“No One Can Advise Or Help You — No One”
A friend recently sent along some wondering for submission to GIANT discussion. Their question (skip down to the blue if you want to avoid me getting off topic with brain science) maybe intersects Lily’s post yesterday about the definition (and neurobiology) of creativity. Is there “hardwiring” involved in our expression/communication motivations? Is that expression/communication goal-based or process-based? Do we need intense pompadours? I’m getting farther afield with each question I add to the question I haven’t even shown you yet, but I’ve been reading Antonio Damasio’s The Feeling of What Happens: Body and Emotion in the Making of Consciousness, which proposes (among many things) that emotions and feelings are different (emotions are in the body, feelings are the mind’s awareness of emotions), and that we evolved consciousness in order to be aware of our having feelings. Not just feelings, but our having of them. In other words, we have a mind in order to know how we feel. I can’t help but make lazy/lyrical connections between my anonymous friend’s question and those ideas, but I’m feeling too lazy/lyrical to do much besides wonder. I invite you, kind people, to do more. Here is my friend’s question:
In 1903, a nineteen-year old poet by the name of Franz Xaver Kappus wrote to Rainer Maria Rilke to ask for that illustrious writer’s opinions on his poetry. To which Rilke famously replied, in part, to the now misremembered enquirer:
“No one can advise or help you – no one. There is only one thing you should do. Go into yourself. Find out the reason that commands you to write; see whether it has spread its roots into the very depths of your heart; confess to yourself whether you would have to die if you were forbidden to write. This most of all: ask yourself in the most silent hour of your night: must I write?”
Say, today, you weren’t forbidden but were encouraged. Say your writing was very aesthetically impressive, quite observably good. Say you wrote for yourself and no other. Say you had your reasons to write, including the reason that there were no inherent reasons to write, and you felt these very deeply, all the way to the heart. What if the question remained. Must you write?
Tags: antonio damasio, australian friends, rilke
I will advise and help you. What do you want advice about?
i have updated the post to make the question more clear
Are the only people who should write the people that must write?
What makes you think I read the post?
No but seriously.
no
man. i hate this kind of crap.
No point in thinking about whether you must write or not. Sounds like romanticisation to me. And rumination. Write or do not write. I would agree with what Margaret Atwood writes in the recent Guardian item about writers giving 10 rules for writing: “Nobody is making you do this: you chose it, so don’t whine.”
Not that I don’t think community isn’t important, and friends to discuss ideas etc. But finally, writing is work to get done. If it is not happening do something else, and come back to writing, or not. There are plenty of poets who stopped (and did or did not return to writing), Oppen for one.
i know guys who wrote very intensely for a while but eventually stopped writing and started rock bands or got into painting or started teaching or stopped the creative business altogether and now have regular jobs and kids and every few years talk about “getting back to the book again.” those folks are dabblers and no, they don’t have to write. they do it when the wind blows a certain way.
there are others who have to write and will always write. encouraged or no. whether or not they have any trust or faith in their production. through the long fallow years and the years when nobody commented one way or another. when they wrote when no one knew they wrote. when writing itself had lost all pleasure. so, yeah, i think some must write. some, must. but, yeah, romanticism. i’m into romanticism.
not to be a contrarian, but I will be anyway so I say, tis true tis true; do only what you must, suck deep the marrow. I would also have to ask a definition of “write” here though, there are people who write advertisements and the warnings on lawnmowers. I don’t think they MUST write but most of the litigious society isn’t happy they do.
Possibly no depending. probably yes also depending.
I detest the write-or-I will-die-school.
Why can’t people write an intellectually stimulating activity, as intellectual play?
It has to always be ink-as-blood thing?
I don’t get it.
That photo of Rilke is the Platonic Form of an author photo. I want to read Rilke, but that photograph makes him look like he might be seventeen years old and a little bit on the moody side.
The internet can be a bad thing for people who must write. Also, narcissists. In the first case, what comes out is often half-baked, in the other, just excessive.
