More on Exhaustion and the Creative Process...

A (long) while ago, I wrote this entry about exhaustion and the creative process.

Today, I stumbled on another take on the idea by Brian Eno. This site excerpted it from an interview Eno did in 1977 for a publication called "Melody Maker." Eno was sharing a conversation he'd had with his friend, the painter Peter Schmidt:

"I describe[d] an experience I had in Scotland recently where I climbed a very steep hill at twilight - absentmindedly not paying much attention to where I was going - and came to a halt, breathless and exhausted, on a small plateau near the summit. For the first time I looked to see where I was.

The plateau was covered with dead ferns, which glowed a brilliant fiery orange in the dusk. I was tired enough not to try to reduce the experience to words and concepts, so I just stood open-mouthed for some minutes.

This was an instance of exhaustion as an aid to perception - presumably the conscious mind resigns this continual obsession with classification and the attendant reassurance at times like this, and so the quality of the experience is unfiltered."

Any state that allows an escape from the relentless inner workings my own mind is of interest to me - total exhaustion was not something I had considered!

How I Perform Demolition on Creative Blocks

Someone recently asked or input on how a creative block looks and feels to me, and how I get past it. The first part was easy: a creative block for me is apathy. There are no interesting ideas in the world - and certainly none in my brain, which is both disheartening and depressing.

The second part of the question, how I get past a block, was harder to answer. But after thinking on it for a while, I realized that — whether I do so intentionally or not — I am almost always rescued from creative blocks by immersing myself in excellent work done by others. And in fact, sometimes I get so inspired that I end up with the problem that lies opposite on the creative block spectrum: a tidalwave of new ideas so huge I'm nearly crushed by it. (I do prefer this problem, but it has its own set of challenges.)

All that to say I've recently struck gold (somewhat literally!) in finding three new sources of major inspiration, and they've gotten me all aflutter with new ideas. Thought I'd share them here.

Line Vautrin: A French jewelry designer who worked in Paris from the 1930s through the 1980s, Vautrin's work, life, and style are all so fascinating, beautiful and charming. I'm already interested in learning how to work with precious metal clay, and Vautrin's aesthetic is pushing me into desperation-to-learn mode. (More information about the bronze bracelet above is here.)

Heather Moore: Moore, a.k.a. Skinny LaMinx has been a favorite designer for a long time, but I just started reading her blog recently. Somehow she manages to be witty, fun, substantive, intriguing and inspiring all at the same time. Her work makes me want to drop everything else and start designing screens for printing. The above fabric (which you can find and purchase here) was inspired by cave paintings. Cave paintings!

David Neale: An Australian goldsmith with a blog, his work and his ideas and his inspirations are just so resonant for me. He is also ridiculously smart, funny and charming and generous with sharing his process.

About the series of brooches the above image belongs to (see them all here) David says: "I realise that the making of botanical jewellery is so historic and commonplace,- like some sort of universal default decorative subject...which leads me to ask myself: 'is it boring if I do it too?' Well, I am never bored by plants themselves, be it the humble Lawn or the honoured Flower Behind A Girl's Ear. So a challange hangs over my work; 'Can I say something unique and valuable in the age-old conversation that is botanical jewellery?'" I believe that he has succeeded in doing so!

How do you get past creative blocks, I wonder?

So who is this Henry, anyway?

Henry — or Hensie, or H, or H-Dog as he’s come to be called — is three months old today. So far, he has been born, and gone on a lot of trips. When he was five days old, he rode in the worst weather conditions this part of our state has ever seen all the way to Salem (an hour’s drive) to be with Nona and Papa (my parents) for Christmas. When he was almost two months old, he flew with me to Clarkston, Washington to meet his Great Grandma Mac for the first and last time. In the past two weeks, creeping up on three months old, he has been to Eugene and back twice — once with all of us and once just with me — to see Nona in the hospital after her three concurrent back surgeries. That’s a lot of miles for a baby. And it could have been a big stress for me and everyone else if he were a crier. Or even a complainer. But he’s neither. Sure, he cries when he’s hungry, or when he has gas. But the rest of the time, this dude is either asleep or awake and pretty freakin’ happy — laughing, smiling, or just hanging out. What a huge blessing that has been during this really pretty difficult stretch of life.

