I Done Tousled with a Whale: Mojo Perry

It’s easy to feel that you're getting lost in a fruitless effort when you're pursuing your art."

My guest today, musician and singer/songwriter Mojo Perry, is an amazing guitarist.  He's spent the majority of his life with a guitar in his hand, and as he puts it, "a pocketful of dreams."  He's a dynamic guy who equates music with art in what seems to be a refreshing and unique way. Rather than talking about music, he speaks of art. Listen to some Mojo tunes while you read:

In a recent discussion, Mojo talked about some of the difficulties he's had over the years dealing with people who haven't understood his drive and passion. I know the drill all too well. There are many perfectly wonderful folks in this world, with varying levels of creativity, who just don't get it. They don't share our wiring. At times, they ask, beg, demand, and plead with us to:

• be reasonable
• be logical 
• do things that make sense
• think about the implications
• live in the "real" world
• stop working against them
• settle down
• stop 'disturbing' others
• listen
• be grateful for what we already have
• essentially join the crowd because, after all, if most people do it, it must be the appropriate action
• lighten up
• even ... give up

Even when they ask these things nicely, they don't realize just what they're asking. They don't know the power they hold individually and as a collective group.  They don't understand that folks like me and Mojo are not only struggling to create art, we're also longing to find our place in a world they've created. They think the leopard can change his spots and the zebra erase his stripes, all because it's a reasonable thing to do. They believe there is a comfort zone we all must share. 

I Never Meant to Upset You
12" x 12"

In corporate America there are those who ask us to "think outside the box," and be an "authentic leader."  But they want us to do so within the boundaries they understand.


My husband came home last night with a frown. Apparently, some of his business contacts had seen my painting, "I Never Meant to Upset You," and found it "scary and disturbing." They wondered what might be wrong with me that I would paint such things. I suggested that he let them know that it's a powerful little piece of art that will be shown in an Italian exhibit on Human Rights next month. 

 
I'm currently working with a highly creative artist on an Aberration Nation interview. It's taking months, primarily because he doesn't care for my blog format. It's not what he's used to, and doesn't follow standard journalistic format. I'm working with him to structure his interview in a different way. That's fine. What's not fine is that he believes something is inherently flawed about my blog. Okay, so sure, I'd like to learn from this guy (who is also a friend of mine), and I don't mind, but it has made me consider that even highly creative folks can become trapped in molds, either thrust upon them, or of their own creation.

I grew up idolizing my mother's creativity yet she evolved into a highly set-in-her-ways individual, primarily based on the culture in which she was raised. She holds sacred, never-gonna-change views about people and situations. She calls them convictions. We're all allowed to have those, but the idea always brings me back to one simple question:  

How the hell can you be so sure you're right?  

Having an indestructible belief that you're correct is extraordinarily powerful.  It creates a surge in the environment, a spark, that can either be positive or negative, uplifting or destructive. Although I learned to hide the fact for many years, I've always been one to question the status quo, rules, boundaries, etc. As a kid, I often wondered who decided this or that, and why. Sometimes I could understand the why, whether or not I agreed with it, but sometimes, there didn't seem to be a good reason. 

As creative individuals, we often have to barrel through day after day of finger shaking in some form or another, depending on who surrounds us, where we live, and other life circumstances. And the stories range from a couple of sentences to gut wrenching tales of woe. But we continue on for our art, for what we believe in, and why we believe we were created. Many of us have wrestled with alligators and tousled with whales.
  



Mojo is a great example of the the creative spirit, and how it must go on. It's stripes and spots, wiring, and thought process were meant to fly. After all, that magnificent flight through thundering skies and over tempest sea has carried civilization forward. 

What's your story?  Have you always loved music?

I consider myself to be a conceptual artist.  I create art from the heart and express myself as creatively as possible.  All of it comes naturally to me.  I'm the youngest of eight; the only one in my family who plays an instrument.  My art/music emerged from a strong passion and grasp of sounds that go back as far as I can remember. I choose the concepts behind my work as they make themselves apparent in my life. I've been playing guitar for five years less than I have been alive; 38 years, which affords me the ability to reach and achieve creatively.


As an artist, I try to surround myself with people and art who are better than my own.  I'm blessed that in my career I have been able to record or perform with many great people and some guitar legends I have admired since I was a kid.  I’m quite respected for my playing but even more so for my creativity.  This stems from a true passion and love for music that was so evident as a child that my mother immediately put an instrument in my hand.  I'm very happy she chose the guitar. 

