Art & Intent

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I'm having trouble my students always complained about in which I feel that there's nothing to write. I've committed to writing a daily blog post during these tough times but this morning I've had nothing to say. That's how it feels.

But I know better.

There's plenty to say, it's just that none of it seems worthy of putting out into the world. There's a guy I read online who posts almost everything he does and thinks. I skip eighty percent of his posts because they offer me nothing. However, the other twenty percent of posts are good. Were we friends and not living so far apart, I would ask him to explain how the eighty percent is any better than pictures of dinner and dessert that people post online. Does anyone enjoy looking at those?

Writing for others, I have to consider, well, others. I don't have to cater to them, but I have to be presenting something to them. What I'm writing now may not be useful to some, but I'm writing it with intent, to stress (again) that writing and creating are things we have to keep doing for ourselves and others, and that we need to create with intent.

My friend relayed advice he had read that every single photograph has to tell a story, has to have some message. We rolled our eyes, not because it's a bad idea but because it's too simplistic. Creative endeavors must have intent (not necessarily a message) to take an audience somewhere. Art is a vehicle. Where it takes us is up to artist and audience, and is dependent on the moment.

My writing may or may not be art. It is intended as such by me, but that's only part of the equation. It is however, the only part of the equation I control, so the thing to do is to keep making art and hold onto my intent.

At the top, I talked about students I taught over twenty-four years when I was a public school teacher. I've left that career but artists remain teachers. My friend's art teachers challenging lessons by refusing easy prettiness. My writing teaches by mining my experience while trying not to be too pedantic, narcissistic, or boring.

When I approach making art with intent, it's easy to feel there's nothing within me worthy of such a thing. Nonsense. Not all of what I think, feel, and experience should be shared, but much more of it is worthy than I tend to want to believe.

Two last things:

As always, the keys are to start and keep going. I sat and typed the first thing that came to my mind then kept going until I said the last word.

Art doesn't come out the first time, so I went back to the top and shaped what I had put down. Revision took the half-baked, self-centered, indulgent thoughts and created something for an audience that just might be, if I did it right, artful. At least it was done with that intent and showed me again that there is always something to write. I'll keep writing.

A Hodgepodge

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A friend sent "All Together" a piece she had written about trying to understand how things are now. It was two pages of her fear and worry laid bare, the kind of thing that seems like a drag but which was a balm for me. I thought, "thank goodness, someone else feels these things too." It was also beautifully written. Such a lovely gift to receive.

I wrote a rant about the man-child in the White House to which I won't subject you. I needed to write it, to respond to a liar, but he will ever acknowledge he lies, that he's ever wrong, that he harms others. There's nothing to do but move on from him and hope fate sweeps him away soon.

Another friend called about her situation. It's not good. A loved one tested positive but is unable to care for himself. But it's not all bad. Her parents will care for him she has family with whom she's staying and being cared for.

Yesterday, I had a good meeting and felt renewed vigor from it. Some of that vigor remains today.

My daughters and wife are healthy. It turns out that our house is one of the happier houses I know. It has often been that way, but what a comfort that in these times it's as true as ever.

There is work to do. This morning I drafted two grants for emergency funding, my small part in keeping the community centers running. Writing felt like doing something. I'll keep searching for those opportunities.

Our dog and the cats have help. Last night, though she does not love hugging or cuddling, our dog let me hug and cuddle her as she curled on her bed waiting to be allowed some peace. She gave me comfort. I give her cheese and chicken while I prepare dinner. We both think that's a good deal.

My daughters went outside to paint. Then the rain came. Governor Cuomo wants everyone staying indoors. What does that mean for us?

Tonight the wind will tear through our region. I lowered the basketball hoop. We are charging our devices in case we lose power. I was never one for checking weather reports and now it seems almost indecent to follow any news but that of the virus. Who wants to think about the ten-day forecast?

I'm inside listening to a Cannonball Adderley record on my turntable. I'll have lots of time to listen to records now.

When I see anyone from my window or when walking down the street, I wave and say hello. We're all our brothers' keepers now and should have been all along.

Take care of you and yours. If we all do that, then everyone will be cared for.