I keep telling people the same thing I told them when Sophie (who had a similar temperament) was a baby: They say you get the baby you can handle. Well, turns out I can’t handle much.

Thanks, H. Love you, boy.

Judi Dench, Philip Glass and Me, or How I Ended Up Being Interviewed on New York Public Radio

It’s another one of those crazy internet things.

I saw somewhere that there was a flickr pool related to the new book Taking Things Seriously. I’d never seen the book in person, but I had seen and loved the book's cover image on the Web. The pool description said that they would be talking about some of the entries on an upcoming show on WNYC, New York public radio, and I thought it would be kind of neat to be a part of that.

The book is a collection of odd objects that live in the homes of artists, writers, musicians, etc. and that hold special significance to them. A photo of each contributor's item appears alongside their description of why the object is meaningful. (My favorite is here.)

I decided to add a picture of my horse chestnut collection to the pool along with a description of why and how the collection started. (Click the image above to see the description.)

The next day, the phone rang. It was an associate producer with WNYC’s Leonard Lopate Show: one of the book's authors, Joshua Glenn, was going to be on the show, and would I be willing to come on air during that segment and talk about my horse chestnut collection? Well, um, sure, I guess...

Good thing I didn’t know more about the show when I agreed to do it or I might have been intimidated and said no. Turns out Mr. Lopate has been on the air for quite some time, speaking with guests such as Philip Glass, Chuck Close, John Cusak, Linda Thompson, Judi Dench, Sara Jessica Parker, etc. etc. etc. [Gulp.]

I did the interview live on the appointed day. I drew on some of my media prep skills from back in the public relations days, so I don’t even think I made a fool out of myself. (If I had, I’d never have mentioned anything to anyone about it, of course.) You can listen to it by going here then scrolling down to the “Taking Things Seriously” portion of the show. (To be frank, my submission didn’t make exactly the right kind of sense to be featured, but the producers didn’t have all that many submissions to choose from. So I’m happy to be filler.)

Weird. Exciting. Strange. But I guess I can both add and cross off “being interviewed on New York City public radio” from my life list.

The only thing I regret is not having said something more profound about my horse chestnut collection during the interview. I would have wanted to say that part of the reason I collect and photograph the chestnuts has something to do with reminding myself that the utter uniqueness of even the most lowly natural thing reveals something true and mysterious and beautiful about its creator. Or something like that.

San Francisco Notes: Navigating My Imagination*

* The title of the Joseph Cornell exhibit at SF MOMA which was the impetus for my trip was “Navigating the Imagination.” So, yes, this blog post title is almost 100% stolen.

It’s been over a month since my fairytale trip to San Francisco (getting to see the major Cornell exhibit, traveling with someone who actually wanted to go to thrift stores, seeing an art show about book covers, etc. etc. etc.) and I have yet to go back and find the books, websites and artists I made notes about. Here - do it with me (and enjoy some stories on the way):

• Reading the New York Times (Friday, 10/26) all the way through while waiting for my flight out of PDX. Things from various articles I wrote down:
- www.carstennicolai.de
- L.A. artists Amir Zaki, James Welling, Catherine Opie, Matt Mullican
- David Lynch to his actors: “You are solid.”
- Sleepwalkers video by Doug Aiken projected on the side of NYC MOMA
- Ghiberti’s “Gates of Paradise” will be at the Seattle Art Museum in the next year- and won’t leave Italy again after
- Mary Cassatt drypoint/aquatint print “Gathering Fruit”
- “Staring Back” photos at Peter Blum Chelsea gallery by Chris Marker. Films of his?

• From AIGA 50 Books/50 Covers exhibit at Chronicle Books HQ:
- Robert Polidori: After the Flood

• At the AIGA event, running into a woman in a red hat and cape we had chatted with earlier that day during an incredibly crowded, rowdy bus ride. Turns out she’s the co-founder of the San Francisco Center for the Book.

• The Ferry Building in general as a wonderful wonderland of incredible food. Especially Brianna’s Corner’s Custard Bomboloni and just about anything from Boulette’s Larder.

