Poetry is not a turning loose of emotion, but an escape from emotion; it is not the expression of personality, but an escape from personality. But, of course, only those who have personality and emotions know what it means to want to escape from these things."
T.S. Eliot
from Tradition and the Individual Talent
Looking After by Tracy WeilOver at Soul Pancake, the question is big: What Art Has Saved Your Life?
Poetry saved my life, I often say. As an asthmatic youngster rushed in and out of hospitals, books were my first friends. But looking back, books were just the first in a series of artful steps that paved my way, and saved my life.
Music helped me endure the agony of adolescence. And isn't this true for many of us? The soundtrack of adolescence always plays. For me, it's an eclectic blend: Pink Floyd's Comfortably Numb, The Cure's Lost in a Forest, Jackson Browne's Running on Empty.
In high school, writing, in the form of the school newspaper (Thank you, Mrs. Trembath), saved me. In journalism, I found direction, purpose, and an excuse to enter the lives of others.
In college, suicidal, visual art was my tourniquet. Vincent Van Gogh, Georgia O'Keeffe, Auguste Rodin, Stanton Englehart, and perhaps most importantly, Tracy Weil, who became a lifelong friend and a partner in artful collaborations that included home decor, handmade books, and poetry-painting exhibitions.
Still and again, art -- in all its forms -- ignites, excites, inspires, and saves me. Has art saved you?
Dear Thanksgiving,
Thank you for not bowing to commercialization. You offer no songs, mascots, or greeting cards (though Hallmark keeps trying). I like your simplicity.
As holiday cheer cranks to a frenetic pace, you remind me to reflect. Thank you for giving me the gift of gratitude.
With appreciation on this very Thankful Thursday,
Drew
A funny thing happened on the way to gratitude this week.
As Thankful Thursday approached, I gathered many things to share (favorite bookstores, bodies of water, author quotes, words) and mentally distilled and arranged my appreciation in a hierarchy that would reveal gratitude, thoughtfulness and, if I was lucky (and honest about my desire to impress), a touch of creativity.
My enthusiasm, however, was doused when a taken-for-granted internet connection was cut. No email. No Facebook. No blogs. No interaction with anyone outside of talking distance.
I was bereft -- for about one minute. And then I was awash in gratitude. Really.
I shut the computer off, put my shoes on, and walked. And walked. And thought. And watched. Colors were vivid, sounds crystal. And the inner voice, the one that cajoles me to be more clever, more insightful, more productive, more of everything I am not, hushed.
If this sounds dramatic, it is. Sometimes the world is full of too many words. I need to pare down. Talk less. Go quiet. Even -- shudder -- stop writing.
Yes, three days later I turned the computer back on, and was again connected to the larger world. But I know now that I can turn away again at will. On this Thankful Thursday on Saturday, I am grateful for the contemplative silence that was always within my reach but that I forgot I had the ability to access, control, invite and enjoy.
I can be a bit peevish (a Thankful Thursday word) about grammar.
Your and you're.
It's and its.
Their and they're.
And don't get me started on apostrophes. Admittedly, I sometimes take an annoying self-righteous tone. Thank goodness Stephen Fry has — in creative typography — simultaneously spoken for me, and put me in my place.
Tuesday, November 30, 2010 at 7:00AM