My first “official” release came when I was only 15 years old, which stemmed an active recording career that has branched to an International level.   I have always loved music and seek it out.  My electronic music collection is up to four terabytes.  I listen, consume, and experience music as much as possible.  I absolutely love music and take the challenges life throws at me with a guitar in my hand and a smile on my face.

With regard to your current creative focus, was there an "ah-ha" moment you can tell us about?

Yes, I have had several, but one of the most recent ones is without a doubt when I sold out in Spain.  I showed up that day to what I thought was a pub gig only to find out it was a theater.  The place was decked out with art and filled with people there to share in it.  I first looked out into a large room from side stage only to see row after row of empty seats. Then the next thing I know someone walks in and says, “You are sold out tonight."  

I had never been to Spain before.  It was the first time that I saw how my art was touching the lives of others through the Internet on a large scale.  For once in my life, I was able to put faces to the numbers I read when I look at my download statistics and CD sales.  It’s easy to feel that you're getting lost in a fruitless effort when pursuing your art; Pow!… that really touched me.  I definitely knew I'm onto something.   I mean, really … I have had a lot of ah-ha moments in my career.  Like little love taps they creep into my life and kiss me, whispering in my ear to keep going.  As far as a focus ... my focus is the same as it has always been; to create art/music and follow my creative heart.  

Mojo Perry's upcoming CD cover art.

For you, is music more about creation or expression? It could be both, but does one dominate with regard to your need/urge/desire to make music?

This is a very difficult question for me to answer.  Music is my whole life and has been for as long as I can remember.  I've never thought about this either way until just now.  I have such a strong desire to create that the expression just shines without me ever really thinking about it.

I really believe that being creative is allowing yourself to make mistakes, art is knowing which ones to keep. I also believe that one cannot serve without the other. Creativity and expression are lovers that will never part. However, I do try to be selective as to which songs I release and which ones I don’t. I want to contribute honest, positive art. The rest I archive and add to a collection of songs that I hope will be a wonderful box set someday after I'm long gone.  So … you might say my life is a collection of art in process. 

How would you describe your musical style, and why does this appeal most to you creatively?

First and foremost I'm a Songwriter. I approach every song I write as an individual piece of work. I have strong Blues roots at times, which often throws me into the Blues Genres.  All in all I would have to say that I am a Psychedelic Artist. I love manipulating sounds and pushing limits with my guitar. The beauty of the Psychedelic Genre is that the audience for it expects different, wild, and creative ideas, rhythms, and sounds; I absolutely adore that freedom. My career is based on it. In the marketplace I find myself in Psychedelic, Rock, Blues, Jam Band, Acoustic, and Singer Songwriter genres.

Do you believe some of the various attributes related to being highly creative have caused you aberrations in life, helped you deal with life's aberrations, or both? 

I think this is an individual question because the farther out you go, the more different you become. I look at people whom I've been drawn to since I was a child: Charles Bukowski, Jack Kerouac, Jimi Hendrix; they all suffered, they all were laughed and scoffed at but stuck it out. I'm doing the same thing; weathering the storms and creating art/music and living it up when I can and toughing it out when things are down. It’s not complicated for any true artist; it’s in our blood.  The best blessing for me in being highly creative is that I always have a way to express what I'm feeling, going through, or am dealing with. As for the struggles I go through in pursuing my art, I'm continually shown how much I care about my art, what happens to it, and the fact that it is out there. I believe that when there is a connection to your creative side you explore a lot of things off the beaten track, which means there are certain hazards that come with it. With all of it I have grown in a way that I never would have if I had not gone through those tribulations and I'm grateful for all of it.

Have you had to deal with people in your life failing to understand your creative personality, interests, or drive? If so, can you tell us about it and how you've dealt with it?

Yes I have. Discretion is the better part of valor. I've had many circumstances over the years on both personal and professional levels that proved to be a struggle for all involved.  I have it going on with various family members now and many others who just don’t see why I push so hard when I get so little back. They don’t experience what I see, hear, feel, or believe, and they certainly don’t have something so convictive in their life to push for. How could they understand ? I don’t even get it myself; I’m a slave to my art and the passion that burns in my blood. It’s simple but very complicated. I don’t think it will ever change and their will always be difficult situations. I will deal with it the way I always have.  With my art/music and the gifts of being able to create something out of nothing.

Unfortunately, many creative people never achieve the success they dream about for various reasons.  Have your biggest dreams come to pass yet?  What do you dream of achieving now? 

You are never alone when you have a dream. I have learned over the years to understand success in various ways. My biggest dreams have not come to pass; they are just beginning to happen for me. Sure, there are things that haven’t happened the way I wanted them to but that’s normal. But the other side of that coin is that there have been many great things that did happen. Sometimes it sucks to be broke at times but then again I have a lot to be grateful for.  