• Seeing a guy at the crowded farmer’s market and thinking - I think that’s Rena’s husband. But no, I’m sure it’s not - I’ve only seen, like, two pictures of him on flickr. Then asking Rena later in the day if Derek had been in the market that morning, to which she replied, “Yeah, did you see him?” to which I replied, “Yeah, I totally did.”

• Also at Rare Device, running into Susan Stars, a fellow Portlander and national craft celebrity. I’d brought a few of my necklaces along on the trip with the thought of giving one or more away to people if the occasion presented itself. There it was. That was neat.

• The engulfing, spectacular, and magical rooms at SF MOMA where I saw more things by Joseph Cornell all in one place than I’ll probably ever see again in my life. And the accompanying ginormous book has the most beautiful reproductions of his work I’ve ever seen. Yes, I bought it.

• From one of the curator’s placards in the Joseph Cornell exhibit:

“European royalty and affluent professionals from the 1500s to the 1700s gathered works of art, illustrated texts and maps, coins, scientific devices, seashells, and other natural specimens from around the world to create "cabinets of curiosities." Dense arrangements in drawers, chests, and glass-fronted cases in private chambers suggested a collector's highly personal view of the cosmos in miniature. Like his European counterparts, Cornell assembled elements in a matrix of metaphors designed to incite wonder, curiosity, and contemplation about the physical and spiritual interrelationship of man and nature.

Cornell also absorbed his family's Victorian sensibility of gathering and recycling things as talismans of ‘what else were scattered and lost.’ Well-furnished Victorian homes featured ‘art corners’ with assorted natural and cultural souvenirs displayed on shelves or in curio cabinets. For the first time in Western culture, children were encouraged to collect as an educational activity, and their containers of personal treasures were dubbed ‘schoolboys’ museums.” In combining the traditions of two eras, Cornell expressed his appreciation of curiosity as an ongoing and intimate pursuit of knowledge and experience.”

Read more text from the exhibit here.

• Books mentioned in the exhibit as being influential for Cornell at some time in his life that seem worth finding out more about:
- The Riddle of Emily Dickinson
- Ann of Oxford Street

• My own note: “Love of birds: willingness to accept on a deep level the otherness of animals.”

• On a crowded elevator, listening to an SF MOMA tour guide recount a story about the first group she ever led, which was comprised of senior citizens: “'I think we can fit everyone on the elevator - I don’t want to lose anyone.' To which a voice in the back corner of the elevator replied, ‘There are a few people I wouldn’t mind losing.’”

• Books at the SF MOMA store:
- Tico and the Golden Wings
- Stones, Bones & Stitches
- The Art Book for Children
- Pre-Zolo
- Reading Women
- The New Earth From Above
- Living Artfully
- Punk House
- The Plentitude, Rich Gold
- Wabi Sabi
- Foolsgold
- Atlas Schmatles
- Picturing & Poeting
- The Age of Feminine Drawing
• Notes from the SF Museum of Art & Craft
- Book: Celebrating Modern Art: The Anderson Collection
- Book: The Arts & Crafts Movement in California
- Artist: Squeak Carnwath
- Web: hirokokurihana.com
- Artist: Marcie McGoldrick - ceramics

• Made note of the name “Marie Watts” ?

• A Coloring Book For the Lazy by Harriet Russell - seen at Rare Device in “Play Pen” a book featuring children’s illustrators.

• In the Castro District, trying to get to Tartine Bakery and having major navigational challenges. Forced to get breakfast at the nearest location or face fainting/escalation of crankiness. Ending up at Little Orphan Andy’s, the hangout of pretty much exclusively gay men. One of the waiters was wearing a utilikilt, S&M suspenders, and a black leather belt with the word NUDIST spelled out in silver studs. Despite being outsiders, we were treated with extreme kindness by our waiter, who referred to his customers as “my darlings,” “my pumpkins,” etc. We were referred to as “gentlewomen.” I’ll take it. Laurie took a picture of the menu.

• Seeing the Darjeeling Limited at the Sundance Kabuki Theater in Japantown.

