I admitted to my students last Wednesday night that after 20 years of writing I had begun taking Writers Studio classes in hopes of “bumping up my writing” into something closer to art. Which raises the questions, What is Art? and Why is Art?
Trained in philosophy, I laugh at the title of this post, thinking “what on earth could I possibly add to this age-old discussion?” Shit-bird* aside, I know that I’m asking the smaller more personal version of this question, where is my art? — for the very practical purpose of shifting my weight from one foot to the other, hopefully in a forward direction. I’m launching a series of posts to set into a single streaming kaleidoscope, a lot of bits and pieces of thought and embodied startlings and settlings.
# Art is process, products, and effects.
# In a full cycle, art allows the author/the audience to see the world afresh.
At the news of Virginia Woolf’s death, her friend Edith Sitwell wrote to Virginia’s husband Leonard, “There isn’t anything one can say, and one must not intrude on your sorrow. But all my life I shall remember the feeling of light, and of happiness, that she gave one. As a person, as well as in her art. Everything seemed worth while, important, and beautiful.” (thanks to Brain Pickings for this great post on condolences sent after V.Woolf’s death.)