The Writer’s Path

Art and the Self

Friday, January 13th, 2012 | Random Thoughts, The Writer's Path, The Writing Life | No Comments

I was fortunate enough to see an exhibit on Rembrandt, and one of the most fascinating pieces for me was the self-portrait of an older Rembrandt. Painted after his work had gone out of style, after his clients had left for new fads and other kinds of art, Rembrandt was still painting for himself. I suppose all artists ultimately create for themselves. When we sit down to write, or paint, or sculpt, in the end, we work alone in a room with no one standing by to love it or to hate it. At least at first, we work alone, for ourselves alone. Only later do editors, critics, readers, and art dealers come in to tell us if what we’ve done is good or not. Basically, whether or not they like it.

But in the beginning, in its purest form, the only critic we need is our own vision, our own eye. Without that, we have nothing. As we work to make our art for the consumption of others, we must remember that our art has to be for us, too.

Rembrandt had no idea that his work would last, that four hundred years later, I would stand in front of it,  inspired by it. He sat alone in a room with his canvas and a mirror, and painted his own face, for himself. And it is one of the best works he ever did. I wonder if he knew that, too, even as he did it. Perhaps the best work we do, the purest art, is the art we make for ourselves.

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Inspiration: The First Step on the Writer’s Path

Friday, January 6th, 2012 | Inspiration, The Writer's Path, The Writing Life | No Comments

Where do our characters come from? What inspires us as fiction writers to delve into the world of the imagination, into the barely remembered past, seeking story lines and the characters who lead us into them?

Inspiration lies everywhere, in simple things of daily life. I’ve gotten some of my best ideas in the middle of washing the dishes, or while taking a shower, always it seems when water is flowing and I can not quite reach a pen. I have to commit to an idea to make it mine, stop what I’m doing, dry my hands, find a pen and paper, and write that idea down. Only then does the idea begin to become mine, only then do my characters recognize that I may be as serious as they are about writing the novel we have not yet even begun.

I make notes, I listen to the silence, I allow myself to be drawn into another world. If the novel has wings, both the characters and I commit to take the same path for a while, to strive to transform their lives and their choices into a work of art. The act of creation is a beautiful thing, and it always begins with the first spark of inspiration, an idea that comes into my mind like a flash, and leaves just as quickly. I have to be ready to stop what I’m doing, to set the pause button on my life, and write it down. Once the shadow of inspiration is captured on paper, only then can my characters and I begin to create.

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