Monthly Archives: February 2012

Jenny Boully goodness at AWP

I was first introduced to Jenny Boully’s not merely because of the unknown that was stalking toward them through a book club I joined with several other Naropa MFA students. We met over a “Peter Pan” themed potluck (a somewhat baffling concept; I brought ginger snap cookies, though I am still unsure if that was an appropriate choice), and what followed was one of our best book club conversations to date. There is so much about this text — the syntax, the format, the unnerving retelling of a story that once was so comforting — that inspires discussion and exchange. This is a book you want to talk about as soon as you finish reading it, which is why it seemed completely fitting for Brenna Lee to review it for our latest issue.

The most lingering topic of our book club conversation was Boully’s use of form, and how we as readers were meant to follow it. Each of us developed our own technique to navigate through the two narratives which press against each other throughout the entirety of the book. There did not seem to us to be a definitive “way” to read it, but we still wondered if we were missing Boully’s intention of direction.

Perhaps this is your chance to find out for me? This week, I remain in Boulder while many of you stalk toward that delicious Neverland that is the AWP Conference. All you lucky ducks in Chicago should check out one of Jenny Boully’s events, and if she happens to mention anything about the process or technique of reading this particular text, please report it back to me by leaving a comment below. And while you’re roaming around conference land, be sure to stop by the Bombay Gin table and snag a copy of our just-released issue. Happy AWP, lovely writers and readers. Can’t wait to hear all about it!

Jade Lascelles

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Breaking Down the Walls: Margaret Randall’s Writing as Activism

In all ways, it is my pleasure to work with Diana K. McLean, whose review of Margaret Randall’s Ruins and First Laugh: Essays 2000-2009 are included in the latest issue of Bombay Gin. Diana is a graduate of the Jack Kerouac School’s low-residency MFA program and now serves as the Administrative Specialist for the Jack Kerouac School. She is the founder of Poetic Justice, a forum for social justice writing. I asked Diana to write a short reflection on her interest in Margaret Randall’s work. Please enjoy.—J’Lyn Chapman

I first encountered Margaret Randall at Naropa University’s Summer Writing Program in June 2008. It was my first week on campus as a student, and she delivered a lecture.

She was introduced as a feminist writer, poet, oral historian, teacher and activist who “unearths cities of language and vessels of memory.”

That was enough to captivate me, and the lecture didn’t disappoint. Here are just a few of the notes I took, scribbling as fast I could to get down the ideas that spoke to me most powerfully:

“Silencing itself is weapon and wall.”

“decimate walls of forgetting”

“propel us to write for change”

“awaken those who read and hear to the annihilation that threatens”

“We must weave our work from sense and memory.”

“It is not too late to ask the next question, challenge the answer…”

“A poetry of life and change need not be concerned with a particular subject matter. That would be propaganda.”

She talked about cultural walls, like the arbitrary walls of maps created by conquerors, and more intimate walls within families, social and religious settings, and said, “the same courageous voice may pierce them both.”

“Where does that authentic voice come from? Always from the other side of the wall.”

In Margaret’s lecture and her work, I found affirmation of my desire to be a writer whose words make a difference. In contrast to the voices challenging this idea, telling me it was naive (or heavy-handed) to attempt to use poetry to effect social change, here was this prolific writer talking about doing just that. (Clearly the blend of activism and writing hasn’t kept Margaret from being published: her website says she has over eighty published books to her name. I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that it’s ninety or more by now.)

Three years after that lecture, in my first month on campus as an employee, Margaret was again at the SWP, and I was asked to introduce her at her lecture. Of course I said yes. This time, her presentation was largely a slideshow of some of her photography, which she also uses to break down walls and try to create change. She talked about how she is a writer first and then a photographer, but clearly “activist” is a strong part of the mix, too.

Not long after last summer’s lecture, I volunteered to review two of her books, Ruins and First Laugh: Essays 2000-2009, for Bombay Gin. The chance to delve into her work in this way was a treat. Again I found that, as Jack Collom once commented to me, Margaret conveys important messages without sacrificing the art of her lines for that message. This is a balance many writers strive for, and far fewer achieve. Seeing it done so consistently and skillfully is both reassuring and intimidating: she proves it can be done, but she also sets a high bar for those of us who want to achieve that same balance.