As far as dreams go… man… I will always dream and work to achieve because that’s just what I do and when all is said and done people will be able to learn about me through my art/music, read about me, watch videos, listen to my work, and more. That’s what I'm dreaming to achieve. Just leaving my mark and being as happy as I can possibly be with a guitar in my hand and a pocketful of dreams.  Well… all of that as well as continuing to grow as a guitarist and pushing limits. (Smiling)

Do you ever wonder if what you're creating or expressing is as meaningful to others as it is to you?  How important is that to you with regard to your overall goals? If you've created something that purely expresses who you are, is that enough, or is the circle only completed when someone else says, "Yes, she understands me," or "Yes, that's how I feel?"

Yes, I do wonder. As near as I figure, I don’t think anything an artist can create can be as meaningful to others as it is to them.  How can it?  When someone is moved enough and creative enough to create something from nothing and have a fully realized piece of work at the end, your talking about a journey from start to end. Only the person who creates it gets it that way; it’s really personal for me.  To me, the circle is complete when I feel good about my art/music, expressed what I need to express, and written, played, and created the way I want to. My overall goals will never be affected but as a person I may be affected here and there. And in the times where I'm writing in regard to a person or situation and don’t get the response I want, well… I did the best I could.

Is there a difference between being creative and being talented? What are your thoughts on this?

I think there is a big difference. However, it takes talent that is sharpened and challenged repeatedly to explore creativity and created a distinguished fingerprint. Combined with method, vibe, and a multitude of other ingredients to get to a point where an artist label is achieved. 

The Artist

In progress, 38" x 40" Acrylic on Canvas

The Artist

Selfishness plagues me,

I am an odd sort of stupid,

Unable to settle for treasures found,

And prizes won,

The grass goes unwatered,

The well not filled,

Pandora's lid flaps in my breeze,

The Earth moves beneath me,

And I fall, dizzy, for notions that fade

One by one, like countless others.

The only dream that lives is art.

But art cannot caress me,

It cannot cradle in strong arms,

Smooth brittle hair,

Feel dry lips,

Yet it grasps the truth I need to give,

It renders me weak, dumb, and numb,

For it, I take chances and thumb my nose

At those who love me,

Yet I die each day,

Still guarding my darkest corners.

The place my soul takes refuge is art.

Vulnerable like that stark canvas,

I am an odd sort of survivor

Navigating a failed system,

A world that may not hear my song,

One where rules are king,

And logic prevails,

Oh, where is my kingdom,

Where do I go to breathe,

To feel it all, 

To swallow. 

The only light that shines me home is art.

Idiot!

I am lost hoping to be found,

Touched,

Experienced,

To feel the bright light

Of the world's tear upon my cheek,

But I fail,

I am frail,

Thirsty for a dream that may not exist,

Dumb enough to believe

I can have it all.

12 Paintings and a Blog: An Update

I've been extremely busy since the holiday season.  I thought I'd take some time to let everyone know some of the exciting things that are going on with regard to my art and Aberration Nation.

In the last few weeks, I've sold three pieces!  I'm currently working with a few other collectors so if you have interest in my work, contact me.

Paper Doll, No. 2
16" x 40"
2010
SOLD

Before the Fall
22" x 32"
2011
SOLD

Heaven Help Me
16" x 20"
2012
SOLD

My work has been selected for the Barebrush calendar for the last four months in a row.  Barebrush focuses on art of the nude; however, they are currently expanding into other areas.  For the most part, I only upload any nudes art I create onto their site; however, I've also uploaded a couple of other pieces.  My work has been selected for a total of nine calendars.  Works are chosen by New York City-based gallery directors/owners and curators.  Following are the works that were selected over the last four months. I've included the year in which they were created.

Paper Doll, No. 616" x 40"
2010

Stuck in Immovable Growth48" x 72" Triptych
2009

DOA (Depression, Obsession, Aggression) / aka Folly
18" x 25"
2011

Shattered in Chaos
24" x 36'
2010

Yareah Magazine, a New York City-based art and literature publication featured my work on their site in January, and will include my work in their upcoming March issue.  I was also recently contacted by an editor with a major US contemporary art magazine, who is interested in talking to me about a feature article.  Stay tuned to see how that opportunities plays out. 

I've been busy painting and have completed five new works since the start of the year, including Heaven Help Me shown above.  

Alone in a World with a Green Sky
Note: This one may still be tweaked
22" x 22"

A Terrible Storm
16" x 30" Diptych

Deconstruction of a Southern Girl (the haunting)
36" x 48"

Untitled
36" x 48"

Here are some detail pics of my current work in progress.  This will be a 48" x 72" diptych.  These details shots are from the right side.  