I will advise and help you. What do you want advice about?
i have updated the post to make the question more clear
Are the only people who should write the people that must write?
What makes you think I read the post?
No but seriously.
Perhaps Rilke’s suggestion that the would-be poet ask himself “Must I write?” was simply a kind way of indicating he shouldn’t.
no
Part of me thinks the art-as-blood/obsessional/devotional/romantic behavior and self-propagating myth is more akin to religious fervor, and dangerous.
Part of me thinks the art-as-play behavior and lesser myth is not at all dangerous, and mostly beneficial, or more beneficial, to general happiness.
I then jump to: what kind of art has risen out of each style of art making? And most of the books & films that I love and am most impressed & inspired by rose out of the first style (although many have risen out of the second style, e.g. Kurt Vonnegut), the potentially dangerous style.
The latter, at its worst, can seem a bit objectified, like entertainment.
I hold these two opposing styles in my head at once, have practiced both, and yet the one that leads to more general happiness and well-being is the latter. The one that leads to more art made, potentially better art made, is the former.
Yet: the idea that I need reminding of most often, mostly self-initiated, is that ‘We are here on earth to fart around, and don’t let anybody tell you any different.’ and that being a kind and loving and curious, i.e. happy person, is the most important goal that I have. Which doesn’t play well with the idea of the obsessional art making.
Maybe this is why I revere Stanley Kubrick so much. The more and more I know about his lifestyle, the more and more I respect and admire his ability to be devoted to his art and devoted to his family.
It’s the little-bit-every-day style vs. the orgiastic/ecstatic style.
I find that this applies to romance, and romantic relationships, too. The myth of all-devouring romance, I think, is really dangerous. I’ve been there, done that, and it does intensify living in a way that is unparalleled, but like an Ecstasy trip, has a painful and numbing descent and valley.
This is all toward a larger discussion that I’m trying to clear up in my own head about how best to make art, personally, and how best to be happy.
Thoughts?
Yes.
I really don’t think any of this matters. The part of you that produces the really good shit probably doesn’t care whether you consciously think you “must” write, whether you think it’s your duty, whether you write to get paid, or whatever. It only cares that you listen to it.
man. i hate this kind of crap.
No point in thinking about whether you must write or not. Sounds like romanticisation to me. And rumination. Write or do not write. I would agree with what Margaret Atwood writes in the recent Guardian item about writers giving 10 rules for writing: “Nobody is making you do this: you chose it, so don’t whine.”
Not that I don’t think community isn’t important, and friends to discuss ideas etc. But finally, writing is work to get done. If it is not happening do something else, and come back to writing, or not. There are plenty of poets who stopped (and did or did not return to writing), Oppen for one.
i know guys who wrote very intensely for a while but eventually stopped writing and started rock bands or got into painting or started teaching or stopped the creative business altogether and now have regular jobs and kids and every few years talk about “getting back to the book again.” those folks are dabblers and no, they don’t have to write. they do it when the wind blows a certain way.
there are others who have to write and will always write. encouraged or no. whether or not they have any trust or faith in their production. through the long fallow years and the years when nobody commented one way or another. when they wrote when no one knew they wrote. when writing itself had lost all pleasure. so, yeah, i think some must write. some, must. but, yeah, romanticism. i’m into romanticism.
not to be a contrarian, but I will be anyway so I say, tis true tis true; do only what you must, suck deep the marrow. I would also have to ask a definition of “write” here though, there are people who write advertisements and the warnings on lawnmowers. I don’t think they MUST write but most of the litigious society isn’t happy they do.
Possibly no depending. probably yes also depending.
I detest the write-or-I will-die-school.
Why can’t people write an intellectually stimulating activity, as intellectual play?
It has to always be ink-as-blood thing?
I don’t get it.
That photo of Rilke is the Platonic Form of an author photo. I want to read Rilke, but that photograph makes him look like he might be seventeen years old and a little bit on the moody side.
The internet can be a bad thing for people who must write. Also, narcissists. In the first case, what comes out is often half-baked, in the other, just excessive.