• Looking hard for a particular store that held the promise of being like walking though a Jospeh Cornell box , being disappointed with the reality of it then stumbling on Yone Beads (thanks to Laurie's keen eye), without a doubt the most magical and amazing bead store I've even been in. Yone Beads was like being in Joseph Cornell's basement workshop - special trinkets and colors and history everywhere.

Truly amazing trip. Good thing I scheduled in all that serendipity.

New Use For Pockets

Put your hands in 'em when your child is trying to do something hard that you know they can do.

The Prayers of a Toddler (or, Sometimes Things That at First Seem Silly Whip Around and Turn Deep On You)

We pray with Sophie before she goes to sleep. I taught her the simplest prayer I could think of: “Dear Jesus, thank you, I love you, amen.”

I pray after she prays, and usually start out, “Dear Jesus, thank you for this day, for the food you’ve given us to eat and the place you’ve given us to live,” and then go on from there. Eventually she memorized her prayer, and has now started using parts of mine to make things up on her own. Some of her recent variations:

• “Dear Jesus, thank you…food, milk, water, river, doggies, ahhhhm…la la la, laaaa la la…”
  
  
• “Dear Jesus, thank you…food, milk, hungry, Hungry, HUNGRY! I HUNGRY!”

And tonight, after a particularly drawn out dinner time during which I was bound and determined to make sure she got enough to eat:

• “Dear Jesus, thank you... food...I full.”

Trying To Remember What You Can't Know

An almost daily exercise in resisting snap judgments of others: Near my house there is an adult video store right next door to a charity-run thrift store. As I drive by, there is absolutely no way to know which store the person getting out of their car is headed into.

Beyond Symmetry

Symmetry in nature gets a lot of press. But what might we learn about the creator when we see shapes like this in the sky?

There's Been A Lot of Singing At Our House

I’ve always really enjoyed singing, but have always felt pretty self-conscious about it. My dad is a performing, solo-quality singer, and I don’t have that kind of voice. I spent six years in a best-in-our-division-in-the-state jr. high/high school choir being directed by a man who demanded you use the best-sounding voice you could produce. As a result, I spent a lot of years using a cultivated, performance-quality voice. Singing for fun, or in church, or even just along with the radio by myself became a conflicting experience: How good do I have to try to sound, here?

So along came Sophie, and all of a sudden I became a singing machine. All of the parenting books told me to talk to her nonstop to acclimate her to the world of words, but I just couldn’t do it. Somehow it felt more comfortable to sing, so I sang. But I would only sing when it was just Sophie and I. When we were alone, it was like Umbrellas of Cherbourg in our house.

Slowly, over the last year and a half - thanks to daily use - I’ve been finding my own singing voice, my singing confidence, and an enormous, new, pressure-free enjoyment from singing. Sure, I still try to watch my pitch and smooth things out, but I’m not going to melt into the ground if I hit a note that’s not quite right. I’m more than willing to sing in front of Ben now - and frankly in front of just about anyone else if the need arises. My voice is perfectly adequate for the things I want to do with it, and sometimes I can even achieve moments of beauty with it.

In the last couple of weeks Sophie has started singing too. Her very first song was Wheels on the Bus; her lyrics consisted of the phrase “rou an rou” repeated over and over again. Last week, Ben happened to sing “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star,” and it has enraptured her. (See video above.) She’s also started requesting her favorite CD, You Are My Little Bird, and even tries to get it off of the shelf by herself. She likes to turn in a circle and clap hands to her favorite song, “Little Bird, Little Bird.” When we sing just about any song, she loves it. Even if we’re just stopping to take a breath mid-verse she wants to hear more: “Again!”

I’m so excited that Sophie is singing - I love hearing her talking/singing/whispering performance style, and the crazy, meandering tunes she makes up.

Talking, laughing, praying, singing: I’m hoping we can make them all feel like the most natural and important things to do with the voices in our house.

Drudgery Is Almost Always Invisible

Jewelry By Jessica Production, originally uploaded by Poundstone.