Margaret will be back at SWP again this summer, and I can’t wait to be inspired by her again.
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And the winner is…

Ray Garraty!

Congratulations. You just won a copy of Kirsten Kaschock’s Sleight.

in our own ink-drenched way

Today we’re talking about Julia Seko! (If you’ve encountered Julia in the print shop, you understand the exclamation point; she is a whirlwind of creative energy.) Julia is a book artist who teaches Letterpress at Naropa University, and she is one of FOUR printers featured in Bombay Gin 38.1.

In honor of Alice Notley’s residency at Naropa this week as our 2012 Allen Ginsberg Visiting Fellow, I give you this sneak preview of the broadside Julia’s class printed last fall, using Notley’s poem, Two of Swords.

peeking inside

As you can see, this is not your standard (flat and frame-able) broadside. At our first Monday night meeting in the shall-we-say warm Harry Smith print shop last August, Julia introduced the 7 of us– eager new printers– to Alice Notley’s poem.

The title comes from the two of swords tarot card, and if you’ve spent enough time at Naropa (with, for example: Bhanu Kapil or Selah Saterstrom) you know tarot cards are an art form of their own; some designer decks are intricately handcrafted. Our class brainstormed: how could we incorporate strong tarot card imagery into the piece, without being too literal?

We settled on using a tarot card shape with rounded edges, and we printed bold red X’s on the interior to symbolize crossed swords.

Two of Swords, inside detail

The X is mimicked on the cover of the piece by the diagonal lines of the title.

front, Alice Notley broadside

For about a month, we worked together as a class to decide on the paper, ink, alignment, and other design details– but the overall peek-a-boo format was Julia’s idea, and I’m glad we followed through with it. The finished product is certainly unique. And now you can have your own copy, signed by Alice Notley!

Two of Swords, detail

Jade and I will be selling this broadside at Alice Notley’s reading on Friday night, along with new copies of Bombay Gin. Our local poetry bookstore, Innisfree, will be there selling Notley’s books.

letterpress detail

Alice Notley at Naropa University:

Tuesday, February 21 @ 8:15 pm: Lecture, Shambhala Hall

Thursday, February 23 @ 3:15 pm: Poetry Chat, Performing Arts Center

Friday, February 24 @ 7:30 pm: Reading (and signing), Performing Arts Center

On your way to these nighttime events, be sure to look for our unofficial print shop mascot, Rocky, near the compost and recycling bins.

-Stephani Nola

Rocky supervises

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Win a Free Copy of Kirsten Kaschock’s Sleight

That’s right, we’re hosting another book giveaway, this time in collaboration with the fantastic Coffee House Press.

Kristen Park’s lovely review of Kirsten Kaschock’s Sleight debuts in the just-released Bombay Gin 38.1. Here’s a little teaser of the review in the issue you can purchase here:

Sleight is a body of work born in rupture—a text of scarring. Kirsten Kaschock, in a stroke of prestidigitation, invites the reader to participate in an inter-dimensional-textual-disciplinary exploration of absence and presence in art, family, tragedy and language. We enter the inter as intra: the punctum—“a site of atrocity.”

Kaschock amplifies the performativity—the gaze—present in sleight performance by having her characters challenge the very logic and creation she has constructed on the page. We become a part of the deconstruction—the process—the mess—in the commodification not just of body but body in trauma: tragedy.

Leave a comment to win a copy.

To enter for your chance to win a free copy of Sleight, all you have to do is leave a comment below, explaining why you want a copy of the book.

The giveaway will close Feb. 22 at midnight MST, and the winner will be chosen at random via random.org. 

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Love, we are lives / in the making

I am so pleased to introduce the poet and screenwriter Christina Mengert, who has let us borrow three “Meditations” for the issue 38.1 of Bombay Gin. In the spirit of full disclosure, Christina is my best friend, we went to graduate school together, and she introduced me to my husband by tricking me. (It’s Valentine’s Day, and I am allowed some sentimentality, the derivative of which already populates much of what we think and write, only we metabolize it in ways that make it acceptable to the Outside.) This trick introduction happened twice, the first time was at a 4×4 reading at Naropa. Christina was the DU reader, and I introduced her, never imagining that I would one day teach, advise, and edit a lit journal there. Here is some of what I said about her poems and the manuscript from which she read; these are words that bear repeating:

