments). This little car has served you well, considering not too long ago you packed up everything that you could- along with a couple of siblings- and made the trek, across the country to settle here for a few years. The house that you just moved into is a few miles away from the rest of the town, the front yard is nothing but a bunch of rocks- with not a tree in sight. There was a little bit of trouble finding this home, because you are sharing it with two guys, and the townspeople frown on a male and female sharing a house- let alone one girl and two guys. Having just moved in, unpacked your few belongings and in search for a few necessities- toilet paper, some food and a home decoration or two, you set on the road to the only store that is open at this hour- Walmart. Driving the 2 miles back down to town, all you can see is the land. The land is very dry and rugged, and to the right and left are enormous red mountains. Bright red rock is everywhere; it almost looks as if the mountains and the land are on fire. This is all you notice on this two mile excursion to the local Walmart. Afterall, what you see outside is only through your headlights because it is very late into the night.
            At the local Walmart, you gather some bread, peanut butter and jelly (the necessity for any student), toilet paper, some shampoo and then on your way to the check out lines you see them: a group of women, all dressed in neck-to-ankle-to-wrist light blue and white (almost grey) gingham dress. This is not a crisp new dress like Laura Ingalls Wilder, but rumpled, worn and stained with life's hard work. All of them, maybe four or five women total, look exactly the same except their hair. Yes, all of their hair is a thick straw-like blond, but it is up, poufed at the top and in a long single braid in the back. Their shoes are dark and worn, their stockings lightly gather around the ankles, as if these clothes had been passed down from girl to girl. None of them notice you, because their heads are all bowed and their gaze is directed at the floor, all shuffling along together like a pack of wolves, but more like a pack of wolf cubs scared of the world. You sense a sadness in them, not sure whether they are saddened by their own lifestyle or saddened by everyone else's lifestyle. You can't help but stare at these few polygamists for a second, before you check out and head home. These next two years of grad school are sure to be interesting.

What David Ebershoff writes in The 19th Wife is real (to an extent). There are still polygamists in the world, I am not sure if they behave the way Ebershoff details, but one can only assume that the emotions with plural wives runs high. The historical accounts of the Latter-day Saints' beginnings, rallies, and exodus to Zion- the land of the red rock, is all outlined with truth. The difficulty of finding one truth is the same in any religion and Ebershoff states this in the Author's Note. Faith is a funny thing and people believe the craziest things. I am not stating that the Mormon faith is right or wrong, or that my faith is right or wrong- I am saying that someone so deep in faith (whatever faith) believes that what they are doing is the right thing. For awhile, during the read of the book, I thought BeckyLynn was just blaming it on her faith, her faith made her do it- it wasn't her, it was god acting through her. That wasn't the case at all.

I found the historical accounts more fascinating than the Jordon Scott story; however, I see the need to juxtapose the two. The parallel story of Jordon's story with Ann Eliza's makes the book more believable.

My first few months in grad school, I studied the Mormon religion. Studied in a sense that it I was curious about it. I wanted to find out what the religion was all about and it began to fascinate me. The stories in The 19th Wife fascinated me. I kept turning the pages, expecting to find the answer of why. Why did people first believe Joseph Smith? Why was there so much resentment towards the first Latter-day Saints? Why all of the sudden did Joseph Smith and Brigham Young bring the idea of plural wives into the picture? Why did they settle in Utah, of all places? Why, if they are that upset with their lives, don't they just leave? Why can't you just say no? Why are they brainwashed to drink the metaphoric- but all too real- juice? Why? The book brought none of these answers, but answered them all in one word. Faith.

Why do we believe the things we do?

If on a winter's night a traveler

If on a Winter's Night a Traveler By Italo Calvino

What relationship does the Reader have with What Is Being Read?  For me, it is a very intimate one- I get so enraptured with What Is Being Read that What Is Being Read infiltrates my dreams, my conversations and my life. This relationship is unfolded in the secrecy of my room, the intimate details of What Is Being Read are unfolded and shared, as if What Is Being Read is the only thing I care about. I dare not cheat on What Is Being Read with other reads, because I fear that What Is Being Read will find out and somehow (as if What Is Being Read knows that I have wronged it) and it will change the ending to my distaste.  This intimate relationship lasts for a day, a week or however long it takes me to finish What Is Being Read, and then continues on only in my memory, remembering key characters, specific stories, and the emotions attached to What Is Being Read. Usually remembering only the emotions, frustrations, and reactions more than the plot lines and specificality of the timeline of events. Just like in any "real" relationship, dates and times are skewed and memories of emotions only last. 

If on a winter's night a traveler takes into consideration how people read, what they are looking for when they pick up a good book, where the reading takes place and who is more likely to read what than others. This philosophical, (and at times- metaphysical) journey tries to find the perfect match between Reader and What Is Being Read. It takes the Reader on adventures through the ruins of ancient languages, to far off primitive communities enveloped in rituals and storytelling, to a falsified land where perception deceives reality and every intuition is false, to an antiquated train station in which weary travelers rest their bodies, minds and their travels, to a quest to find the ultimate resting place for a newly-murdered man, to a narrator who is stuck between the fear of being followed by the endless telephone ringing and ends up fearing the result, and the list continues exploring the many stories of individual characters in this novel.

The structure of the book is broken up into the narrator searching for an unfinished book. The narrator starts reading a specific book which is then interrupted by the lack of an ending. What the narrator is reading are the subchapters- taking the Reader into the story of What is Being Read by the narrator. The other chapters take the Reader on the narrator's journey to find the conclusions of these unfinished stories. The narrator talks to Reader as if the Reader, too, is physically taking this journey with him/her; however, the narrator also gives asides to the Reader- telling the Reader related information.

The second half of If on a winter's night a traveler, explains the Writer's point of view in how the Writer takes the Reader on this journey. What and How does the Writer write to make the the Reader follow the text on a page and leaves the Reader wanting to read more of that specific Writer. Somehow Calvino intersects the stories of the Reader reading What Is Being Read with the Reader following the narrator on his journey to find the rest of What Is To Be Read with- the Writer writing What Is Being Read and the Writer trying to find What Is To Be Read. (Are you the Reader of this blog post- confused yet?)

If on a winter's night a traveler- reads, to me, like a dream sequence. Stories in a dream are often unfinished, skipping in time and place to past, present and future, combining characters from one story to another story- even if these characters have no actual ties in reality- and often leave the dreamer wanting more, wanting to continue this subconscious adventure. Dream people are faceless, but they have the characteristics of reality people. They are fictional, a created result of the dreamer's imagination- however, while dreaming- they are real. This book is fictional, a created result of Italo Calvino's imagination- however, while reading- everything is so real, so tangible, that the Reader forgets the fiction and believes Calvino's imaginative reality.

Are all good books like this?

What do you look for in a book? Chapter 11, (and this does not give anything away) explains what different people look for in different books. Are all books part of one giant text? Does everything we read lead us to something divine? Are all Readers linked together somehow in this giant world of text on a page? What relationship does you the Reader have with What Is Being Read?