Gasp!

Undone

Thumbing through my writing projects, I can’t help but wonder what would happen if I died. That’s not a morbid thought. It’s actually quite practical. While my papers are gathered, they’re not exactly organized. There’s no meaning to any of the data.

I don’t know if anyone would be able to figure anything out.

As well, I’ve got projects that are in various states of completion. I have no sense of closure on certain themes, and therefore, I can’t move forward. I need closure.

The curious aspect to all this is that my state of completion largely depends on what form the project was written.

For the most part, my poetry is completed. When I write poetry, I’m intensely focused. Very little time lapses between drafts. I do have folders of fragments, but that’s to be expected. Once a poem is complete, I have no desire to reopen it.

The same goes for my articles. Once an article is published, it’s in cement. No point in going backward.

My book drafts are clearly marked. Enough on that for now.

What is surprising is how little closure I have on my plays. It seems that there’s so much that has yet to be explored, so I really can’t put closure on projects. I don’t know if these projects need productions, or maybe I haven’t learned what I was looking to learn from them.

There was a reason why I wrote those plays, but I haven’t figured it out yet. But there is something to learn…

A few weeks ago, my intuition has directed me back to the plays. In particular, there are four of them that want my attention.

Going back to the plays wasn’t in my plan. Jethro has read most of my plays and wishes I would do something with them. My plan was to do nothing.

But if I was really honest, I would tell you that very seldom have I ever put effort into finding the “right people” to work with. I’ve also moved around a bit, which makes it hard to develop relationships. And theater thrives on relationships.

I think the reason I have no closure on this work is because I’ve needed to involve other people in it. I could take it only so far on my own. Nothing is in cement because it is, essentially, undone. I’m aware it could be worked on and improved. Until I’m in a position to do that, I can only take it so far on my own.

That’s the nature of theater… That’s the difference between plays, books, articles and poems.

The lack of closure nags at me.

Welcome Patrick!

It's about time Patrick Gabridge got a blog. Don't know who he is? Thanks Adam for letting everyone know.

(By the way, I interviewed Patrick for Quietpoly back in 2004.)

At the time, I remembered wondering how he was able to be a playwright and not live in New York. Heh.

Welcome Patrick!

Life in 1963

“Even the young lady who isn’t really interested in a career – only in the title of “Mrs.” – finds shorthand and secretarial training valuable. Thousands of young women continue to work even after they are married – to help earn money for a new home, to save for vacation travel, or to help meet unexpected expenses.”

--A quote from Gregg Shorthand, copyright 1963, page 15.

As much as I like the culture, fashion and art from the mid 1900s, if I actually lived back then I’m certain I would’ve killed myself. But that's just my opinion...

Frank O'Hara

I want to write about Frank O’Hara because I love him. The first time I heard a recording of him reading “Poem (Lana Turner Has Collapsed!)” even he couldn’t stifle a giggle. His laughter sprang from joy - a natural response. It’s a funny poem.

O’Hara was also Curator at the Museum of Modern Art, and frequent contributor of Art News. His book, Art-Chronicles-1954-1966, explores the New York School of painters and sculptors. Pollock, Rivers, Nakian and Frankenthaler are among those he discusses and/or interviews.

Throughout the book, I was struck at how he greets the reader as an equal. He doesn’t overplay his knowledge, and yet doesn’t chum up to the artists. It helps that the artists themselves respected his own art – poetry. And perhaps his own involvement with the New York School helped the tone of his insights.

He’s not trying to tell us or the artist his perspective of the world. Instead, he’s trying to shed light on how the artist thinks, and what his/her process is.

O’Hara’s early work can be found in Early Writing. These are poems and vignettes from 1946-1950. O’Hara was in his twenties then, and throughout the book, you can see the evolvement of his writing. Like all writers, his juvenilia consists of suicide, depression and anger at the world’s hypocrisy. You can also get a sense of his wordplay. Some work feels like a bunch of garbled words looking for a meaning. But every now and then, he finds his true voice. Poems such as The Militarists and Ballad combine humor, everyday life and lightness that he would soon become known for.

He didn’t separate High and Low Culture. The only thing that mattered was his ability to communicate to people. He wasn’t interested in correcting their sensibilities.

I’ve been thinking even more about Frank O’Hara lately. Perhaps it’s because I’ve come to the conclusion that it takes more courage to be joyful than depressed. In a painting filled with darkness, the light draws your attention.