There is a certain amount of drudgery in every job. Even in jobs that seem terribly glamorous. Artists who create amazing work still have to spend time cleaning their equipment, trying to get people to buy the work they’ve made, entering their sales into a spreadsheet, ordering supplies, etc. Writers must edit and re-edit themselves, then submit their work to multiple edits by others, some of which they probably don’t agree with. Running your own “cute little boutique,” means dealing with many vendors - some nice, some nasty - worrying about profit margins, cleaning the shop each night, and re-stocking shelves. Etc. etc. etc.

Recognizing the entire cluster of tasks required to succeed at an endeavor is, for me anyway, the first realistic step toward actually deciding whether or not that particular endeavor is for you. As a whole, the best case scenario is that the enjoyment you get out of it more often than not overshadows the stuff you must do to make it work.

For me, more often than not, the excitement of coming up with new designs and color combinations for jewelry that people actually like to wear does overshadow the drudgery that comes along with cutting all of the plastic pieces, drawing on them, painting them, varnishing them, scraping paint off their edges, affixing their findings and cords, making sure each clasp is sound, trimming out their tags, blah, blah, blah.

And hey, at least I can do all of that while watching old episodes of Northern Exposure on DVD.

To reiterate this post's title, while drudgery is almost always invisible, it can sometimes be beautiful (see above picture).

Unlikely Flowers

Dogwood Tree Bloom 1, originally uploaded by Poundstone.

I guess I never really noticed it before this year, but when flowering trees get going in the spring, their flowers arrive first, and then their leaves, which push the flowers out.

I guess I also hadn't noticed before this year how beautiful and amazing it looks when it's just the flowers and the craggy branches on the tree — how all-the-more-unlikely those flowers seem. Maybe there's a life-related metaphor somewhere in there.

“Breathing rarified air, special and pure, like on Mount Everest.”

Clouds 4, originally uploaded by Poundstone.

I read an interview with Lucinda Williams a few years ago and remember her saying that oftentimes, the take of a song that ends up making it onto an album is the take she does when she’s dog tired; the last take.

About a year ago, my friend Craig Laurie (who has just put out a new album) said he had experienced the same thing during his recording process.

A few nights ago, I watched Au Hasard Balthazar, and afterwards a documentary that featured the director of the film, Robert Bresson, saying he sometimes had the non-actors he cast rehearse their lines up to fifty times before he shot a scene.

And this afternoon on NPR’s “This I Believe,” dancer and choreographer Judith Jamison said:

“Once, I had a dancer who was a beautiful dancer with a gorgeous body. But I couldn't get him to express himself. He had to go further. He had to tell me his journey, his emotional center, but he wouldn't. One time we were in rehearsal. He had a five-minute solo. He did it once. He was breathing hard. I said, ‘Do it again.’ The second time he was so exhausted he had no choice: He had to go deeper. He was honest. He arrived. It was exquisite.”

I don’t really know what to make of this idea, which seems to have been following me around for several years. It's counter-intuitive that work produced in some state of fatigue or exhaustion (as opposed to zeal or frenzy) would turn out to be the most excellent work produced, but apparently it happens. And, going by the products in the examples above, work produced in a depleted state of body may have a more intense spiritual resonance than would be possible otherwise. Or, to borrow the phrase Judith Jamison used to describe a rehearsal studio space, the work could make us feel we are “breathing rarified air, special and pure, like on Mount Everest.”

"I love the idea of taking everyday images, and giving them a graphic sophistication."

The title is a quote from Juan Gatti, who has designed titles for Pedro Almodóvar's films for the past 20 years or so. I just saw Almodóvar's "Volver" last night. Wow on so many, many fronts.I'm still processing the film, but the lush visual feast of it was enough to think about for many weeks to come. I was especially astounded by the Gatti's graphics during the end credits, and went to find more information and images. I came across an article "Graphic images to seduce the filmgoer" by Alice Rawsthorn from the International Herald Tribune, and learned about Pedro Almdovar's longtime collaboration with Juan Gatti. Exerpts are below; see the whole article here.

"For Volver's titles, or end credits, [Gatti] created an animation of the flowers, leaves and spots on the women's aprons and dresses. 'Pedro is very clever at building his characters with details like that,' Gatti says. 'And I love the idea of taking everyday images, and giving them a graphic sophistication.'"