Late Radiant, draws from the poetics of the beloved—Sappho, Petrarch, and Mary Robinson—and the lyric— the Philomelic violence of the tradition. The manuscript opens and closes with sonnets. And, in the mode of Sappho, the poems in the between space look and feel like fragments. They are pneumatic, full with openings. In the poem/section “Elegy,” individual clauses spread syntax over the course of ten pages. Each page looks and reads like a field that, to take from the lines of another poem, “might grow wings itself and unsteadily sail to us.” There is, also, a profound seriousness to the seeming play of distance that harkens not only to the dislocations of Sappho’s fragments but also to Sappho’s figuration of distance between the lover and the beloved. If it were not for this tug, then desire would have its delight and burn out. But this isn’t all: Christina’s poetry concerns itself with time and space. Celestial bodies and the body that desires; the river as body of water and metaphorical time. It is also a liquid place where the speaker, in the poem, “Forgotten Underground,” looks for memory and love stripped of the body, calling out, “You and I, you and I.” The poetry shows us a convergence of time and space and does not so much reconfigure classical and pre-modern science, as indulge its lost poetic language. And, in this way, Christina’s poetry reminds us of something essential in our so-called reclamation of formal traditions: the sensual language of the lyric is a language of space that breaks open on the page that is a body and of time cast in cadence and, as the poem says, “a chronicle of those that endure.”

In 2011, Christina’s first book of poems, As We Are Sung, was published by Rosemarie and Keith Waldrop’s press, Burning Deck. I’m not being hyperbolic when I say: the book is brilliant as light is brilliant when we go into dark places and experience what light is left.

For instance:

“When in light, bodily      call out what we / see: lapses or shade. Eyes in your lamplight”

and

“The way, modernly, /  flesh turns on like a light. /  How it asks /  everything and demands / everything”

and

“most luminous embryos”

A good friend makes one wonder where light comes from and also lights one’s path toward it. As when Christina tricked me a second time. The first time did not take, there not being space for new love. The second time, there was space, but it was a space I would not have known existed had there not been a flame to illuminate it. I think we would all be so fortunate to have a friend who makes herself small and quiet enough to know something about you that you do not know because you are so big and noisy in yourself.

So, I am very happy to introduce my dear friend, Christina Mengert, who can do almost anything, including teach in a prison, through Bard College’s Prison Initiative Program; write screenplays, of which three are currently in post-production and star actual famous people (heart throbs); co-edit an anthology of interviews with poets called, 12×12 Conversations in Poetry and Poetics; and get herself selected as a Best New American Poet by Rosemarie Waldrop. You can read a recent interview with her in The Volta. Also, Josh at The Volta was kind enough to lend us this poem-video of Christina reading from her meditations, which will be posted at The Volta later this year:

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Success

Hi, J’Lyn Chapman here. I’ll be with you for the next couple of weeks. On the agenda:

Christina Mengert
Gérard Gavarry
Omar Pérez
Margaret Randall
And another book giveaway: Kristen Kaschock’s Sleight.

But first off: our release party for issue 38.1 was a success. The Dark Horse is indeed an amazing space, and the men’s bathroom, which I guess I was using, looks just like a women’s bathroom; we invented a very pink and tasty drink called the Gin-s-berg* (alternatively, the Gin-sberg); we wrote an exquisite-corpse poem that got a lot of laughs when Eric Fischman read it and, if I didn’t throw it away, will be posted here; we had 11 readers, some rocks, rose petals, and sparkles; and we sold a bunch of the new issue. Which is no big surprise. The issue is fantastic and so are the people who bought it.

Which leads me to add that you can currently buy it from us by emailing bgin@naropa.edu. It will also soon be for sale at SPD.

Are you going to the AWP this year in Chicago? We’ll have a small table there, so please stop by and get a copy of the newest issue as well as some back issues.

If you attended the release party last night: Thank you. We appreciate your support.

* gin, seven-up, grenadine. We want it to be famous, so please ask your local bartender for it by name.

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Electric Guitar Poet: Interviewing My Teacher Thurston Moore

by Katie Ingegneri

When I came to Boulder last January to start my MFA at the Jack Kerouac School at Naropa University, I didn’t know…anything. Even though I had been writing since I was a small child in Concord, Massachusetts (a trip to the Orchard House, home of Louisa May Alcott and her family, inspired my first ghost story when I was a student at Alcott Elementary School), and spent most of my only-child life devouring books, the desire to become a writer only hit me sometime around the end of my third year of undergrad. After a highly academic, theory-intensive college experience, and given my love of deceased writers like Kerouac, Vonnegut, and Ginsberg, I thought I knew writers and writing. I knew names, I knew concepts. But I didn’t know what the scene was going to look like in the world I was placing myself into at Naropa.