I was recently offered representation by a gallery in the Miami Wynwood Art District.  That was exciting; however, I ultimately turned down the offer due to some creative differences. My work will be shown in April at Earth Matters, a trendy New York City spot in the Lower East Side, and I'm also working to develop additional exhibition dates for 2012. I continue to work closely with Bob Hogge (Monkdogs Urban Art, New York City) on exhibition works and artist projects.

Coming up on Aberration Nation, musician Mo Jo Perry and artist Christian Tango.  I'm currently working with Simon & Schuster on an agreement to have author, John Irving, on Aberration Nation. He's one of my absolute favorite writers!

Stay tuned!  

Deconstruction of a Southern Girl

Deconstruction of a Southern Girl
(the haunting) ... detail

Folks who have read Aberration Nation over the last five years likely know that I was raised in the US Deep South, Louisiana to be exact. I grew up in the midst of an extended Christian family focused on fundamental values which included speaking in tongues, Bible studies, church three times a week, Christian outreach, Sunday school, church camp, family prayers, laying on of hands, hands reaching up to God, and dancing in the aisles.  Many of my relatives were well meaning but some were troubled.  In the end, they were all merely human.

I was taught through the church, and the Southern culture supporting it, that men are inherently superior to women. As if that wasn't enough, there was an underlying message that everyone was superior to me. I was told to lay down my life for my enemy, love him, give him my coat, turn the other cheek and suffer for him.

I was taught that sex was bad.  That it's the key motivator of men and represents what they ultimately want and need from women.  Watch out!  But if men are your enemy, go ahead, lay down that coat to please him, sweetie.

Before I ever committed sins above a level 2 on the 1-10 scale, I was convinced that I was a doomed sinner and the only possible hope for me was Jesus Christ's forgiveness.  I was put in a room of children being lead to speak in tongues, and looked at disapprovingly when I didn't go it, when I couldn't figure out how, when it just didn't "hit" me after at least an hour of opening myself up through prayer and begging God to anoint me with his loving power.

I'm writing about this because I just finished a work of art titled, "Deconstruction of a Southern Girl (the haunting)."  I want to explain, and I don't want to feel this deep need to apologize to those I grew up with who are now raising their children the way we were raised.  I hope that they are all happy and successful; I don't judge them or their choices.  I read their Facebook posts with interest, all the Bible verses and praises to God, and I envy them at times.  Sometimes I feel that if I'd just been able to stay behind a certain green curtain, to somehow resist or avoid yanking back what shielded the great wizard of Oz, I would still be there posting Bible verses on Facebook, pleasing a mother who routinely quotes scriptures on how Christians have a duty to judge others, 100% certain that I was headed to heaven.

Revelation

Last week I had a dream that I was with my extended childhood family.  We were all sitting around my grandmother's table holding hands.  They were praying for me.  I looked up at one of them and said, "I'm lonely."  It was heartbreaking because a part of me is lonely.  It always has been even in the midst of all those hands reaching up to God, all those promises of love and understanding in the name of Christianity, many of which were broken.  I woke up missing my family and wondering if God was telling me something.  Because you see, no matter how far I go, or what I believe now, I'm always drawn back to those days of church camp and interpretation of tongues in the same way a child continues to be drawn to a mother who abuses her or a lost dog returns to a home that was cold.  My friends who still live that life would smile and say, "Yes, Penelope! God is speaking to you!"  I know exactly what they would say because I am them and they are me.  I understand the way it works, and that's what makes it haunting.

Oh, the tears and prayers that will ring through the hearts of those Southerners who love me when this article is read.  I feel it already.  Part of me wishes God would swoop in, reveal himself, and rescue me.  But, you see, I could also write a treatise about why that culture, those beliefs, and in a sense, that interpretation of God, didn't work for me.  Why it won't ever work for me.  If I had the time I could do that.  I could lay out my journey from little Southern church girl with pigtails to Philadelphia/New York professional woman, artist, and mother.  It would not be a pretty story but it would be filled with honesty and revelation.  A type of honesty that I wasn't shown by the church or many of the people who lead me there, who held my hand and then broke my little fingers one by one.

Salvation Wasn't Meant to be a Weapon

Maybe I'm just too simple to understand how to merge everything I know, feel, observe, and have experienced, into the fundamentalist Christian message of the Deep South in the 70s and 80s, or how to carry that into my adult life.  No one can tell me that I didn't embrace the message.  I did!  But as I grew up, I realized that the life laid out before me was not the one I wanted. It wasn't the one that made sense to me or that I was capable of living.