"Gatti's collaboration with Almodóvar has lasted for more than 20 years, since the director was making short films in Madrid. Together they have produced some of the most memorable graphic images in contemporary cinema. 'A good title sequence should be seductive," observes Gatti. "It should have a hypnotic quality that gets the audience into the mood of the movie.'"

"Few designers and directors have enjoyed as productive a relationship as Gatti and Almodóvar. They met at a party in the early 1980s shortly after Gatti, who was born in Buenos Aires in 1950, had moved to Madrid. Both belonged to La Movida, the group of artists, designers and writers who were then defining the cultural identity of the newly democratic Spain."

"For each film, Gatti first reads the script, then he and Almodóvar identify reference points for the graphics, such as books, works of art and different characters. 'One of the reasons why we work so well together is because we have a similar frame of reference,' Gatti says. They then discuss possible styles and techniques, but do not develop them until Gatti has seen the first cut of the movie. He sketches his ideas as a storyboard, and refines them in dialogue with Almodóvar."

"In the titles of 'Bad Education' of 2004, he drew on his love of street art by collaging trashy images with religious ones to resemble fliers pasted on a street hoarding. 'I love seeing fragments of old posters peeping out from behind new ones,' he says."

Wonder Collecting

Shadow Sophie
Originally uploaded by Poundstone.

I’m a little bit freaked out about the upcoming year in Sophie’s life. I waited to read about developmental stuff until after she turned one, and it seems perhaps I should have read it earlier so as to prep myself for what may lie ahead. In a nutshell, lots of willfulness, so-called “negativism,” and a desire to do everything by herself, whether she can or not, whether it’s safe or not, etc.

I recently ran across I book I bought but hadn’t picked up for a while, “Mothering as a Spiritual Journey.” Flipping through it, I saw the chapter heading “Ages One-Four: The Crisis of Trust/The Marvels of Understanding and Readiness” and dug in. This book is a bit of a mixed bag – some of it is too mystical for my practical brain to absorb. But there were some wonderful insights, truths, and just plain lovely things in there. Here are those from this chapter that seem like they’ll be important to me:

Discussing our view of toddlers, and how we often view them as “bad” because they threaten our adult sense (illusion) of control, Linthorst reminds, “The toddler is not a “will machine” but an expression/discovery machine…All that is going on in them, physiologically and mentally, is urging expression, the exploration of both their physical capacities and of the separate-self sense.” (63)

On the need to remember that children (and adults) are spiritual beings: “Spiritual seeing transforms human identity into spiritual identity in both the seer and the seen.” (67)

“The belief that our role is to be managers (of our children’s behavior) puts us on the defensive, against our children, and this creates the crisis of trust. We know we cannot trust them, and we are afraid we cannot trust ourselves. This crisis can be resolved only by understanding. Trust cannot be forced. We cannot make ourselves trust something we do not understand. And it is very difficult for us to understand when we think our task is to be managers of behavior.” (68)

Linthorst goes on to explain, “Understanding is defined as ‘the clear perception of the meaning of something.’ The first level of trust is to trust that something understandable is going on, even if we don’t know yet what it is. That trust leads us to take the time to consider what is happening and gives us a beginning sense of dominion that helps us to be open to solving the problem through intelligence rather than force.” (68)

A reminder to “invite inspiration” into our lives about how to care for and understand our children (page 68) and that “love and understanding are inseparable.” (73)

Under the subhead “The Marvel of Readiness”: “Readiness refers to the sense of an inner timetable, which we noticed in the first year. It suggests that when children are ready to move on to the next stage, be it physical, mental, emotional or behavioral, they will do so. It says, in essence, that nothing needs to be forced. Just knowing that is an enormous liberation to parents.” (76)

A further explanation: “Readiness is the principle that reveals to us that no positive step needs to be forced. Parents cooperate with readiness by providing opportunities for their children to experience and express what they are ready for.” (77)

“At no other age are children as ready, willing, and able to look at things with wonder as they are in their toddler and preschool years…The daily activities become a kind of wonder-collecting, because so many small details are new and interesting to the young child’s expanding awareness.” (80)

