Woke up to snow this morning. It's almost midday now and the roofs are still covered in white. The plan from now on is to do something writerly every day. Wednesdays are Poems from Paintings day. Andra and I have been meeting at the National Gallery for the past 3 weeks to write poems inspired by paintings. We're planning to go through every room, starting from Room 1 (which was closed on the first day we went due to industrial action over holiday pay, so we had to start at Room 9). I've always been intrigued by paintings and have seen them as a great writing tool, a prompt for stories, and since starting work on Whitechapel Boys I've become more aware of the actual brushstrokes, the way the hand moves on the canvas. But I think what really interests me is the story of a painting - what the artist chooses to put in a frame and the colours they use. And perspective. And where the eye goes first when you encounter a picture, the point from which the whole story fans out. I also love the way paintings are there to be used and ogled and played with - and how you can, through writing, own them, make them your own. What do painters get out of writing? In the days of the Whitechapel Boys and the Bloomsbury crowd, there was a much stronger connection between writers and painters and they sought out each other's company. Most of Gertler's friends were writers. Carrington had Strachey. Rosenberg tried to carry the two expressions inside him. What did painters get from writers?
After a really long break from teaching - having been on a writing residency in Spain for about a month, looking out onto hills and big skies, and then a week in Prague sitting in cafes and bringing Kafka back to life - I have my first workshop later today. Two new courses at the Bishopsgate Institute: a general creative writing workshop and another one about researching a novel. I'm particularly excited about the second one as it'll be the first time I'm running such a course and it'll be based on the last three years of my own research for Whitechapel Boys. I like the way a new workshop challenges me to put into words what I've been doing (in this case, to try and define that transition from researched fact into inspired fiction) and find ways to make the process I've gone through exciting for others, and to encourage others to discover their own process and trust their own creative process. In the creative writing workshop we'll be reading Andrew Holleran's book Grief, which I'm excited and apprehensive about - it's so sombre and beautiful - and I admire him so much that I want everyone to love his work.
Just came across an interview by John Shor and loved what he said about the experience of writing - especially when it's going well. He says: "I’ll be honest—most of the time writing is without question extremely hard work. Having said that, moments of clarity exist that are profoundly enjoyable. For me, during such moments, characters seem to speak of their own accord, and scenes unfold as if I’ve already lived them. When I am in such a groove, I type as fast as I can, not caring if words are spelled properly or if everything makes perfect sense. As I type, the outside world simply disappears. I don’t think about what might be happening over the weekend or bills that need to be paid or house projects with my name on them. I’m simply consumed with writing as much as possible during this rare moment of clarity. What’s best about these moments is that as I write I experience a remarkable sense of contentedness—likely because I know that I am creating something that most people will find enjoyable. When reality inevitably chases me away from the computer, I always depart with great regret." I'm in the great regret phase at the moment having left my writing desk about a month ago when my residency in Spain ended.
Woke up to snow this morning. It's almost midday now and the roofs are still covered in white. The plan from now on is to do something writerly every day. Wednesdays are Poems from Paintings day. Andra and I have been meeting at the National Gallery for the past 3 weeks to write poems inspired by paintings. We're planning to go through every room, starting from Room 1 (which was closed on the first day we went due to industrial action over holiday pay, so we had to start at Room 9). I've always been intrigued by paintings and have seen them as a great writing tool, a prompt for stories, and since starting work on Whitechapel Boys I've become more aware of the actual brushstrokes, the way the hand moves on the canvas. But I think what really interests me is the story of a painting - what the artist chooses to put in a frame and the colours they use. And perspective. And where the eye goes first when you encounter a picture, the point from which the whole story fans out. I also love the way paintings are there to be used and ogled and played with - and how you can, through writing, own them, make them your own. What do painters get out of writing? In the days of the Whitechapel Boys and the Bloomsbury crowd, there was a much stronger connection between writers and painters and they sought out each other's company. Most of Gertler's friends were writers. Carrington had Strachey. Rosenberg tried to carry the two expressions inside him. What did painters get from writers?