Perhaps Rilke’s suggestion that the would-be poet ask himself “Must I write?” was simply a kind way of indicating he shouldn’t.
Part of me thinks the art-as-blood/obsessional/devotional/romantic behavior and self-propagating myth is more akin to religious fervor, and dangerous.
Part of me thinks the art-as-play behavior and lesser myth is not at all dangerous, and mostly beneficial, or more beneficial, to general happiness.
I then jump to: what kind of art has risen out of each style of art making? And most of the books & films that I love and am most impressed & inspired by rose out of the first style (although many have risen out of the second style, e.g. Kurt Vonnegut), the potentially dangerous style.
The latter, at its worst, can seem a bit objectified, like entertainment.
I hold these two opposing styles in my head at once, have practiced both, and yet the one that leads to more general happiness and well-being is the latter. The one that leads to more art made, potentially better art made, is the former.
Yet: the idea that I need reminding of most often, mostly self-initiated, is that ‘We are here on earth to fart around, and don’t let anybody tell you any different.’ and that being a kind and loving and curious, i.e. happy person, is the most important goal that I have. Which doesn’t play well with the idea of the obsessional art making.
Maybe this is why I revere Stanley Kubrick so much. The more and more I know about his lifestyle, the more and more I respect and admire his ability to be devoted to his art and devoted to his family.
It’s the little-bit-every-day style vs. the orgiastic/ecstatic style.
I find that this applies to romance, and romantic relationships, too. The myth of all-devouring romance, I think, is really dangerous. I’ve been there, done that, and it does intensify living in a way that is unparalleled, but like an Ecstasy trip, has a painful and numbing descent and valley.
This is all toward a larger discussion that I’m trying to clear up in my own head about how best to make art, personally, and how best to be happy.
Thoughts?
Yes.
I really don’t think any of this matters. The part of you that produces the really good shit probably doesn’t care whether you consciously think you “must” write, whether you think it’s your duty, whether you write to get paid, or whatever. It only cares that you listen to it.
well for me, if you have to write, why? If you know for a fact that you must do it in order to “feel ok”, why? That sounds like dependency. I dont like the idea of being addicted to writing. Certainly if I dont even know why I am addicted.
I think this view is less of a claim to devotion and more a justification for this silly thing we do : writing.
It’s hard to justify engaging in anything that most others don’t do. People understand why you work a shit job or go to church or have kids. They dont understand obsessively working on your motorcycle or kayaking every weekend or carving wooden puppets in your garage. Or writing.
People involved in things that others aren’t often find themselves scrambling for answers when asked “Why?”
being asked this so many times is a bit annoying. You become defensive. You feel the need to defend this silly thing you love to do. What better defense than “I must!” ?
I write often. It’s lame but a lot of people think it’s weird. I’m getting my BFA in creative writing. People think thats weird. They ask me “Why? What job are you going to get with that?”
But, I’m lack that romantic drama. I dont feel the need to explain myself or defend the art of writing. I just say “Cause it’s fun and I like doing it.”
well for me, if you have to write, why? If you know for a fact that you must do it in order to “feel ok”, why? That sounds like dependency. I dont like the idea of being addicted to writing. Certainly if I dont even know why I am addicted.
I think this view is less of a claim to devotion and more a justification for this silly thing we do : writing.
It’s hard to justify engaging in anything that most others don’t do. People understand why you work a shit job or go to church or have kids. They dont understand obsessively working on your motorcycle or kayaking every weekend or carving wooden puppets in your garage. Or writing.
People involved in things that others aren’t often find themselves scrambling for answers when asked “Why?”
being asked this so many times is a bit annoying. You become defensive. You feel the need to defend this silly thing you love to do. What better defense than “I must!” ?
I write often. It’s lame but a lot of people think it’s weird. I’m getting my BFA in creative writing. People think thats weird. They ask me “Why? What job are you going to get with that?”
