J’ai toujours pensé que j’étais un artiste intellectuel, je me rends compte aujourd’hui que, la moitié du temps, je n’ai aucune idée de ce que je suis en train de faire. Et plus je vieillis, moins je réfléchis à ce que je fais.
I'm terribly intuitive—I always thought I was intellectual about what I do, but I've come to the realisation that I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing half the time. And the older I get, the less I think about what I am doing. -David Bowie.
A DAY IN A FRENCH LIFE
What More Can An Artist Strive For?
by Kristin Espinasse
The best tribute one can give David Bowie is to continue on with their art or their art de vivre. For me, this means continuing to write today, whether the words come easily or not.
This morning I woke up thinking about the reader who shamed my dog and me, and about what kind of response I could give him. Sarcasm popped up as one in a million possibilities, until I remembered the words of Glennys.
I met Glennys in my first writing support group, found by chance after signing up for the internet in the late 90s. The group was called BIC HOK TAM, which stood for:
Butt In Chair
Hands on Keyboard
Typing Away Madly
The name of the group was beside the point. Mostly, the writers chatted. One day, I delurked and joined in! After several weeks I got to know their personalities, and was surprised to learn they'd already pieced together mine....
One day someone said something, I can't remember what, and I sat behind my screen, trying to come up with a witty response. The subject was banal enough (so banal I cannot remember it), but, eager to write something writerly (whatever that meant), I painstakingly formulated my response (probably reading and rereading it 17 times before hitting "post", at which point my heart would have thumped until someone responded).
That's when Glennys from Scottland popped up. I will never forget what she said: "Kristi, sarcasm does not suit you."
But it sure suited Glennys! Oh, how I enjoyed her retorts! (And now I am reminded of what the original thread must have been: another of Glenny's sarcastic insights. I must have been inspired to respond in like.)
Glenny's wouldn't have it. Instead, she took the opportunity to help me find my voice.
Though I still may be influenced by others, such influences are at the risk of not ringing true to readers. Speaking of which... Did I tell you about the reader who shamed my dog? I still have not responded to his comment. I will try to now--by saying what comes to heart, in the next instant, while typing this essay....
Dear (I can't remember your name),
And that, it seems, is the end of my letter! The fact is, "a good comeback" is found nowhere in my writing repertoire. So I will use what tools I have acquired so far, the biggest of which, is this:
Which brings us back to David Bowie: more than having sensitivity, through his work--through who he was--he brought out sensitivity in others. What more can an artist strive for?
This inspires a few more words for the man who shamed my dog:
Dear (I can't remember your name),
I sincerely do not mean any disrespect by addressing you in this way. The fact is, I cannot remember your name. Mysteriously, I can remember the name of the person who commented after you.
I'm signing off, now, to wonder why....
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