I also appreciate how confident he was in his own voice. He wasn’t trying to impress anyone. 5 Participants in a Hearsay Panel in Art Chronicles, a script “conceived and recorded by Elaine de Kooning after three evenings of private discussion by Joan Mitchell, Elaine de Kooning, Frank O’Hara, Mike Goldberg and Norman Bluhn) draws upon the intellectual humor of the period.

Joy. Naturalism. Lightness. The missing element.

Proust and Diety

Towards the end of last week, I went to a lecture called “Why Read Proust” given by William C. Carter, PhD. If you don’t know, Carter is a renowned Proust scholar who has given lectures in Paris and Lincoln Center (NYC). There were only 14 people in the audience, which provided a kind of intimacy you don’t normally get in these types of events.

I haven’t read Proust… Yet. By right, I should’ve read him many years ago. A number of writers who I’ve been influenced by have been forthright in their devotion to Proust. Kerouac is just one example. I love Kerouac, therefore, I should love Proust.

But I don’t gravitate towards French culture. I’ve been to Paris and I didn’t think it lived up to the hype. (Heathen! Heathen!) While visiting museums, I walk swiftly past the Rococo exhibits. (Does anyone like that stuff?) I spent a year and a half learning French and regretted it. (The only place it was useful was in an old Normandy neighborhood. Certainly not in Paris.)

I’ve been tossing around a number of thoughts on love. In meditation, I’ve considered how love fits in the paradigm of life. Creativity is a kind of “energy flow” which can be a form of love.

At one point, Carter talked on how art connects us to each other through universal spirit. The role of diety/God/higher self/universal spirit in art has intrigued me for a quite a while now. When I’m attracted to a painting, play or book, it’s because I can feel the inspiration of the artist or writer. Art that misses that, misses me entirely. It feels hollow to me, self-aggrandizing and empty.

This doesn’t mean that I only respond to religious artists and writers. On the contrary, I respond to those who are able to transcend themselves. Frank O’Hara was, at the very least, an agnostic, yet his work connects with the commonality in all of us. He is an inclusive critic and poet. As a reader, I’ve never felt that he was better or smarter than me.

As a writer, I tend to gravitate towards being directly inspired by diety/God/higher self/universal spirit. In my experiences, I found that people in theater couldn’t quite relate to it. (“It’s that God thing,” someone once said about my work.) The funny thing is, I’m too busy dealing with my own raw issues with diety/God/higher self/universal spirit to preach to people. I’ve had a ton of anger towards God and have written plays about it both directly and indirectly. I’ve also had other thoughts about diety/God/higher self/universal spirit, but dealing with it in any form in that world just hasn’t been acceptable.

I’m at peace with all that, however. I’ve been a part of theater long enough to know that it works in cycles. Themes and forms come and go in trends. At this point, I’d rather work in a form where my themes will be tolerated, and perhaps even understood.

(I can just see getting flamed for those last two paragraphs. It’s not my intention to start heat. I’m just writing what my experience has been, and that’s that.

Wait. Why do I feel like I have to put a disclaimer every freakin’ time I talk about theater? Sheesh.)

At any rate, Carter’s lecture was a great introduction into Proust’s work. And I will read Proust, sooner rather than later.

The Intellectuals are Coming

I love reading about social cycles and future trends. Here's a fascinating book review/explanation of Dr. Ravi Batra's The New Golden Age. He believes that a new golden age might be upon us, as the Acquisition Age might be running its course.

Optimistically, he believes its only a matter of time before the intellectual class takes control.

Imagine...

Dick Cavett instead of Jay Leno.

Gore Vidal (or practically any author) circa 1967 instead of James Frey.

Janis Joplin (who could discuss Evelyn Waugh before rocking out) versus Britney Spears.

Perhaps that's why I can't get beyond 1979 in my book collection. Or why I'm at odds with the current culture. The Acquisitors have been in power.

Well, it makes sense to me anyway...

Regarding... (Catching up on emails)

Regarding the Birmingham Lyric Theater: I don’t know how to get a hold of anyone there. I don’t know anything other than what I wrote. For those who do searches on the pictures I took that day, please note that they can’t be republished or used in any fashion without my consent. Though I don’t mind you look at them on my site. If you need to talk about it further, please email me.

Regarding Original Works Publishing: Yes, my play was published by them. So far, I’ve had no complaints. Like with any publishing endeavor, I’d recommend doing extra publicity yourself. (And sorry it took so long to respond to these inquiries. I got a slew of them during the death season.)

Regarding living in the country: Jethro wanted me to clear this up. While we do live in the country, in an old farmhouse, this does not mean we’re living in Mayberry RFD. (Although having left NYC only a few years ago, it does feel like that to me.) We’re a stones throw away from three major cities here in the Southeast and can plan day trips effortlessly.