I knew I would fail, and so I set out, consciously or subconsciously, to find something different.  I don't yet know what lies at the end of that path.  The story is much more complex than I've describe here, of course.

The Faceless Woman ... detail

It's one filled with demons and satanic influences, a multitude of judgmental words, betrayal, and selfishness that consistently negated the messages of love coming at us from every side.  Let's face it.  There's a big slice of life that sucks.  It's hard and gritty and cruel.  Pretending that it isn't, letting ourselves fall under the illusion of "cleanliness" and "Godliness" can leave us open to devastation.

So here I stand, a deconstructed Southern girl, still finding my place.  I have a calling, and although it's not the traditional calling from God that those of my past would have me hear, it's powerful and otherworldly.  It's mighty and loud, ringing in my ears.  If there is a God, he put a unique type of music inside me.  It has always been there, trying to get out, trying to be heard.  Struggling to evolve through my haunting past and the responsibilities of the present.  I'm running now as fast as I can toward a place where my tune can be heard ... and loved, but the deafening crowd follows.

Wish me luck .... and pray ....

Deconstruction of a Southern Girl (the haunting)
36" x 48" Acrylic on Canvas, Mixed Media

Something Old, Something New

I recently took it upon myself to transform two of my earlier 3' x 4' pieces into new works of art.  I thought it might be interesting to show the original and the new together. 

Project One:

Child Eyes Crossed, 2008

I Was Born This Way ... please stay, 2011

Project Two:

I'm on Fire (2009)

The Meeting, 2012*

*The Meeting is still in progress but almost complete.

Watch for my interview with artist Christian Tango ... coming within the week!

The Creative Blueprint: Elissa Schappell

My guest today, writer and editor, Elissa Schappell, has reminded me of two common assumptions about highly creative individuals: 

1) " ... it seems a lot of writers are born missing a layer of skin. We feel things more keenly than others. We hear and see things others don’t. We know stuff you don’t want to know, feel stuff you don’t want to feel, and obsess over things you don’t want obsess over."

2) "You really can't give a shit about what people are going to say about your work."

I agree 100 percent.

Now, can someone explain to me how these two important concepts are supposed to work together? 

I've been thinking about this since Elissa's insightful interview answers popped into my inbox.  Okay, that's a lie.  I've been obsessing over it for years.  I repeatedly tell myself that I don't care what people think about my writing and art, but I do.  I've never written or painted for a particular audience, but once it's out there, I absolutely care what people think.  I let it hurt me; I let it thrill me.  Telling myself not to care is akin to telling a gay or lesbian individual to just stop, a black man to turn white, or a short woman to put on a few inches ... as if they can, and should want to.  Ignore the wiring, conquer it, or deny it; there's something wrong with you.  

Here's my theory ... about myself anyway.  I spent half my life building alternatives to keep me emotionally safe. Yet I need that skinless me (the real me) to experience all the things that feed my creativity and enable me to reflect honesty in my art.  So back and forth I go, building up and tearing down, over and over again.

This brings me to a third common assumption: the highly creative tend to be screwed up.

Go figure.

I'm tired of building alternatives for my skinless nature.  I'm ready to be real like the women in Elissa's great new book, Blueprints for Building Better Girls.



What is your writing story--in a nutshell?

I’ve always been a writer, since the time I was a kid. I started keeping a diary when I was in fourth or fifth grade. It’s a bit mad. I started off writing in a different persona—why? I don’t know. It was where I channeled my anger. There are pages of swear words. And a troubling amount of godawful poetry, plus a dirty limerick or two. Perhaps I was smart enough to not to want to have my named attached to that business.

Really though I just read and wrote all the time. We weren’t allowed to watch TV save for one the weekends, so I spent a lot of time in my room listening to music and writing. It’s really the only thing in my life I’ve been even passably good at, other than limbo and drawing fairies. Oh and making prank phone calls, which came in really handy when I had my first real job where I was paid to write, which was at SPY magazine.

Now, I’m unfit for anything but this life. Which is unfortunate.

Was there someone in particular who inspired you to love books and/or take an interest in writing? 


My parents always encouraged my reading, and writing. It kept me off the street. Honestly, the only thing I believe that I ever got a lot of positive attention for was my writing. Which was nice because though I did well in my academics—save for math--most of the attention I received was for being a wisecracker, drawing in my notebook and talking to my neighbor.

However, if I were to point to one person, who early on inspired me, I’d say my grandmother on my father’s side. She was always making things, crafts—embroidering, sewing, knitting, making beaded jewelry--she stressed how important it was to use your imagination. I remember clearly sitting on the sofa with her reading, and then her asking me to close my eyes and imagine my own story. I seem to recall it was about mice driving race cars. I remember thinking, Wow that’s pretty amazing. Imagine someone caring about that.

