Seattle, Washington - the end of February, 2010

REFRAMING THE WATER HOLES -
Three notions and a conclusion.

ONE:

I read somewhere that in some nomadic tribes in sub-Saharan Africa the singers, poets, dancers and storytellers have an essential practical responsibility within the life of the tribe.

It is they who are keepers of the memory of where the water holes are.

In the hot, dry desert land in which the tribes wander, water is life.
And the tribe’s continuing existence depends on these who remember well.
Memory, in this case, is preserved through art.

That metaphor struck a resonating chord in my mind.
It’s the way I feel about poets and songwriters and storytellers, of whose tribe I am a minor member.
It may be said that in any culture an artist’s job is to remember and put that memory to use in the commonwealth.

On reflection it seems to me that the artist must himself return from time to time to the water holes to determine if they remain and contain water.
The artist must keep his own experience up to date and his memory current.

TWO:

Recently I spent an afternoon in an atelier where paintings are framed.

Whatever the statement the artist makes, the framing is meant to give it a boundary and a context - not to compete with it, but to enhance it.
Laying several different L-shaped samples alongside a painting invites a different feeling about the painting.
Some frames work - some don’t.
But you won’t know if you don’t explore the possibilities.
For example, a plain black edge around a Rembrandt would not compliment the painting, but a fine old frame enriched with gold leaf declares its value.
The frame says, “This painting is worthy of respect.

The title of a book is also a frame.
To test the notion, try changing the name of a novel that has stood the test of time. For example, “War and Peace” vs. “Conflict and Tranquility.”

One’s self image, one’s philosophy of life, one’s religion, and one’s expectations are also artistic frames.
Some frames work. Some don’t.
But the possibilities must be tested or else you won’t know what’s best. 

If a work of art is badly framed it may be restored to life when reframed.
Reframing is always a possibility.

THREE:

When a film is being made a director often employs a simple viewing device unique to the visual arts.
He looks through a two inch square hole in the center of a sheet of black plastic as a way of focusing on the details of a scene while eliminating the visual clutter all around what he wants to see.

I have one of these devices.
Last Sunday I sat for awhile on a bench at the Ballard Farmer’s market, held the viewing device still, and focused just on the feet of people walking by as they moved through my frame of reference.
Where once I saw a rambling crowd, now I saw a film of people dancing.
And thereby reminded myself of how much I miss when I don’t pay careful attention.

______________

These notions are an oblique way of pointing at something - an existential need I’ve been slow to recognize and acknowledge.
For the last year I’ve worked intensely on a new novel and a new book of essays, while keeping both a personal journal and writing a more public journal for this website.
A lot of writing.
An exhilarating but creatively exhausting period in my life.
With mixed results.

Thirty-two people read and critically reviewed the work of fiction.
The response was not positive. The opinions were sharply divided.
And the reaction to the book of essays and stories was equally confusing.

While I’m not defeated by the feedback, I don’t have the clarity I need that suggests what to do next.
Stalemate is the applicable word.

I ask myself, “Has this ever happened before?”
I answer, “Yes. And now it’s happened again.”
I ask, “Did you find a way out and on?"
I answer, “Yes, and that, too, will happen again.”
I ask, “Do you remember how you found a Way?”
I answer, “Yes, and I will do that again.”

So.
The time has come again to go out and revisit the water holes - to make sure they are still there and contain viable water.
The time has come again to reframe my expectations, thinking and writing.
And the time has come again to sit still and refocus on what I look for in the world and in my life.

To that end I’ll take a three month sabbatical from wrestling with writing. I’ll resume experiencing the provocations that come from travel and thinking and reflecting without demanding an immediate translation into words and sentences.

This is the last journal to be posted here for awhile.

I’m returning to Greece - to the island of Crete - to be there for the great Orthodox celebration of Easter, which coincides this year with western Easter and Jewish Passover.

It will be good to be again where the human enterprise has been underway for seven thousand years - where human history is deep and wide and long.

I want to participate in the Paschal feast, take part in the village celebrations, join the dancing, listen to the music, and watch the red poppies slowly rise up to carpet the landscape in spring. And walk out at dawn, not to find something to write about, but to be there in the day - not to speak, but to be spoken to.

I’ll return in June.
By then I will have something new to say - a reassured memory of where the water holes are - and a better frame around the words I’ve written and still will write.

Meanwhile, don’t forget me, as I will not forget you.

The first words of the first June journal are already written and saved:

“Hello. It’s me, Fulghum. I’m back.”