Something we once knew
Tunes for a Monday Morning

There is no time for despair

Bumblehill Studio 1

When the clamour of the world (and the Internet) grows harsh and cacophonous, I find it healing, grounding, and necessary to turn away from keyboards and screens, to ration the time I spend online, and to be fully present in the tactile world: in the morning light sifting through the studio, in the rising of the wind through the trees behind, in the words slowly forming in ink on fresh white paper spread out on my wooden desktop.

Drawing by Arthur RackhamInstead of flicking through Web pages, imbibing the Internet's manic energy and then coming offline feeling fractured and spent, I pull books from down the shelves and turn their rustling pages at a measured, more human pace...and my soul unclenches. My attention deepens. Something vital in me is quickened back to life. And yes, I am using a keyboard now to share these thoughts with you online, but it's not a full rejection of the Web I am after in my life. It's proportion and balance.

The Internet is a useful communication platform, and an increasingly important one...but books, oh, books are more than paper and ink. They are powerful medicine. Real books, I mean. Physical books, sitting on the dusty shelves of my studio and surrounding me like old friends, dog-earred and battered with love and use, their pages thick with margin notes and underlines. How could I ever doubt that art matters? Words have saved me over and over. Words are saving me right now. Books are what I turn to when the world grows dark, and they never fail to give me strength.

Bumblehill Studio 2

This morning, for instance, Ben Okri asks me:

"What hope is there for individual reality or authenticity, when the forces of violence and orthodoxy, the earthly powers of guns and bombs and manipulated public opinion make it impossible for us to be authentic and fulfilled human beings?"

I've been asking myself the same question all week.

"The only hope," he answers, "is in the creation of alternative values, alternative realities. The only hope is in daring to redream one's place in the world -- a beautiful act of imagination, and a sustained act of self becoming. Which is to say that in some way or another we breach and confound the accepted frontiers of things."

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Then Rebecca Solnit joins the conversation:

"Cause-and-effect assumes history marches forward," she notes, "but history is not an army. It's a crab scuttling sideways, a drip of soft water wearing away stone, an earthquake breaking centuries of tension. Sometimes one person inspires a movement, or her words do decades later, sometimes a few passionate people change the world; sometimes they start a mass movement and millions do; sometimes those millions are stirred by the same outrage or the same ideal, and change comes upon us like a change of weather. All that these transformations have in common is that they begin in the imagination, in hope."

"To be hopeful in bad times is not just foolishly romantic," adds Howard Zinn. "It is based on the fact that human history is a history not only of cruelty, but also of compassion, sacrifice, courage, kindness. What we choose to emphasize in this complex history will determine our lives. If we see only the worst, it destroys our capacity to do something. If we remember those times and places -- and there are so many -- where people have behaved magnificently, this gives us the energy to act, and at least the possibility of sending this spinning top of a world in a different direction."

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Barry Lopez pulls me out of a Western-centric point of view, reminding me of the things I share in common with people the world over:

"I believe in all human societies there is a desire to love and be loved," he says, "to experience the full fierceness of human emotion, and to make a measure of the sacred part of one's life. Wherever I've traveled -- Kenya, Chile, Australia, Japan -- I've found the most dependable way to preserve these possibilities is to be reminded of them in stories. Stories do not give instruction, they do not explain how to love a companion or how to find God. They offer, instead, patterns of sound and association, of event and image. Suspended as listeners and readers in these patterns, we might reimagine our lives. It is through story that we embrace the great breadth of memory, that we can distinguish what is true, and that we may glimpse, at least occasionally, how to live without despair in the midst of the horror that dogs and unhinges us."

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Terry Tempest Williams concurs, and affirms the role that artists play in the transmission of such stories:

"Bearing witness to both the beauty and pain of our world is a task that I want to be part of. As writers, this is our work. By bearing witness, the story that is told can provide a healing ground. Through the art of language, the art of story, alchemy can occur. And if we choose to turn our backs, we've walked away from what it means to be human."

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Then Toni Morrison takes me firmly by the shoulders and sends me back to my desk again:

Troubled times, she says, are "precisely the time when artists go to work. There is no time for despair, no place for self-pity, no need for silence, no room for fear. We speak, we write, we do language. That is how civilizations heal.

"I know the world is bruised and bleeding," she adds, "and though it is important not to ignore its pain, it is also critical to refuse to succumb to its malevolence. Like failure, chaos contains information that can lead to knowledge -- even wisdom. Like art."

Like art indeed.

