INSPIRED BY ART: Silence Inspires our Writing

Anselm Kiefer, The Renowned Orders of the Night, 1997

INTRODUCTION

I love this painting because Kiefer, born in Germany, right before the end of WW II, is always asking the biggest questions.  Something that is also our mandate as writers, whether we are writing a children’s book, a sci-fi thriller, a memoir or a short lyric.  It is our duty to honor our human condition, to reflect the nobility and complexity of who we are as human persons.

This is the 11^th and final post in this series. In it we explored how visual art can inspire our writing. In Feb 2022 I will begin a very different series where we will explore the city as a source of inspiration.

As a hinge between the two, I want to offer my conviction and experience of silence itself as an inspiration for us as writers.

We all work, most deeply, in silence.  We may be in a writing group, have an editor, talk about our work all the time, dream about it.  But to actually make something of power and beauty, we have to be silent.

This is because we have to come to hear the thing that we alone hear.  We have to then bring what we hear onto the screen and page, and work, work, work until it faithfully represents what we alone here and see.  If we don’t go this deep into ourselves we cannot make art.  We can only make stuff.  And one thing the world does not need is more stuff.  What it does need is art.  It will always need art, its food.

This movement inward is basic to Judaism, Christianity, and Buddhism as the basis of finding peace. It is also basic to making every art form. So we have to develop habits that lead us inward if we are to make anything gorgeous and profound and true, whether it’s a painting, a novel, a symphony. Silence is where we meet our imagination, and pay attention to it.  From silence, our best work comes.

The next series the posts will all come from walking around my city, taking pictures.  How do these street musicians teach me about dialogue? How does this pair of men’s oxfords on this footstool in this retail window teach me about context?  So it starts with an outward glance. But none of those things I see can actually teach me about writing unless I am paying attention. Unless I am quiet inside.  And listening to what I see. I have to carry with me not only the camera on my phone but a vast silence inside that can respond with a deep curiosity. Silence is not just the absence of sound. It’s curiosity, listening. It’s mindfulness.  It’s meditation.

PART 1: WHEN I LOOKED AT THIS PAINTING

In this large painting Keifer is exploring the idea of the sky at night, and spirituality that surrounds it. Writing about Keifer’s work, Michael Auping quotes Keifer who said, “The sky is an idea, a part of . . . an older knowledge. Heaven is an idea, a piece of ancient internal Knowledge. It is not a physical construction.”  (See Anselm Kiefer: Heaven and Earth ,New York: Prestel, 2005, p. 166.)

Let’s continue to wrestle with big questions like this, with things we cannot solve.  And we can remember that we don’t have to solve anything in our work, be it the majesty of the night sky or the pain of a sick child.  We never have to solve these things. Kiefer didn’t “solve” anything about the vast night sky.  What we have to do is describe, for the reader, what it is like to live with these things.  If we do that well, we will make art.  And if, like Keifer, we do it super-well, we will make a masterpiece.

PART 2:  THE CHAPTER THAT RESULTED

This Kiefer painting gave me the answer to my second question about Moses in This Is Why I Came wondering what would become of this exchange:

Moses said, “Show me your glory. I need to see you. I need to see your face.”
But God said, “If you see my face, you will die.” “Show me anyway,” Moses answered.

You can read that chapter titled, “Moses and the Dream of the Law” here: http://thisiswhybook.com/moses-and-the-dream-of-the-law/

PART 3:  EXERCISES IN SILENCE

 At SFWC 2020 I held  a workshop titled, Making Silence Part of your Writing Practice and these were useful and fun:

 1. With another person:

Sit facing each other.  Set the timer on your phone for 1 minute. For that one minute, without speaking, just look at the other person’s face.

When the minute is up, find a way to create solitude—face a wall, move your chair, etc. and for 5 minutes write what you saw.

You won’t be sharing this.

You can write anything.

You can make up a story about that person. You can jot notes for the future writing.

You just want to move from seeing in silence and to writing from your memory.

Write anything that comes to mind.

2. A chance for self-inventory:

• About how many emails will I receive today
• How many texts?

3. How many phone calls?

• How many other times will I check my phone today.
• What are the 25 things on my mind right now as I try to focus on this inventory?
• When was the last time I felt completely still, quiet, relaxed? Where was I?

How do we reclaim mental silence/bandwidth?  How do we reclaim our attention as belonging to us?  How do we weed out other stuff? How do we prioritize?

Perhaps one New Year’s resolution can be to take baby steps in this direction. To make some silence and emptiness in your day, your calendar, your brain, your writing environment.  Baby steps. And then to notice the good fruit this emptiness and silence produces in your work.

IN CLOSING

Trees by Emerald Pond, 2003, Jeremy Foss, 1932-2019

Jeremy Foss (1932-2019) and I became close friends because we discovered each other’s work. We encouraged and deeply inspired each other toward greater stillness and tenderness, truth and humility in our work. And courage. Very much   proving the assumption that lies behind every post in this series. To him this short series is lovingly dedicated.

Thank you for being part of this art series! Have a wonderful end of the year and start of the next. If you need an editor in 2022 I’d love to hear from you.

I am restricting my time online until mid-January but will respond in full at that time. My next available opening is Feb. 2022.                        

Happy Holidays and Good writing!!

© Mary Rakow

A theologian with graduate degrees from Harvard Divinity School and Boston College, Mary writes with deep feeling and a questioning faith. She is a beloved editor. This Is Why I Came earned outstanding reviews in The Boston Globe, The Washington Post, The Atlantic, Harvard Divinity Bulletin, Commonweal, Christian Century, O Magazine, Ploughshares. It appeared on reading lists for courses at both Princeton and Yale.

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