Out of Sheer Rage

Have you ever read a book so good, that as soon as you read the very last line, you turned back to the beginning and had to read it all over again?

Early this morning at 3 AM (when I am chronically awake due to teaching at that time) I finished Out of Sheer Rage by Geoff Dyer, a memoir about his struggle to write a critical analysis of D. H. Lawrence. Then I turned back to the very first page to start all over again.

Here is the opening line:

Looking back, it seems, on the one hand, hard to believe that I could have wasted so much time, could have exhausted myself so utterly, wondering when I was going to begin my study of D. H. Lawrence; on the other it seems equally hard to believe that I ever started it, for the prospect of embarking on this study of Lawrence accelerated and intensified the psychological disarray it was meant to delay and alleviate. 

and here is the last sentence of the book:

The world over, from Taos to Taormina, from the places we have visited to the countries we will never set foot in, the best we can do is to try to make some progress with our studies of D.H. Lawrence. 

I, just like Dyer, am a person who can't always face the work in front of me, and often uses another creative project to delay what it is I am SUPPOSED to be doing.

The only time in my life I have been disciplined enough to actually hack out a rough draft of one of the many, many novels floating around in my brain was when I was supposed to be writing my Architecture thesis. The thesis certainly did eventually get written, but only in fits and starts whenever I was tired of working on that silly novel. I have found one of the best ways to get some big project done is to use it as a distraction from OTHER work you have to do!

The brilliance of Dyer's book is not really this recipe for procrastination, it more is how he weaves in the amazing (and challenging) person of Lawrence; visiting places in his life, Rome, Paris, Greece, England and Taos, New Mexico. Lawrence and Dyer are both people who always long to be somewhere else, and this resonated so deeply with me.

But why do we long to travel when it is so expensive, exhausting, and difficult? I think I have more understanding of this after reading this book. We are looking for something, that even though it is actually right in us, we will see more clearly when we are in new, challenging, inspiring surrounds.

Taos is where Lawrence's ashes are scattered, and where he took up painting and seemed happiest in his life. He had TB and died young, and Taos was the last place where he felt healthy and productive. My daughter lives near Taos, and is a painter, and the energy of this place exudes spareness, creativity, natural beauty.  It also allows emptiness.  I think Dyer admires Lawrence's ability to just BE, doing nothing. He also, of course, admires the boundaries Lawrence broke in his writing (Women in Love was banned for its 'pornographic language' and 'inappropriate content'.) The courage to just do something for sheer pleasure, not for any praise or critical success is huge in Lawrence, and perhaps the biggest lesson I get from him.

In fact, I have a memory of an experience of pleasure thanks to D. H. Lawrence. I lived in NJ at the time and there was a film opening of a three hour Lady Chatterley's Lover at a small art theater in Manhattan. Boarding the train, riding the hour into town, then walking to the theater, I passed an extravagant chocalatier, and on impulse went in and bought a perfect little box of truffles. As I enjoyed the movie I nibbled on these amazing chocolates. The beauty of the natural scenery in the movie, the poignancy of Lady Chatterley discovering pleasure, the taste of those chocolates. . . . all of it, divine. When the movie ended, and I stopped in the restroom, a beautiful young African American woman looked me in the eye (she had obviously been in the same movie) and said to me "Now, that is how we all need to live life!" We smiled conspiratorially at each other, and it was as charming a moment as any in the movie.

Thanks to D. H Lawrence for writing about pleasure and the pursuit of art.

Thanks to Geoff Dyer for knowing the seeking of the answers is actually as worthy as the finding of them.

Thanks to that beautiful young woman in the theater for bonding with this middle age woman over the glory of film, art, nature and chocolate!

Thanks that this strange year of quarantine is coming to and end and I can dream of travel once again.

Now to go read this book a second time. . . . .

 

 

 

Turnings

I have been learning to throw pottery on the wheel. I am taking a ceramics class at our local Rec Center, and it has been amazing for many reasons.

First - it is the first time in a year I have been in a room with more than the people I live with. We take precautions, like wearing masks and staying mostly 6' away from each other. But the casual conversation while we work is just a treat. The six other women in my class range in age, and it always surprises me that I am actually the oldest one! When did that happen???

Second - I simply love the wheel. The slow process of centering, the up and down coning to get all the air bubbles out of the clay, the wetness and smoothness of the surface. I love the way the clay bends and moves according to very slight hand pressure. With very subtle, even motions, the lumpy ball turns into a graceful, elegant form. It is so pleasing.

At this stage, half the shapes I start with end up collapsing, or rotating off center, or being too lumpy or thick or thin. But with more practice, I am growing in skill, and this growth really is satisfying.

Now and then, something catches, I move too quickly or lose concentration, and the whole shape goes off.

Trimming, as well, has risks and just a little push too hard makes the whole pot go wacky.

Third - I am not always upset with the surprises. After trimming, there is glazing, which always brings unexpected results. I spend hours watching you tube videos on throwing, trimming, decorating and glazing. It is a lovely new world of creativity.

Even the off-centered or thick-walled or drippy-glazed pots thrill me. And although I really admire the perfection of production potters, (who I spend hours watching on you tube) I know I will continue to be a person who experiments and admires the happy accidents.

Turnings of clay, of seasons, of years, changes that are expected and many that are not, it feels like a spiral of growth toward some peak. I am looking forward to what that might be.