I recently watched a video where you talk about the need to write exactly what you feel compelled to write. Can you share with us why you believe it's critical for a writer to bravely tackle tough subject matter even when it seems the world doesn't want to embrace it?

I have discovered through painful trial and error, that I have to write the stories that want to be written. The ones that feel the most immediate, and a little scary to me. I need to be excited by them. A little obsessed. That’s the trick for me, hook into the obsession and then let it pull me along, stay with it, ride it out. Understand, these stories aren’t always the ones I think are the cleverest, or the most “important”. I just know that to try and do anything else is folly.

I’m not at all suggesting that other writers should, or shouldn’t, tackle certain subject matter. Everything is permissible. And everybody’s got their own jam.

What I am saying is that for me, personally, this is what I feel compelled to do. It’s my sickness. To say what other people are thinking and feeling, but can’t articulate, or won’t articulate. My job, as I see it, is to be truthful. I detest phonies. Lying is not one of my strengths. And I’ve learned that any writer who doesn’t work in the direction of their strengths is a stone cold idiot.

I don’t feel brave. I feel lucky that, for the most part, I get to do what I want with my life. I’m in a position where I can say what I want. No one is going to knock on my door in the middle of the night, break my glasses, and drag me off to prison. Or not yet, however, given the rise of anti-intellectualism if Obama isn’t reelected I may start answering the door with a kitchen knife in hand.

You really can’t give a shit about what people are going to say about your work. Embrace it, don’t embrace it, I don’t care. I believe if you are writing truthfully about an authentic human experience in an engaging, original way a reader will connect to it. Perhaps only one reader, and perhaps it will be your mother, who is not without prejudice, even so. Even if they don’t embrace it, you didn’t compromise, you didn’t pander. That is something, or at least it is to me.

You surely can’t worry about the reader’s reaction to your work when you’re writing. Not if it’s going to stop you. You have to write as though your audience is going to understand perfectly where you are coming from that your motives are pure, and, of course, that these characters aren’t in fact you.

With regard to your new book, Blueprints for Building Better Girls, was there an "ah-ha" moment you can tell us about? 



I realized what the book was becoming, and what I wanted it to be, when in reaction to a voice I’d had in my head for a while--the voice of the party girl in “Out of the Blue”--saying, “Why don’t you write about me?” –I answered, “Because you’re a ridiculous person.” I realized then that what I was doing, dismissing this character because I thought she wasn’t worth writing about, I knew her story already, was exactly what I was railing against in the other stories. The way the culture labels women, and judges them and how damaging it is.

Do you believe some of the various attributes related to being highly creative have caused you aberrations in life, helped you deal with life's aberrations, or both? How so?



Sure. It’s such a cliché though, the tortured artist. All I can say is it seems a lot of writers are born missing a layer of skin. We are over-sensitive. We feel things more keenly than others. We hear and see things others don’t. We know stuff you don’t want to know, feel stuff you don’t want to feel, and obsess over things you don’t want obsess over. It is any wonder we live in our heads so much? Is it any wonder we start knitting together alternate realities?

Being crazy isn’t a bad thing. The trick is sustaining a level of sanity and calm in the rest of your life so that you don’t flame out.

For me, writing is the place to dump out my anger, anxiety, pain, and sort through it, obsessively. To make sense of it. And make something out of it, however gaudy or ugly.

Have you ever had to deal with people in your life failing to understand your creative personality, interests, or drive? If so, can you tell us about it and how you've dealt with it?

Of course, but there’s really little you can do about that. You can try and pass as normal to please people, to ingratiate yourself into the company you want to be a part of.  You can apologize for feeling what you feel, you can make yourself small in order to make other people feel bigger, but it will kill you by inches. I’ve been very fortunate that while I didn’t really find “my people” meaning other writers and people who were passionate about making art until I moved to New York after college, my family has, as much as humanly possible, always been tolerant.

Have you developed a specific creative process that enables you to meet your writing goals? If so, can you tell us about it, and also share any thoughts you may have on the role the discipline and organization play in reaching creative goals?

Discipline and organization aren’t sexy, they’re not nearly as exciting as being almighty god and creating a world, about but they’re essential if you’re ever going to make a living as writer. Frankly, if you’re going to suffer like this, making some money is a really nice thing to do.

Being a writer is a job like any other job. You could argue it’s not nearly as important as being a bus driver. If a bus driver doesn’t show up for work or is late, hundreds of people suffer. People are late to work, kids are late to school, sick people miss doctor’s appointments, and the lovers, each waiting in the rain miss each other and are never reunited. Each dies alone with their cat.