But, I’m lack that romantic drama. I dont feel the need to explain myself or defend the art of writing. I just say “Cause it’s fun and I like doing it.”
Sometimes I remember Marat in his bath, saying, “Simone! Simone! A message to the people!” (in The Persecution and Assassination of Jean-Paul Marat, as Performed by the Inmates of Charenton, Under the Direction of the Marquis de Sade) which is my favorite musical of all time, and I see myself as Marat, and laugh.
no thoughts, just happy to read this. your co-existence of multiple poles with life at the center engenders a beautiful pinwheel.
Sometimes I remember Marat in his bath, saying, “Simone! Simone! A message to the people!” (in The Persecution and Assassination of Jean-Paul Marat, as Performed by the Inmates of Charenton, Under the Direction of the Marquis de Sade) which is my favorite musical of all time, and I see myself as Marat, and laugh.
no thoughts, just happy to read this. your co-existence of multiple poles with life at the center engenders a beautiful pinwheel.
I was going reply to this comment yesterday or this morning but I was too drunk.
I think it’s all about negotiating needs.
Remembering that the life is also art, helps. I feel like art and living are different ways of engaging in acts of empathy.
If you make a masterpiece that no one reads for a hundred years and ruin your friendships/family life is it worth it? Even if its only takes ten years?
I always think about Richard Yates. His mother was just as obsessive an artist, but was never famous. So in classes or in conversations people talk shit about the mom character in the man’s fiction or his biography. He was broke and largely forgotten when he died.
There definitely is school that believes sacrifice. How many action movies do you see where a dude talks about getting rid of the weakness inside of themselves. I don’t know about happiness, but sacrificing one’s personal life for art doesn’t necesarilly how much one cares about one’s art, but more about how much the artist cares about the people around him or her. Although at the same time with Yates I feel like the only time you ever see him care about people is through his art. So it’s all fucked.
I make a hobby out of looking cute, but I don’t lose any sleep over it. I feel like writing is kinda of like booze or drugs. In reading and writing there are moments when the two sides of the paradox stop turning and goes away. Sometimes joy is experienced in that place. I ain’t a Yeats scholar, but I always loved the diagrams of his gyres.
Richard Yates in a short story called ‘The Builders’ described writing stories as building houses without being sure windows were installed. But that maybe the light/truth would get in through the cracks. I’m not quoting exact.
I feel like that point where falconers cant see falcons is like the crack or the window.
Anyways i meant to say also that sometimes when you’re blackout you can’t see the falcon.
I was going reply to this comment yesterday or this morning but I was too drunk.
I think it’s all about negotiating needs.
Remembering that the life is also art, helps. I feel like art and living are different ways of engaging in acts of empathy.
If you make a masterpiece that no one reads for a hundred years and ruin your friendships/family life is it worth it? Even if its only takes ten years?
I always think about Richard Yates. His mother was just as obsessive an artist, but was never famous. So in classes or in conversations people talk shit about the mom character in the man’s fiction or his biography. He was broke and largely forgotten when he died.
There definitely is school that believes sacrifice. How many action movies do you see where a dude talks about getting rid of the weakness inside of themselves. I don’t know about happiness, but sacrificing one’s personal life for art doesn’t necesarilly how much one cares about one’s art, but more about how much the artist cares about the people around him or her. Although at the same time with Yates I feel like the only time you ever see him care about people is through his art. So it’s all fucked.
I make a hobby out of looking cute, but I don’t lose any sleep over it. I feel like writing is kinda of like booze or drugs. In reading and writing there are moments when the two sides of the paradox stop turning and goes away. Sometimes joy is experienced in that place. I ain’t a Yeats scholar, but I always loved the diagrams of his gyres.
Richard Yates in a short story called ‘The Builders’ described writing stories as building houses without being sure windows were installed. But that maybe the light/truth would get in through the cracks. I’m not quoting exact.
I feel like that point where falconers cant see falcons is like the crack or the window.
Anyways i meant to say also that sometimes when you’re blackout you can’t see the falcon.