As well, I should mention that Jethro isn’t a farmer. He’s a journalist/photographer who has spent most of his professional life working in the major media. Just to clarify that.

Regarding living in Alabama: Back in 2003, when I was living in New York City, working in Times Square and very ill, I wanted to live in the country where I could write. I wanted to live cheaply, be close to nature, and not deal with the pressures that were all around me. I wanted to hear birds, smell flowers and deal with people who didn’t care how much money I made in a year.

I have that life now, and I’m very happy.

Cathy Seipp

I’ve been bummed out ever since Jethro mentioned that Cathy Seipp was gravely ill.

If you don’t know, Cathy was a prominent conservative blogger and National Review columnist. I came to know Cathy’s work because she hosted her blog on Journalspace, which is the former home of Gasp. Journalspace was an odd little blogging community a few years ago. Kind of bare bones, it was a place where everyone knew your (fake) name. It attracted a lion’s share of conservatives for some reason, along with the usual population of teens.

Hence, Cathy and her daughter. While I frequently disagreed with Cathy’s politics, I’d still visit her blog on occasion.

Jethro, who still keeps his blog on Journalspace, was a fan. He told me about Cathy’s appearances on Dennis Miller’s old show and even sent Cathy a private message to solicit an opinion. She responded with a kind note back to him. Ironically, they were corresponding on the topic of lung cancer. Little did anyone know...

I admit, I’ve clicked on Cathy’s blog for a few days now, waiting for the inevitable entry about her passing. Maybe it’s hit me a little harder because of both my Grandmother and Christopher’s recent deaths.

When I checked her blog this afternoon, it occurred to me how blogging itself is a legacy of moments and opinions. A living testament to a life lived.

It wasn’t my Grandmother’s cottage that meant the most to all of us, though it certainly held a great deal of memories. It was my Grandmother’s private papers, her attempts at writing her history and her notes to herself.

That’s what speaks to our survivors; what we spoke about when we were alive.

As more notes and entries are written about Cathy, it's good to remember that there's always a person behind the politics. And by all accounts, Cathy was indeed, a very good person.

On Natural Ability in the Arts

When it comes to drawing, realism is a problem for me.
My mother and sister are brilliant representational artists. My sister can take a photo and duplicate it by hand beautifully. For a while, she did it professionally. She was that good.

But I’m an artistic dyslexic. I’ll draw my coffee mug at a different angle than what’s in front of me. Or something will be on the left when it ought to be on the right.

I can’t help it. I’d much rather draw what’s in my head instead of what’s in front of me. They say that representational drawing is a basic art skill. I suppose it is. Maybe my artistic dyslexia is a form of rebellion.


How many kids are brainwashed into thinking that they don’t belong in the arts because they don’t have “natural talent” in it?

Kids who doodled during school got the art teacher’s attention. They were labeled artistic. The rest of us were tolerated during art class. Teachers are deferential to those who have natural ability.

There’s a fallacy about art: You’re either a natural or an accountant. Because I couldn’t draw representationally, I never had the courage to pursue the visual arts in a serious manner… Despite how much I loved creating pottery and paintings.

As an eleven year old, I used to compose music on my trombone. I’d spend hours practicing my instrument because I loved music. But one of my music teachers discouraged me from learning guitar, trumpet or drums so I never got beyond trombone.

Don’t even get me started about singing…

It takes courage to go into the arts, especially if there’s no validation for it. Sometimes I think the only reason I became a writer is because I was encouraged by a special person in my life. It wasn’t solely because I loved writing. I loved music and painting as well.

There’s no point regretting the past, but it is time to embrace opportunities. Art can be practiced until it becomes natural. It just makes me sad to think how many other kids had similar experiences.

Centralization, Not Specialization

Yesterday I began consolidating my blogs and websites. Lauraaxelrod.net ( a.k.a. Gasp!) will now be the main site for my work. More links will be added, and the archives will be a little fuller than before.

There are a number of reasons for this consolidation:

People who use my writing articles don’t know that I also keep a blog, which might prove helpful to them.

People who read my blog don’t realize that I do a bunch of other stuff with my writing, both online and off.

The concept of “specialization” in the arts is stupid. There, I said it.

It’s cheaper to maintain fewer sites. Spending less money means more time for writing.

It’s been both my experience and observation that writers compartmentalize the hell out of their lives. Day job during the day, artistic life on nights and weekends and never the twain shall meet. It’s ironic that it took moving out to the country to get out of that mindset.