I was only a few months into my first semester when we had to sign up for our workshops for Naropa’s 2011 Summer Writing Program. Some of my classmates had eagerly spoken of the fact Thurston Moore was coming – and I had no idea who he was. I discovered quickly that he is a founder of Sonic Youth, a band I had definitely heard of but never really listened to, apart from the cover of Bob Dylan’s “I’m Not There” that they did for the Todd Haynes movie of the same name. But never one to miss an opportunity to come in contact with music legends, I signed up for his workshop – along with many other hopeful students – and got in.

The research commenced. I downloaded his solo album that had just come out at the time, Demolished Thoughts, and marveled at the fact he was performing it on shows like “Late Night with Jimmy Fallon” right before he was to come to Naropa. The gorgeous guitar chords, cello and harp in the background, and poetic lyrics were beautiful, but didn’t provide me with a full picture of what to expect from this Thurston. People told me to download Daydream Nation, apparently Sonic Youth’s best-known album, but at first, it was easier to get into their famous cover of The Carpenters’ “Superstar” (another cover I was aware of through the movies, this time in Juno) than shrieking guitars and unconventional song structure. I would soon discover that those shrieking guitars were in the lineage of musicians that I had grown up adoring, like Lou Reed and the Velvet Underground.

As I had just become an associate editor of Bombay Gin for the next school year, and my fellow editors were planning interviews with writers I had no awareness of at the time, I latched on to the fact that I would be in a class taught by an underground music legend and decided to ask him for an interview after our first class. I had been cautioned to be careful of making demands on the time of a legend, to be respectful and not necessarily expect too much.

But when Thurston first came into our classroom, appropriately held in the largest space in Naropa, the Performing Arts Center where all of our readings are held, he did not have the demeanor of a diva rock star who kept the world at bay. For all intents and purposes, he could have been another student in the class, wearing Converse sneakers and carrying a beat-up guitar case, and I would never have guessed that he was closer in age to my parents’ generation than mine.

As he started talking during our first class, I quickly realized we would have lots to talk about in this interview (that I had not yet asked him for). Yes, he was a musician, known for being a musician, but he was also a poet, who had devoted much of his energy over the years to not only writing but archiving the writing culture of underground and small-press poets. He showed us examples of his own journal that he had started, the Ecstatic Peace Poetry Journal, created in the tradition of hand-written and photocopied, stapled zines. The students all received folders of editions of these journals, plus sheets of notebook photocopies where Thurston had written his poetry and various ideas for what we would do in the class.

Here’s a scan of what would we would be doing as our class project that week: writing poetry, reading it into a tape recorder as he improvised music on his 12-string guitar, and re-recording cassettes until the result was a new “hybrid” as only the founder of Sonic Youth can produce: a new experience of words, music, and feedback that defied categorization.

We ended up meeting for an interview on the one day we didn’t have our workshop during the week. Thurston is an incredibly laid back, down-to-earth individual for someone occupying a position in our cultural realm that would otherwise entitle him to be a standoffish rock star, and conversation flowed easily as we walked from Naropa to a local coffee shop and back again, before we sat down in a quiet conference room, the only air-conditioned room I could find to escape the sweltering Boulder summer heat.

During the three hours we talked, we discussed a wealth of subjects tracking how he came to be so knowledgeable about the counterculture, from his teenage years driving from Connecticut to New York to see the first punk bands, to his realization that many of the musicians he admired, like Patti Smith and Lou Reed, had artistic origins in their admiration and emulation of Beat Generation writers like Allen Ginsberg and William S. Burroughs. His stories of documenting the culture of small presses and underground publications that exist below the awareness of the cultural mainstream reveal an expert level of understanding and engagement with a facet of American literary culture that few are truly aware of. And the fact he was there, hanging out with Burroughs in Kansas or seeing Ted Berrigan walking around the Lower East Side, makes him a figure with remarkably unique knowledge that would be nearly impossible to duplicate.

