Blog Archives

Pearls from artists* # 294

Barbara at work

Barbara at work

*an ongoing series of quotations – mostly from artists, to artists – that offers wisdom, inspiration, and advice for the sometimes lonely road we are on.

Interviewer:  Well, to begin – do you feel that you were born in a place and a time, and to a family all of which combined favorably to shape you for what you were to do?

Wilder:  Comparisons of one’s lot with others’ teaches us nothing and enfeebles the will.  Many born in an environment of poverty, disease, and stupidity, in an age of chaos, have put us in their debt.  By the standards of many people, and by my own, these dispositions were favorable – but what are our judgments in such matters?  Everyone is born with an array of handicaps – even Mozart, even Sophocles – and acquires new ones.  In a famous passage, Shakespeare ruefully complains that he was not endowed with another’s “scope”!  We are all equally distant from the sun, but we all have a share in it.  The most valuable thing I inherited was a temperament that does not revolt against Necessity and that is constantly renewed in Hope.  (I am alluding to Goethe’s great poem about the problem of each man’s “lot” – the Orphische Worte).         

Thornton Wilder in Writers at Work:  The Paris Review Interviews First Series, edited, and with an introduction by Malcolm Crowley

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Pearls from artists* # 283

Wintry day in DC

Wintry day in DC

*an ongoing series of quotations – mostly from artists, to artists – that offers wisdom, inspiration, and advice for the sometimes lonely road we are on.

I live alone, perhaps for no good reason, for the reason that I am an impossible creature, set apart by a temperament I have never learned to use as it could be used, thrown off by a word, a glance, a rainy day, or one drink too many.  My need to be alone is balanced against my fear of what will happen when suddenly I enter the huge empty silence if I cannot find support there.  I go up to Heaven and down to Hell in an hour, and keep alive only by imposing upon myself inexorable routines.  I write too many letters and too few poems.  It may be outwardly silent here but in the back of my mind is a clamor of human voices, too many needs, hopes, fears.  I hardly ever sit still without being haunted by the “undone” and the “unsent.”  I often feel exhausted, but it is not my work that tires (work is a rest); it is the effort of pushing away the lives and needs of others before I can come to work with any freshness and zest.

May Sarton in Journal of a Solitude:  The intimate diary of a year in the life of a creative woman   

Comments are welcome!