“The world is violent and mercurial–it will have its way with you. We are saved only by love–love for each other and the love that we pour into the art we feel compelled to share: being a parent; being a writer; being a painter; being a friend. We live in a perpetually burning building, and what we must save from it, all the time, is love.”
– Tennessee Williams
Recently, while preparing my first novel for print, I stumbled upon the above quote by one of my favorite writers, Tennessee Williams. It stayed with me all through my typesetting and editing adventures. Having spent thirty-nine years of my existence as an artist, I couldn’t identify more. The world isn’t kind to artists. It’s difficult to obtain the attention of others, especially when you, as an artist, are already coming from a place in the heart that is outside of the mainstream. People, in general, have their own self-interests in mind, and more often than not, go out of their way to advance the notion of “If I do this for you, what are you going to do for me?” Mr. Williams had a very good grasp of the human condition–a condition which stems directly from the human heart. The artist’s heart remains true to itself, and puts forth that truth, no matter what–despite setbacks, hardships, and a world that is, on a grand scale, adverse to truth and beauty.
Rest assured, the path to publishing Portraits of Familiar Strangers has been arduous, but nothing as hard as what my grandmother endured with cancer. Her experience drove me to write the book. From the very beginning of the writing process, I knew the subject matter wasn’t going to be for everyone. Many out there may not like it and that’s okay. I didn’t write it for everyone. The book happened.
Hopefully, as an artist, I can save as much love as possible from the perpetually burning building.
Recently, an author that I enjoy, Scott Heim, shared the following video clip via Twitter of Toni Morrison's Nobel speech from 1993. I wanted to share it here also. The story told through Morrisson's speech is still relevant today:
“Would you like a cup of tea?” It’s a question that was asked, seemingly every few hours, while visiting my beau’s family in Ireland. During our travels through Europe, tea and pastry shops were everywhere. As he and I walked along busy streets in London, Dublin, or Edinburgh, a café that offered warm tea would greet us every few feet. And I understand it now, this devotion to warmth. It’s cold most of the time in many Western European countries, with overcast skies that drizzle rain and produce a wind seemingly forged to blow right through to the bone. There are many different types of teas: Chamomile, Earl Grey, jasmine, and so forth. But there are far more varieties of something else … People. People with different interests. A few weeks ago, I briefly spoke with a young woman (a fellow self-startup author), probably in her late teens or early twenties, about what printing physical editions of my novel might entail. This exchange happened at an anime convention, where the average patron seemed to be between twelve and twenty-five years old, female, and predominantly gay. I had stopped to browse through her display booth, which featured her own self-published anime inspired romance novels. I “briefly spoke” with her, because when she asked me what my book was about, by only the third or fourth word of my description, she had already visibly tuned out. All it took was the mention of a main character with a terminal illness and a gay male character. That’s it. Her face went slack and cold. As she stood there politely, I swiftly wrapped the conversation up with the understanding that A) The bit of information to take away from meeting her solely rested with Kindle Direct Publishing and B) there are different strokes for different folks. I was already aware of the second point, but the conversation, albeit short, reaffirmed the notion. Maybe it was a good thing to reach that conclusion on my own again. I don’t know. I’m not complaining (well, maybe I am). It was a spur-of-the-moment exchange. Simply put, our interests were completely different, and aside from being gay and somehow forging a path to self-publishing, we likely shared zero life experiences. I imagine that we would each rather opt for a root canal than sit through the drudgery of one another’s work. She didn’t know Emily Bronte from a ham sandwich. Conversely, at nearly forty years of age, I barely know Pikachu from Eevee. However, I can’t help but wish for more camaraderie amongst fellow artists. I noticed this disparity while attending art school as well. And I know … I know… I can hear the voice of my beau (or, as I call him, Babycakes), putting the polite-yet-sassy Southern charm on with an impromptu: “Oh, honey … bless your heart.” Yes, I know. It’s the way of the world and we each have our own self-interests. Some of us take our tea cold. Some prefer Earl Grey at breakfast. Others skip the tea altogether and have a nightcap of bourbon just before bedtime. As for myself, personally, I’m starting to skip straight to the bourbon nightcap and wish for a little something extra. A little more warmth, despite differences.
Bless my heart.
