Last night, while watching the better Capote film, Infamous, I was reminded of an interview in which Frank Sinatra once said that every time Judy Garland sang she died a little inside...that's how much she gave. And, in the ensuing argument that occurred between my fellow movie-watcher and I, I discovered that I completely agreed with this notion. (Yes, I'd like some wine with my cheese, thank you.) But let me explain:
When you make art, when you really give yourself to something that requires creation, I don't think it's unreasonable to say that you become controlled by it. And it's because art is, to a large degree, an autonomous thing-- something that must be worked over and reasoned with as well as coaxed into existence. I don't know a single writer, artist or performer who hasn't felt consumed by their work at some point, like it could kill them if they let it. Yet while it seems that believing in this idea could indicate a kind of fatalistic perspective on the maturation and quality of an artist's work, I don't think it's any more damning than recognizing our own mortality. We have a finite number of years to live, and accordingly, a finite number of works that we can create. While the work can and probably will "kill" the artist a little bit from time to time, I don't think that this indicates a diminished quality in the work as it progresses... but maybe a tarnished or wearisome artist? Sure.
Which is my somewhat roundabout way of saying that I simply have not been able to face the great challenge of a blog post since starting grad school. I've been writing about 500% more than I'm used to, and any writing that was not art or casual emailing seemed beyond my mental faculties. Maybe this will change, as school continues and my brain and body become accustomed to this kind of work, who knows. In the meantime, I have found myself lamenting a waning memory capacity for small things that I've mentally noted to blog about. With the addition of a smartphone in my life, I've decided to get back to my photographic roots and keep a "notebook" on tumblr:
http://elefanteria.tumblr.com/
Again with the elephants, right? I guess I could offer a tiny explanation: when I was a kid, visiting my abuelita in Santiago, I remember that she had a vast collection of elephant figurines in her dining room. So intense was this collection that the room became a kind of storage space that could no longer accommodate a dinner or guests, and truly, not even a small girl's wandering feet. The elephants were made of everything from wood to bronze to ivory, and were as small as pearls or large as Great Danes. I've loved elephants ever since (despite their unfortunate political affiliation) and find myself drawn to them in nostalgia.
"La Elefanteria" is in reference to the animal, and to the South American tendency to name a store by simply adding the suffix "-eria" to whatever it is they're selling: "Levanderia" (cleaner's) "Joyeria" (jewelery store) "Sanwisheria" (you get the idea). Obviously, I'm not selling anything, nor is my blog particularly elephant-related, but I was thinking of the old phrase that "an elephant never forgets." I intend to upload photos, quotes, small notes, etc of things I encounter that strike me in some way and I want to "remember."
I'm super scattered and disorganized, and I hate that "tip of my tongue" feeling when trying to recall. It's kind of a New Year's thing, I guess. And maybe I'll come back here if ever I feel inclined to elaborate on my notes.
Muchos besos, prospero año, etc.