“Our children provide us with so many opportunities to notice that the ultimate, priceless goods of Life are ‘just at hand.’” (81) “I am the God who is near, says the Lord God, and not a God afar off.” (Jer. 23:23)

Linthorst’s child ran his first race, in which he came in last, and looked pretty silly during it. She was embarrassed for him, and was ready to console him when he came over to her after the race. Trying to think of what to say, she was instead greeted by a wall of chatter from her son excitedly bragging about having run his first real race with a real starting gun and blocks and everything. Linthorst writes: “The innocence of his response stunned me. The discrepancy between his sweet enthusiasm and my self-centered parental concerns with how he and I looked in other people’s eyes made me ashamed…I felt myself to be the unworthy recipient of a very great gift.” (82)

“We ‘live and move and have our being’ in Something far bigger and better than we are usually aware of.” (85) Children can help us remember this if we let them.

Hearing Richard Ford Read

Night Driving 19
Originally uploaded by Poundstone.

Every time I hear Richard Ford read it’s a memorable and enriching experience. His last reading at Powell’s downtown was no exception. Here are some of his words and thoughts. Oh, and his wardrobe is always exciting too. Last time he was wearing crazy socks. This time, the collar of a royal purple shirt peeked out over the round neck of his Kelly green cotton sweater.

“At 62 I thought I was going to get all the way to death without glasses.”

Start of a thought on the presidential election of 2000, the time period in which his new book Lay of the Land is set: “In 2000, which eventuated into the shitmess we have now…”

About the novel as a concept: “In its plodding, persistent way, it can make magic.”

On why to read: “[Through literature] we renew our sensuous and emotional life, and learn a new awareness”

How he keeps writing: “There’s a ruthlessness. No, I’m going to do this, and not do this.”

Advice for writers: “Take it seriously. Be lucky. Tell yourself, ‘I’m doing what Chekov did. I’m doing what Flaubert did.’ Write about the most important thing you know.”

Most memorable and helpful criticism, from Walter Clemens, book critic for Newsweek: “You have a great sense of humor. This book partakes of none of it.” The lesson he took from it, and passed along to other writers: “Invent books that draw more on your character.”

Knowing his writing methodology could be useful for others, so they know “how one person did one thing.”

His methodology: Spend a year collecting material; put everything in a notebook (usually around 250-300 pages typed). The notebook is divided into sections for characters, places, etc. For his new book, there was a section on Frank, Ann, New Jersey, real estate, etc. Once all the pages are organized, read through the notebook and try to find the book. Some passes are all about finding the theme. He may go back to the notebook two or three times a day and re-read every word.

Conversation Tidbit From Today: Kicking The Ass Of Math

I was talking with my friend Liz today, discussing the fact that math was hard for me in high school because I kept getting placed in advanced math classes. They assumed because I was good at all of the other subjects I could handle the advanced math, I guess. And I did, but not without a large amount of angst and the only D of my high school career. (The nearly all-A student in me must clarify that the D was a quarter grade, not a semester grade, and I managed to kick it up to a B, I think.) I found myself saying, "If I had been taking just the regular math classes, I would have kicked the ass of math in high school." To which Liz replied, "Did you hear what you just said?"

I can't tell if you would have to like Bob Dylan or not to enjoy his book. (Personally, I adore the guy.) But what I can tell you is that I'm only about 60 pages in, and I've already got about 12 little passages I've fallen in love with. Including: "I began cramming my brain with all kinds of deep poems. It seemed like I'd been pulling an empty wagon for a long time and now I was beginning to fill it up and would have to pull harder."

"...in any case it is life itself as it chances to exist that furnishes the stimulus for art..."

"...each artist finds, in casual aspects of reality a form of life, a means to create an oeuvre, to build a language of himself, his peculiar wit and skill and taste and comprehension of things."

- from The Shape of Content by artist Ben Shahn

In a story on a new planet European astronomers discovered…

"However, there is the tantalising question as to whether it lies within the "Goldilocks Zone" -- a distance from its star that is not too hot, not too cold, just right."