Every time I finish one post, it seems impossible that I
will ever write another. But inevitably I watch a movie or a documentary
or I come across a significant paragraph in a novel or, in this case, read
Zadie Smith’s article in the December 17th issue of The New Yorker called “Some Notes on Attunement.”
First, I am plastered to the couch, overwhelmed that something so true, so
personally applicable, exists in my hands. Then comes the jealousy which goes
something like, God, I wish I was
cool enough to write something so authentic and smart. And finally, I remember that this is
what inspiration feels like. That this is why I am a voracious reader,
constantly searching for affirmation, comfort, truth, the thing that makes me say
yes, makes me rush to my computer or my cello, to try and make sense of it.
First of all, read Smith’s piece. Its layers astound. But the
main thing I want to address is not how to write a nice essay based on the
brilliance of Zadie Smith (I would pale miserably in comparison), but rather,
how to find inspiration in this life. All the great artists and writers say that you
cannot wait for it to strike. You must sit your butt in your chair every day at
the same time and write down all your bad ideas. I hate this. In all honesty, I am not usually inspired.
And it is so easy to blame its shortfall, to say Bummer, Inspiration did not
visit me today, I’ll just have to read The New Yorker instead.
In which case, one of two things usually happens:
1) Right after Talk of
the Town, you peel yourself off the couch, remembering the awful truth
about your butt in a chair, and you trudge to your desk or piano and play
the first chord that comes through your fingers.
OR
2) BAM! you open the New Yorker and there is a brilliant
piece by Zadie Smith that then inspires you to write a blog post.
It is both these options that keep us creating. In light of last Friday’s tragedy in Newtown,
it has become even clearer to me that art is what we turn to again and again to
make sense of life. There is comfort in words, art and music, comfort that can only be found there. And this is why we must discipline ourselves every day, forgive ourselves if we forget to and, as e.e. cummings says,
open the eyes of our eyes.
