A lot of creators, inventors, artists (Tesla, Oscar Wilde, Einstein, Erasmus, I'm sure there's many more) have referred to solitude as the mother of genius. The reason for this, I think, is because the closer we are to the known world of human/societal knowledge, the more likely we are to represent it. I like to view that known human world as a village. When you live in the village, and speak with people in the village, you hear the ideas of the village. You see the same bakery, walk the same streets. You see the same faces and hear the same dramas, day after day. You drag your feet through the mud of incestuous ideas piling up on the Rue Bas and it makes it hard to encounter anything outside of it.
That's why you have to leave the village. It's in the unknown woods bereft of dirt paths and roads that you risk encountering a new fruit no one has seen before or a waterfall leading to a valley that was once thought lost. It's in those woods that you find something new. And I don't mean in a "Forge your own path," sigma grindset type of way. I'm referring to the fact that distancing yourself from the village is what allows you to see clearly, to hear clearly. It's a matter of perspective. The view of the village is even better from outside than inside. You also have to travel alone.
When you catch that new fruit, and bring it back to the village, you negotiate with the sentinel at the gate and then with the people gathered in the town square. They'll often resist, but if you believe in the fruit, then you will find a way to negotiate with them. It's the only way to share what you've found. And it's also a necessary step, because insights are worthless if they aren't shared.
I think that last part--the negotiation--is something a lot of artists struggle with. They often feel as though it is unfair to have to negotiate with the world and "prove their value," but I don't think we can blame the villagers. It's kind of our job as explorers to face the crowd and advocate for ourselves. I imagine Marco Polo, Columbus, and every other explorer, had to face a court or a king and talk madly about what they'd discovered.
Great thoughts, Karim. Especially for our globalized world, I want to bold the word "perspective." Solitude and real interiority don't necessarily require running across physical borders in search of them. Much newness or invention can be found in the same square meter we stand--or at least type of invention/rediscovery I feel this world desperately needs.
Also, I really like the concept of "negotiation" you brought. We have to risk seeming mad to the rest of the world. And most of us will have to live with our madness on the periphery of large society unless one has that chance/cultivated craft. Cheers!
Some of the greatest writing is experienced then created into something tangible. Poetry, and writing in general, is difficult to teach because everyone has a different interpretation of the tangible. Mastery of writing is found by those who have made the subconscious and the intangible into something tangible and compelling. Tolkien is a great example. He never experienced a real Middle Earth (in the sense that it’s a real place to visit). Rather, he used what he saw in life and made Middle Earth a tangible place. Harold Bloom’s theory of poetry is quite interesting because it stems from the idea that we are all influenced by the previous generations of masters.
Really great, Ian. I do touch the interior intermittently. It's surreal when I am in and time truly flies, but sometimes, because it rolled so easily and intimately, the work created outside of the interior seems and feels substandard. Sounds like longer bouts of being in the interior is the answer. It is exciting to have a label put to it. As an aside: I find that when I eliminate sugar from my diet, my writing flows and the work feels and reads back richer. Congratulations on becoming a dad. Life changing news.
I agree about the use of the word 'craft', as well as 'content'. These both strike me as neologisms that just seem to permit less than excellent writing and praise everything that appears under the umbrella of 'craft'. Whether that be learning or practicing, it simply begs for mediocre writing and then capitulates to it.
No. I'm nowhere near touching the interior of my conscious mind. Sure, we've all had those fun experiences with drugs, but most of the knowledge gained through drugs is unearned, and it is knowledge that has been stolen rather than earned. The only thing close to a spiritual or religious feeling for me is the feeling I get when I go for a walk in the rain. I have tried tapping into that feeling by writing a million poems, stories and songs about the rain. So far though, I haven't succeeded in my mission, and the prose I'm excreting out is barely worth the paper it is smeared on. I suppose I'm just waiting for that light bulb moment, waiting for it to all come together. Any ideas on how to tap into that raw power?