The writer doesn’t do their job, who cares?

The writer may lose their contract, they may have their lights turned off, they may go hungry, but really outside of those who love them and support them, who cares? You can’t get too precious about it.

I need to write in the morning, before the really super critical part of my brain wakes up. She sleeps in because she is up a good part of the night screening home movies of all my various failures and reciting my list of recent crimes. It is best if I get out of my house, so I go to the studio, sit at a proper desk, put in my earplugs so I can’t hear anyone else there typing, and work until I can’t.

Has writing Blueprints for Building Better Girls changed you and your ideas about being a woman in any way?

Not that I’m aware of yet, but surely it must have.

You are also a contributing editor for Vanity Fair, a former editor of The Paris Review, and a founding editor and now editor-at-large of Tin House. What are the differences and/or similarities between the skill set and talents required for great editing and those required for excellent writing?

You can’t be a writer without being an editor of your own work. Ninety percent of my writing time is spent revising and editing. That’s where the pleasure is, the fixing, figuring out what you’re trying to say and saying it as clearly and compellingly as possible. Editing yourself requires you to get some distance from your work so you can look at it dispassionately, and do what needs to be done. Whereas editing others requires you to get closer to the work. You have to think like the writer a bit. Figure out what their intent is, and looking at the work through that lens figure out how to improve the story.

I find it much easier to see what I perceive the weaknesses in someone else’s work versus my own. I am very lucky to have a few trusted readers who help me out in this regard.

What is your primary motto or mantra in life?

Life shrinks or expands in proportion to one's courage. --Anais Nin

CALVET and Art: Isn't This What They Told Me About Jesus?

Okay, I realize this may be controversial for some folks; I may be struck down by the hand of God at any time today, but lately it's occurred to me that art provides many of the things that Jesus is supposed to give me ... redemption, purpose, love, meaning, joy, healing, etc.  Of course, I don't know that art can give eternal salvation, but I do know that it can save a soul.  It did just that for my friend, artist Jean Marc Calvet. 

I met Jean Marc a year or two ago through Monkdogz Urban Art (NYC).  We struck up a friendship after I interviewed him on Aberration Nation.  I later also interviewed Dominic Allan, the film director/producer, who was so taken by Jean Marc's story that he spent four or so years making a documentary about the artist's incredible life. 

This weekend, I finally saw the film, CALVET, in its entirety.  I knew a lot about it before hand.  What I didn't know was how deeply I would identify with certain aspects of Jean Marc's tale. 

We all have some sort of story; we have our own personal demons, although for some of us those demons are more terrifying than others.  The question I most often ask myself is how many of those demons were tossed at me, and how many did I conjure up myself.  And for those that I did create, how in God's name could I have avoided it? 

When I watched Jean Marc's story, and took in just how simultaneously tough and gentle he is, I could so clearly see how the circumstances of our lives turn us into monsters.  I wondered what makes a man look into the mirror and decide that he no longer wants to be monstrous, and if a true monster even has such thoughts.  Perhaps the true devils just keep on being monstrous until they finally drop dead and go to monster hell. Perhaps it's actually the fallen angels of our world who can recognize the demons inside and find the courage to battle them.  Like the incessant drive to create, maybe it's a simultaneous catch and release.  Good news and bad.

Some days I look in the mirror and see a monster.  Maybe you do as well.  I don't want to see it but I know it's there. I hide it.  I chase it. I squelch it and cover it up.  And in that never ending game--that dysfunctional relationship I have with myself--I sometimes love it, too. If I didn't, the whole stinking business wouldn't be so difficult.

For Jean Marc, it was ultimately the language of art and a profound love for his son that propelled him back to life.  This theme was brilliantly seared into my heart during a few pivotal scenes in the movie.

In one episode, Jean Marc recounts how he listened to his parents fight each night when the lights went out.  How he tried not to listen, but also wanted to hear what was being said.  How he buried his head in his pillow and then tried to forget the terrible things he'd heard when he woke each morning.  Jean Marc's expressive explanation of how this emotionally influenced him as a child slammed me straight back to my own small home where my parents fought 24/7.  Yelling, screaming, hitting, crying .... deposit after deposit of heightened emotional turmoil into the heart of a child.  How can we possibly avoid those early monsters ushered in by the adults we love?