Like my fellow associate editor Heather Goodrich and her interview with Vanessa Place, I have a 26-page Word document of the transcription from our  interview. There was not a minute during those hours when I was not fascinated, and there was so much more I wanted to include in my published version. But I had to keep the interview in Bombay Gin focused on what was strictly relevant to the interests I had set out to investigate on behalf of the Jack Kerouac School: the importance of the archive, how writers and writing functions in other fields like music, and how someone like Thurston Moore fits into the lineage of Naropa through his association with our legendary founders and teachers of the Beat Generation, and conversely, how Naropa fits into the lineage of underground experimental art and culture that extends beyond the realms of writing and our little campus in Boulder.

Later on, after the interview and on our last day of class, the students indulged our inner fans and asked for autographs and pictures, and Thurston was an excellent sport about it.

The Interviewee and The Interviewer

I spent the rest of the summer downloading every Sonic Youth and Thurston solo album I could find, and they became my new writing music of choice, as I find guitar distortion oddly soothing in many ways (and always have, so perhaps this was all inevitable). A few months after our class, Thurston announced to the world that he would be starting a new poetry imprint called Flowers + Cream Press. I like to think that his time at Naropa this past summer might have contributed to his decision to embrace writing and publishing more, given how well-versed he is on the subject. I also look forward to seeing him with his new press at the upcoming AWP (Association of Writers & Writing Programs) conference in Chicago at the end of this month, where some of the other editors and I will be with our new issue. (He is also slated to return to Naropa for the 2012 Summer Writing Program, which is very exciting.)

See our new issue of Bombay Gin for two of Thurston’s poems and our (highly-condensed) interview. Perhaps I will cobble together a more music-centric version of it for another publication. The most interesting thing about him and this whole process was not, ultimately, his extensive knowledge of the counter-culture of the past 50 years, or his discussion of his vast archive of that culture; it was the fact that he, himself, Thurston Moore, is the most interesting object of the archive, containing a wealth of knowledge and experience interacting and collaborating with everyone from Ginsberg and Burroughs to Patti Smith and Kurt Cobain. But if we can’t put him in a punk-rock museum, giving lectures on Lester Bangs and d.a. levy, then we’ll just have to give thanks that the underground is still alive and well, because, as he told me, “the underground is where all the foxes are.”

Here is Ambrose Bye’s video of the poetry reading Thurston gave during the 2011 Summer Writing Program.

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Bombay Gin 38.1 Release Party: The Threshold Has Arrived

The latest issue of Bombay Gin, Issue 38.1 – “Threshold: Tenuous Proposition Of“, has arrived! You are invited to our release party in honor of this fantastic issue, so save the date:

When: Sunday, February 12, from 6:00 pm to 9:00 pm

Where: The Dark Horse Bar, 2922 Baseline Road, Boulder, Colorado – our party is in the bar upstairs!

Why: Because it’s an amazing issue, and writers know how to party. Enough said.

Since the issue was created with the idea of “companion” pieces in mind, navigating the threshold between writers and their poetry, prints, fiction, and interviews, and since the party is occuring so close to what editor-in-chief J’Lyn Chapman has amusingly dubbed “the national holiday of companionship,” we are hosting a special open mic reading for “companions”. So grab another writer, dancer, musician, etc. and email agoldberg@naropa.edu to sign up for a 5-minute slot at the reading! Bonus points if you wear red or pink.

We will also be featuring drink deals on a special concoction, the “Gin-sberg,” named by yours truly, in honor of our beloved Jack Kerouac School co-founder Allen Ginsberg and the name of our journal, whose origins are still a mystery to me. (If you can provide me with concrete evidence as to who named “Bombay Gin,” I will give you a free copy of the new issue.)

Don’t forget your ID, as the Dark Horse is a 21+ bar. And don’t forget some cash to get your hands on this extremely special issue, featuring rock star interviews, rock star prints, and rock star writing from Naropa’s own core and Summer Writing Program faculty.

Can’t wait to see you there!

– Katie

Bombay Gin 38.1

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Vanessa Place: Threshold, Failure and Stupid Challenges

An annoying thing about publishing is space; particularly, what is left out.

In our new issue, I interviewed Vanessa Place during the 2011 Summer Writing Program. Fifteen pages made it into this issue, but the other eight are collecting cyber dust on my computer. At Bhanu Kapil’s suggestion, she said this should be published as a two-part interview. One part Bombay Gin, the other part elsewhere…(Elbow, elbow, nudge, nudge: any takers?)