Bumblehill Studio 8

Studio Muse with Bone

Decoration by Arthur Rackham

Words: The first five quotes above are from the following books, all recommended: A Way of Being Free by Ben Okri (Phoenix, 1998); Hope in the Dark by Rebecca Solnit (Nation Books, 2005); You Can't Be Neutral on a Moving Train by Howard Zinn (Beacon Press 2002), About This Life by Barry Lopez (Vintage, 1999), and A Voice in the Wilderness: Conversations with Terry Tempest Williams, edited by Michael Austin (Utah State University Press, 2006). The final quote is from "No Place for Self-Pity, No Room for Fear" by Toni Morrison (The Nation, March 2013); I owe thanks to Maria Popova of Brain Pickings for introducing me to it.  Pictures: The drawing and painting above are by Arthur Rackham (1867-1939). The photographs are from my studio cabin, perched on a Devon hillside at the edge of a small wood.

Comments

Every one of these great medicine. We too, my husband and I are on a media fast indefinitely editing our intake of the 'cloudbursts.' Here at M&M I begin my day with tea, Dandelion today, for courage of heart.

Thank you for all the words and wordcrafters to inspire creation.

You offer us so much beauty . . . deep & enduring
thank you

Thank you for this reminder that balance is the key in all things. Balance is dynamic, alive and ever-adjusting, helping us to grow into ourselves, unlike equilibrium which is static, dead and leads us nowhere.

Thank you so much for this post which points me to hope again. The electronic world is not the only one. The physical world where we live and work together and create community is still here and that is a healing thought.

Bravo Terri! Thank you.

yes.

I thank you so much for sharing these healing drops of wisdom that have washed over my soul this afternoon. Words do indeed heal; in art there is much power if we choose to see it.

Surely such lovely space creates only more loveliness in the souls that reside there. I sought at least one title we might have in common so I enlarged my view. Silly me. Humans are forever seeking connections, aren't we?

I saved these quotes from two great authors:

JOHN LEWIS:
"Some of you know — I grew up in rural Alabama, very, very poor. Very few books in our home. And I remember in 1956 when I was 16 years old with some of my brothers and sisters and cousins going down to the public library, trying to get library cards. And we were told that the library was for whites only and not for coloreds. And to come here and receive this award, this honor, with these, it's too much. But I had a wonderful teacher in elementary school who told me, ‘Read my child, read.’ And I tried to read everything. I love books."

I love books. I love art. Bot teach me how to be a better person. The rest is up to me.


"Be kind to everybody, make art, and fight the power."
– Colson Whitehead, winner of the 2016 National Book Award for Fiction

While I couldn't find my path in Mr. Whitehead's story--I returned his book, unread--I do find myself on the path his quote takes. Let us not fight though. If we do one of us must lose; warriors seldom survive to reach a truce.

Be well.

Thank you, Terri.

These words are wonderful and inspiring, but it's the photographs which touch me most deeply today. I was gazing at them, loving your peaceful rich magical space and wishing I could be there even just for a moment, and then I saw one particular photo and realised that, in a way, I actually was. It proved to me all over again why I always have wanted to be a writer. Funny how our art allows us to travel all over the world (and to other worlds) and simultaneously brings us home to ourselves.

Right! I agree entirely that there's no time for despair, but as a selfish, self-centred and deeply self-interested person, I thought I'd change the subject entirely and have a good moan about something else other than politicians and the unendingly woeful world situation!

Just recently I watched an unexpectedly interesting documentary about drivers who work for a delivery company. They're already enormously busy at this time of year delivering parcels throughout the land and I was really pleasantly surprised to hear that they're very well paid. One of them finished work and drove home in his recently purchased Bentley! Wonderful! I still think it's wonderful, but then I got to thinking; wouldn't it be a great if all the artists, writers and craftspeople whose work he was delivering could make an equally good living as he did?

We all know that only the top tiny percentage of artists/writers make a good living from their art and I'm certainly not one of them! As an increasingly grumpy middle-aged man, I find myself getting more and more angry about the poverty that seems to be the norm for most artists/writers, but the frustrating thing is that there is no one individual or situation to be angry with! Either people buy your work or they don't. Better publicity would undoubtedly hugely improve the financial situation for most of us, but publicity costs money and that's the very commodity most of us don't have!

I still remain very pleased that delivery drivers (at least the ones in the documentary I watched) earn such a good living, but when I feel the ever-threatening presence of the mortgage looming over me, I find myself dreaming of Bentleys!

P.S. I apologise for invading the site in this way. My only excuse is I'm slowly (very slowly) recovering from flu at the moment and I had to offload the grumpiness somewhere.

Thanks for this comforting post, it is al so true!

Exactly what I feel and why I came on your blog... a need for beauty and reason. Thank you, Terri!
xoxo
Lauren

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