A lot of creators, inventors, artists (Tesla, Oscar Wilde, Einstein, Erasmus, I'm sure there's many more) have referred to solitude as the mother of genius. The reason for this, I think, is because the closer we are to the known world of human/societal knowledge, the more likely we are to represent it. I like to view that known human world as a village. When you live in the village, and speak with people in the village, you hear the ideas of the village. You see the same bakery, walk the same streets. You see the same faces and hear the same dramas, day after day. You drag your feet through the mud of incestuous ideas piling up on the Rue Bas and it makes it hard to encounter anything outside of it.
That's why you have to leave the village. It's in the unknown woods bereft of dirt paths and roads that you risk encountering a new fruit no one has seen before or a waterfall leading to a valley that was once thought lost. It's in those woods that you find something new. And I don't mean in a "Forge your own path," sigma grindset type of way. I'm referring to the fact that distancing yourself from the village is what allows you to see clearly, to hear clearly. It's a matter of perspective. The view of the village is even better from outside than inside. You also have to travel alone.
When you catch that new fruit, and bring it back to the village, you negotiate with the sentinel at the gate and then with the people gathered in the town square. They'll often resist, but if you believe in the fruit, then you will find a way to negotiate with them. It's the only way to share what you've found. And it's also a necessary step, because insights are worthless if they aren't shared.
I think that last part--the negotiation--is something a lot of artists struggle with. They often feel as though it is unfair to have to negotiate with the world and "prove their value," but I don't think we can blame the villagers. It's kind of our job as explorers to face the crowd and advocate for ourselves. I imagine Marco Polo, Columbus, and every other explorer, had to face a court or a king and talk madly about what they'd discovered.
Great thoughts, Karim. Especially for our globalized world, I want to bold the word "perspective." Solitude and real interiority don't necessarily require running across physical borders in search of them. Much newness or invention can be found in the same square meter we stand--or at least type of invention/rediscovery I feel this world desperately needs.
Also, I really like the concept of "negotiation" you brought. We have to risk seeming mad to the rest of the world. And most of us will have to live with our madness on the periphery of large society unless one has that chance/cultivated craft. Cheers!
You're doing really well, Ian. Thank you for sharing these tips on craft.
Some of the greatest writing is experienced then created into something tangible. Poetry, and writing in general, is difficult to teach because everyone has a different interpretation of the tangible. Mastery of writing is found by those who have made the subconscious and the intangible into something tangible and compelling. Tolkien is a great example. He never experienced a real Middle Earth (in the sense that it’s a real place to visit). Rather, he used what he saw in life and made Middle Earth a tangible place. Harold Bloom’s theory of poetry is quite interesting because it stems from the idea that we are all influenced by the previous generations of masters.
Overall, I enjoyed this podcast. Thank you, Ian.
Really great, Ian. I do touch the interior intermittently. It's surreal when I am in and time truly flies, but sometimes, because it rolled so easily and intimately, the work created outside of the interior seems and feels substandard. Sounds like longer bouts of being in the interior is the answer. It is exciting to have a label put to it. As an aside: I find that when I eliminate sugar from my diet, my writing flows and the work feels and reads back richer. Congratulations on becoming a dad. Life changing news.
I agree about the use of the word 'craft', as well as 'content'. These both strike me as neologisms that just seem to permit less than excellent writing and praise everything that appears under the umbrella of 'craft'. Whether that be learning or practicing, it simply begs for mediocre writing and then capitulates to it.
No. I'm nowhere near touching the interior of my conscious mind. Sure, we've all had those fun experiences with drugs, but most of the knowledge gained through drugs is unearned, and it is knowledge that has been stolen rather than earned. The only thing close to a spiritual or religious feeling for me is the feeling I get when I go for a walk in the rain. I have tried tapping into that feeling by writing a million poems, stories and songs about the rain. So far though, I haven't succeeded in my mission, and the prose I'm excreting out is barely worth the paper it is smeared on. I suppose I'm just waiting for that light bulb moment, waiting for it to all come together. Any ideas on how to tap into that raw power?
Grant us with more transcendent knowledge you desert magus. Love you Ian. 💚💚
Thank you.