On Art conceived needs expression, dreaming, non-stop writing, and true directions

Art conceived needs expression, dreaming, non-stop writing, and true directions
11/5/2011 12:49p
Here it was another day's writing with again not much idea how to proceed or what to write about. That morning she had again been mentally translating her thoughts into the third person - she did this, she found that. This was becoming almost an altered state of consciousness - No, more like playing with identity. One was making oneself as if one was another. It was an experiment to see where it led - rather, an exploration. But still, it seemed such a side track. She was so caught up in the question of whether to continue this process. There was so much other work she was supposed to be doing.

She had missed getting to the post office that morning. She was to send off a package of something inconsequential in the scheme of things but she had not been able to say, "No, I just don't want to do these things." To say so seemed to be too much of an affront. It seemed often too hard to stand up to the conventions of all those around. and brazenly refuse to accept what was expected in people's day-to-day workings. Even writing in this fictional Nanowrimo seemed as if such things could not be said. It was not that they might be misunderstood, but that at heart they were a deep critique of how everyone lived their lives. There had to be another way. She had to find a way to get down to doing the most important things and letting the inconsequentials fall where they might.

The idea had come to her as she pondered why an artist needed to bring forth the work - ...... but now she'd forgotten the specific context of the revelation. The art needed to be executed rather than just thought up or imagined, so that it could join the physical world and go off on its own to affect the world, to interact with the world. Who knew what the consequences were of any piece of art's existence in the world. Kept in pre-form of a possibility, they could only interact, affect, engage, in dream worlds. Creations or works of art had their lives that often went far beyond what the artist could imagine. To bring it forth meant giving up control in a way. Was it not a social act too to give expression to one's inner visions? Even if one did this only for oneself - it was because one wanted to see it outside of oneself and that division created an other self or being, thus it was social.

This way of non-stop writing just did not allow for reflection time. It was crazy that way. Her normal journal writing allowed for her to consider an idea or question that came to mind and ponder it. She would write to capture what she had just thought up or reasoned out. Sometimes it was simultaneous but not usually. She had presumed that the only way to get through the Nano project was to write fast and furiously. It would be hard enough to get a day's quota written without its taking more time than the large amount already required at fast writing speed. But what was the point if most of what came out at top speed ended up as hogwash? More time than that she did not have. She should have had a plan. Could she still make a plan? This was too ridiculous for her. Not even she herself would want to read this at the end. Still, she had to admit that she'd had a few interesting thoughts and questions come up in the first two days of writing.

She thought she was really stuck. That morning so many thoughts had crossed her mind that she'd thought she could write about, but where were they now? Should she just type nonsense until one of those thoughts resurfaced? Why had she not made notes as she went along making breakfast? What were those ideas? She'd gotten down her revelation on one reason it was important or meaningful to give expression to one's creative ideas - she was thinking visual art work in particular but it surely must apply to all art.

She still had not solved the question of her subject/protagonist/main character 's name other than 'She'. She balked at the idea of giving her a name. That seemed too specific. And names had their own personalities or identities. Names came with cultures and time frames attached. Could one make up a name, a sound? That was a possibility. Neither had she been willing to pinpoint the timeframe of this writing or story if one could call it that. To give it a specific context seemed as if it would take the writing out of this imaginary timeless sense that she had been experiencing in writing it. One could go crazy with these questions and imaginings. *She did not like these imaginings. It was too weird. Seemed almost dangerous how one could get lost in this other world. One was too new at this. Not quite dreaming while awake.


In dreaming one took it foregranted that one had no choice in a dream until those few times one realized perhaps one did have a choice in the dream and one made a choice. One also might have somehow learned how to wake up from dreams that were too scary. Dreaming came with being a human being. One had to do it, accept it, the way one had to breathe and eat. This imagining with words in such a concentrated time span, in such a quantity at one time was another matter. Using one's mind, imagination, or consciousness in this focused way continued to have it effect on one for the rest of the day.

1:41p - 968 words - 1:45p to create Awk doc and do word count

She'd interrupted the flow, (of nothingness), to do a word count. She knew she was not that close to the quota but could not resist looking. Again she wondered what was to be learned or accomplished by writing non-stop. This was not like music where one practiced scales and phrases. OOOH was that what scales were for? To practice making sound continuously in rhythm without breaking sound or rhythm? To isolate that skill from the practice of making a melody, or the practice of chords, or the practice of phrases, or the practice of other rhythms? Was that what this kind of forced writing was about? She could not bring herself not to auto correct as she typed. She did it as she wrote in pencil and she did it while typing. Perhaps she should slow down to a point where she wrote smoothly. The habit was too deep. She wanted to correct herself constantly. One word was out and she would think of another word that said what she ment better. How to practice not correcting, this was an awful state for her. Unbearable. Better to type with eyes closed. But there were still those letters or characters she could not find without looking at the keyboard. Oh my oh my was all she wanted to say. she could not stand this. Why spend time doing this if there would not be anything worthwhile at the end?

Her students could barely understand why she gave them some of the excercises she gave them. They always expected that anything they were to do was supposed to come out looking right. They refused to accept that any practice had an effect on how one's mind worked after that, how one perceived things after that - even if only for a while. She too wanted things to look a certain way. One never had such problems while eating food! One wanted to eat because one was hungry or because one liked the taste of a food. Of course one also ate because of habit, for something to do, for the comfort of it, or as a shared activity. There were probably other reasons as well. Yes one ate because one knew one had to - one knew one
needed the nutrition - sometimes this was in conflict with whether one felt one wanted to or not. How often did one consider the accomplishment of having eaten? It was usually a kind of process one engaged in.

2:02p 1394 words

She had so many projects she was supposed to be working on instead. They weighed on her. When would she learn how to say no? It came to her that she might not learn to say no, until she gave precedence to what she found most important. Her search for this seemed to have gone on her whole adult life. She could not properly share this search with anyone. They wanted to understand and sympathize but it had to be a wearisome subject for them by now. Had to have been years ago already. It often felt as if everyone else knew what they were doing in life. They had had their children, could go about their work with clear conscience that they were fulfilling their purpose, it seemed. In many ways she felt as if she had still just come out of art school and was to decide what she would do as an artist. She was almost old now. She might soon be old.

She had done a lot of 'nice' things but she had always felt one was to do things that were more than 'nice'. She wanted things to be full of meaning, deeper than 'pretty'. What did that mean 'full of meaning'? What qualities or characteristics satisfied that condition?

She wanted to speak of magic, mystery, spirit - that which moved everything, that which everything came from. She wanted to express that in her work. She wanted to share that. She wanted her work to be like that magic, mystery, spirit she saw. She wanted to make magic, mystery, spirit, beauty - to be able to. It was so beautiful. She had been on another long side trip it seemed. She had been observing and 'recording' sites and memories of the places around her. This had been a somewhat accidental venture she'd landed in. It was never meant to go as far as it had. For a long time now she felt trapped in it. She was proud of the work she'd done there, but felt she'd left her original desires too long now. People were used to the work she'd been doing. They could not understand the problems that had come with the venture for her. The obligation she felt to answer their desires weighed on her. It was ironic too - she'd learned it was quite simple to see what others liked and wanted, and if one were willing to deliver that there was plenty one could do that way. So why was it so difficult to set aside hearing the wants of others? Why could one not hear or recognize one's own wants. Did one hide those wants from oneself? Was one afraid of them? Was one afraid that others would reject one for having those wants? Was one afraid one would not have any wants to speak of!? Was one afraid one would no longer be needed by others? There were more questions here she knew.

2:30p 1891 words 10165 characters 135 lines 2 1/2 pages / 101 minutes (1:41)