DM, one of my favorite blogging buddies, is the voice behind the always thoughtful and provocative blog, Joe Felso:Ruminations. In a posting a few weeks back, he wrote about a book by Richard Hugo, The Triggering Town, Lectures and Essays on Poetry and Writing. I ordered a copy without hesitating, after reading his inspiring riff about Hugo.
Now it comes with me everywhere. Biking to and from my studio, it is nestled in my backpack. I read it waiting in line at the bank and the last thing before falling asleep. I love this book.
There is something grabbing my collar and asking me to pay attention, and this book is at the heart of that pull. What that is, I’m not really sure. And to be frank, I don’t necessarily need to know, not now anyway. But a vague directional sense of where the fragrance is coming from might lead to something meaningful. Follow your nose.
For years I have found books about writing poetry more inspirational and insightful in my art practice than books written about making visual art. When younger artists have asked me for reading recommendations, my list is almost always in the literary/poetic/wisdom tradition rather than art history/theory/criticism. I am not and never have been a teacher of visual arts, so my thoughts about the state of art pedagogy are the views of a practitioner, not as a member of the “academy” (in its most catholic of meanings). But Hugo’s book is chock full of advice that is as apropos to a visual artist as it is to a poet. His approach walks between the need to be open, teachable and impressionable and having the “arrogance” (in its non-pejorative usage) to pay attention to and honor what your inner knowing is saying.
The latest issue of Modern Painters (great mag BTW) has a cover story featuring a dialogue between John Baldessari and Michael Craig-Martin called Class Dismissed: What’s gone wrong with art education. I haven’t read it yet (it’s right on the top of that tormenting and tyrannical Stack) but I will. The topic is snagging my attention in a way that I don’t think it would have six months ago. I have a vague sense that it would be useful to probe a bit further into the phenom of art education currently being carried out through an international nexus of art schools and institutions. Where does the search for wisdom fit into a contemporary art curriculum? Is that an inappropriate question to be asking?
I’m just beginning this line of thinking. More later.
I’ll end with an excerpt from another Joe Felso: Ruminations posting exploring ways of learning how to make (and/or teach) art. It seems apropos.
Bly prefers, however, the model of Ch’an Buddhism. “Their method doesn’t resemble a workshop,” Bly says, “They didn’t teach politeness or the smooth surface . . . [The teacher’s] plan would involve something entirely outside the building.” Bly imagines a teacher who rebuffs questions and sends students off to work for a few months to build something or go on a pilgrimage for a few years. When the pupil returns, the teacher’s job would be to be rebuff him or her again.
“One might tell a student,” says Bly, “After you have built your hut, translate twenty-five poems from a Rumanian Poet.”
“But I don’t know Rumanian.”
“Well then, that’s your first job. You learn Rumanian, translate the twenty-five poems, and then come back to see me, and I’ll tell you what I think about ‘the deep image.’”
Another poet told me her all-time favorite book was Triggering Town last January, and I bought it and stuck it on my shelf. Yet another unread book. You are really prying it off that shelf. I’m not sure what to make about the Rumanian quote, except that I suppose it falls on the side of the argument that art can’t be taught, that you have to live life and struggle hard and if you care enough, then you will make art. No?
You hit on something that resonates with me, too, about books on writing, and especially writing poetry, being more useful to visual artists than books on painting. Well, that’s how I paraphrased what you said. But it also got me wondering if what those books get across is a way of seeing the world, opening your eyes, and thus, being receptive to the details of life. Which is key for a writer, but also for an artist.
And it reminded me of Clark Strand’s Seeds from a Birch Tree. The subtitle is “Writing Hairku and the Spiritual Journey.” It’s a wonderful book. Helpful, instructive, inspirational, relaxing. And your note about carrying Richard Hugo’s book (which I’m now inspired to go get) made me want to start carrying Strand’s book around with me in my backpack.
Great post, great comments. The best teacher I ever heard of was one I never had. He taught 4th grade in Lexington, MA. Every autumn, his students entered an empty classroom; whatever they had in the way of a learning environment, they would build, starting the very first day. I wonder how much older you would have to get before that wouldn’t be the best way to begin.
It sounds funny to say so after your post, but many of the books I count as most influential in my writing are books about visual art or by visual artists: The Shape of Content by Ben Shahn and My Life by Marc Chagall (for me, one of the most beautiful books ever written) and—in a cautionary, prodding sort of way—The Painted Word by Tom Wolfe. I’ve always needed something outside my mode to find the umbrella to cover multiple arts.
I’m so happy to have helped you find Triggering Town. Lately, I’ve been thinking maybe books find us instead of the other way around. It takes a good reader to get anything out of any book, one who’s ready and receptive. Something tells me your appreciation of Hugo’s work is a tribute to you as much as it’s a tribute to his plain-spoken wisdom.
Thank you so much for your kind words about my blog. They inspire me to write on, and that’s all every writer ought to want. —D
Great comments, all. Thank you ybonesy for Clark Strand’s Seeds from a Birch Tree. And the start from scratch classroom you mentioned Elatia, very provocative.
How interesting to think about this cross pollination possibility you have raised DM. The need for other, for something outside the chosen metier. That’s something to explore a bit more.
Re Chagall’s book. I’ve never read it. But I will based on your very high recommendation.
Deborah,
I chose you to continue the meme about your five greatest strengths as a writer. I always leave your blog learning something solid, as this post illustrates.