Yet, aside from this, there are still many details left out.

In our nearly 2.5-hour-long interview (which was incredibly generous of her to let me steal that much time) we laughed.

A lot.

Place is funny. I noticed this not only during our talk, but also when I was transcribing our interview. Among our serious discussion on threshold as a site for potential encounter, what threshold signifies, the futility of the Real, the desire of readers/of being human and more, we also laughed about stupid challenges, moving one step closer to hell, Blake Butler drinking as he read Dies: A Sentence, me stealing her definition of poetry and/or prose, Tweeting Gone with the Wind

You get the picture.

Other things that didn’t make it into our interview:

Place gave an incredible lecture on ECHO where she discussed radical mimesis. She did not speak during the first part of the lecture. What we heard was a recording as she sat silently on the stage before us. I have eight pages of notes on this with scribbles about how “speech calls for more speech…the real representation of the real…I’m a mouthpiece refracting.” The second part of her lecture was from Statement of Facts.  This is when she began to speak.  After the lecture, Place answered Q & A’s several times stating, “I’m placing hot content in a cold container” by curating the encounter of rape via public court records on rape: A rape is a rape is a rape.

After our interview, we discussed performativity and I asked her why she gave toasters and doughnuts to students prior to her performance, which were used. She said something to the effect of wanting the sense of smell in her performance.

Bhanu gave me a plastic baggie containing items Place selected: dirt, an orange colored pencil and an orange/reddish rock.

The last night at the SWP, Place gave an incredible performance, reading from several works including: Die Dichtkunst (u, u, u, u…), the pussy section from La Medusa, a section from SCUM Manifesto, Statement of Facts and another section that I don’t recall the name of, but I do remember it was about time. Or maybe that’s just my impression.

I cannot perform without thinking about Place’s performance that night and during the lecture. She has purpose in presentation and thinks about the form first. To her, as she said in our published interview, she always beings with form. It’s like making sausage, she said, first you must begin with the casing and then cram the other stuff in. See? Funny, yet simple. Banal or stupid, as Place would say. Either way, I like it.

And now, a snippet from what is not (yet?) unpublished:

VANESSA PLACE: Some of the most fascinating things happen by mistake.

HEATHER GOODRICH: The Big Bang.

VP: Yep, or mishearing. For me, all of psychoanalysis a fair chunk of psychoanalysis is about the slip of the tongue—the misstatement—the misunderstood—where the unconscious betrays itself. You can attempt to manipulate that or not and see what it happens. Why not?

HG: Yes, why not?

VP: One of the things I think is very important for, especially young writers to realize is this not brain surgery.

HG: Imagine that.

VP: There will not be a pile of corpses at the end for all of your little failures. (We laugh) It’s the dead baby thing. The metaphorical pile of corpses is fine. Just do it. See what happens. I do believe that.

Willem de Kooning’s Woman, I is one of my favorite paintings. He was the artists’ artist in his group. When Pollack was in ascension, de Kooning was older and couldn’t get a show. Then finally, he sells excavations to the Chicago Museum. All of his friends say, ‘This is great, Pollack is on his way out, you’re going to be the poster boy for abstract expressionism, good for you.’ de Kooning immediately spends the next two-and-a-half years painting Woman, I — which is not abstract expressionist in the strict sense. It’s not abstract — it’s figural. He paints this painting every day and at night he scrapes the paint from the canvas. When the canvases got too crusty, he threw them out and started over. The painting that became Woman, I — he had rejected. He stuck it out in the hallway to throw out the next day, and I think his gallarist came by that night, pulled it and said, ‘This is great. This is going.’

What I love about this story is he didn’t do what he should have, which is immediately do another excavation because excavation worked. He didn’t do that. He went back to another thing he was interested in solving. I also love this story for the willingness to humiliate one’s self and fail and fail and ended up creating a great work of art. But even if it hadn’t, the point of interest to de Kooning was the engagement between himself and paint; himself and composition; and composition itself.

If you want to make the world a better place, volunteer at a soup kitchen. If you want to have a therapeutic experience, go to therapy. If you’re really interested in doing stuff with text, then write and don’t worry about it. And fail. Just fail, fail, fail and you’ll be fine.

Heather

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