A vacant loft in Chelsea that we just happened upon recently. Ah, the provocation of empty space. It always excites my “if only!” energy.
Often discussed, but still a furtive topic: How does an artist finds his or her voice? An identifiable style, that creative stride that becomes signatory?
The search for that essence is part of what gets tracked by art historians in studying the trajectory of every canonical artist. When does it appear? How does it come to be? Who are the influences from which it is fashioned?
As I said, it is furtive.
David Orr begins his recent review of two books of poetry by Matthew Zapruder and Rachel Wetzsteon* with his take on this topic:
According to conventional wisdom, younger poets are engaged in “finding their voices” — a process often described in terms that make it seem like a cross between having an epiphany and having an aneurysm…
Many readers think of a poet’s distinctive style as being “found,” rather than, for example, “built.” They suppose it arrives as “an unstopping flood,” rather than in dribs and drabs and half measures. They believe it’s a matter of, yes, inspiration.
And in some ways, it is. But it also isn’t. The achievement of a style is like the achievement of an individual poem writ large: it’s a delicate balance of confidence and guesswork, as the writer simultaneously relies on what’s worked in the past, bets on what might work right now and tries to leave a little room for things that might work in the future. It’s like baking a pie with a recipe in one hand and a wish list in the other. Some poets manage the feat in their first books (Bishop), others take a couple of outings to get things right (Larkin) and still others pass through multiple styles over the courses of long careers (Yeats, Auden). The process is fascinatingly byzantine, but it’s not really a matter of “divine prompting”; rather, a poet arrives at a style through the same combination of staggering labor and jolts of luck that most complex activities depend on.
“Staggering labor and jolts of luck that most complex activities depend on.” In other words, the rag and bone shop plus a dose of good fortune. If only that was all any of us ever needed to achieve the convergence of our work and our imagination. Meanwhile, it’s chop wood and carry water.
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* Rachel Wetzsteon is a poet I have written about a several times here:
Meanwhile’s Far From Nothing
One More From Rachel’s Hand
Throwing up a Curse That Comes Back a Blessing
I just read Orr’s piece about a half-hour ago. I will be interested to read the follow-up comments to it. Your “it’s chop wood and carry water” is so right on.
I know you know of what I speak, Maureen. Good luck with your work (along with everything else that you do.)
I remember when I was in Grad school a mentor telling me that it generally took 10 years for an artist to find who they were, taking that time to purge the influences of teachers and peers. The labor and luck is in finding who you truly are, because I believe that to a great extent we have an innate style as essential as our personality, acted upon by circumstance. I am speaking as a visual artist, not knowing enough about poetry to know if this is different in that sphere of creativity.
Altoon, the 10 year test. A bit like Malcolm Gladwell’s 10,000 hours needed to become proficient at something.
I also agree that there is something elementally you, that you cannot copy or mask. I think it was Petah Coyne who once said, “You just have to do the work that is yours. If you are lucky, people like it and buy it. If you aren’t lucky, they don’t. But that doesn’t change the fact that you just have to do your work.”
And look at De Kooning–painting De Koonings even after he suffered from Alzheimer’s. It is as if it is cellular.
Thanks for this, a lovely addendum to the post.
Deborah, the Coyne quote and Altoon’s comment were enriching, as well as your above post.
Yes, 10 years, Gladwell’s 10,000 hours (oft quoted by me and my friends with a wink), it’s something of a “working towards, a slow becoming,” (chop wood, carry water) paint or pen or bucket in hand.
Thank you Terresa for leaving your thoughts. Important work to be done.