In another scene, Jean Marc describes how as a teen / very young adult he was violently raped by a large, brutish stranger.  The audience sat holding our breath as we listened to Jean Marc's moving confessional.  How he sat outside on a park bench for two days after the incident, numb and dying inside, angered by those who had hurt him.  After the rape, the monsters in Jean Marc came into full force, determined to not only hurt others but to also hurt himself.  It's a punishment we need to inflict on ourselves.  Somehow we blame ourselves as a way to hide, to push the pain we can't bare away.  Let me feel this and that and whatever other horrible thing I can so as to wipe all this other stuff away.  In the end, it's an emotional trap.

At Monkdogz' exhibition of Jean Marc's work (which runs through tomorrow), artist Esther Barend and I talked about the scene and I said to her, "I've never been raped like that ....but I feel like I have." 

Isn't that a ballsy thing to say?  Should I be ashamed? 

No, because perhaps you and I haven't experienced exactly what happened to Jean Marc that terrible day, but we may have felt some of the same emotions.  Being used, physically hurt, and/or severely mistreated by someone bigger, stronger, and domineering causes a universal pain.  Jean Marc had the guts to tell us how it feels and as we listened, we knew we were hearing something profoundly honest.

The third scene that indelibly sticks with me is one in which Jean Marc describes how he stumbled upon art, and how doing so saved his life.  This is the part that reminds me of Jesus. 

I grew up being told that Jesus is the answer to everything.  I know there are millions of people out there who believe and will testify to the healing power of that message.  I've heard all the testimony.  I was spoon fed the information for year upon year, the same years that my own monsters were developing. 

Jean Marc describes how he stumbled upon some buckets of paint during the lowest point in his life, a time when he was literally taking his own life.  In a drug induced rage, he "fought" with the paint and the surfaces nearest to him as if it were all an extension of his misery, anger, and hopelessness. 

In my own way, I've experience a similar struggle.  I channeled life into something inanimate and then struggled with it.  I fought with it as if to save my life somehow.  In a fit of rage, I once sat in my car on the side of the road and violently ripped an entire bulky textbook apart into tiny pieces as if it was all that I hated, all that I wanted to conquer in myself that I couldn't pull forth and destroy.  Instead the book became something alive that I could hurt and once I started, I couldn't stop; I ripped every single page to shreds as if it were the flesh and blood of a person being ripped from its spine, and then I ripped the front and back covers from the stringy, tight center. It was in that same week that I also attempted to take my own life.

Such was Jean Marc's nightmarish battle times 1,000, and in the end, he stepped back and saw his emotions.  I too, saw my emotions in the mutilation of something I loved most in the world (books).  Maybe in some way, you've seen yours.  For Jean Marc, it was magnified and redemptive because in that moment he found salvation. 

He found art.

Jean Marc's remarkable discovery was the scene that brought back to me the idea of art being like Jesus ... the reason for the season.  The end of the road, the pot of gold we search for in all our suffering and flight from whatever monsters and demons life has shown us, and from those we've created for ourselves.

We're all apples and oranges of some sort, but in our heart of hearts, we're all human.  The depth of our capacity to experience love, shame, hatred, joy, degradation, etc. likely varies but our ability to feel it, to recognize it, lies deep in the kernel of who we are. 

Dominic Allan's CALVET takes one man's struggle and shows us our own.

I'll continue to think about art being like Jesus, and wonder if it could ever give us eternal salvation. It's a perplexing question because for Jean Marc, it just may do that.  His may be the testimony heard through the ages. The call others continue to hear when they seem to have nothing left.

If you get a chance, go see the movie.

Art, Fire, and a Hurricane: John K. Lawson

"The creative cave is the looniest, loneliest place in the world. Ultimately it’s the scariest and safest place as well."

I grew up in a special type of loony, lonely cave. A place where contradiction was king. Creativity enabled me to envision another world, a future where all the confusing fragments of my life might perfectly align. Was I a hungry kid on the streets, in the gutter, or scraping by in a refugee camp?  No, I grew up in Shreveport, Louisiana in the 1970's under the emotional thumb of a mentally ill mother.

It certainly could have been worse.  

Today artist and writer, John K. Lawson, tells us that the creative cave is the looniest, loneliest place in the world. So why the heck am I hanging out in it when I'm still trying to divorce myself from all the lunacy and loneliness of my childhood?  

John also says it can be the safest place. 

I'm not a expert on psychology but hasn't it been said that we often feel the urge to go home again?  I've been simultaneously running away and toward home for years, and it's caused me a great deal of inner turmoil. I don't know what it means or which way I'm supposed to go. My writing and art have given me an outlet for that turmoil, and that's why I'm painfully sensitive about it.  Why I want it to ultimately be meaningful and have inherent value.

I'm one of those borderline philosophical sad sacks who spend pathetic amounts of time thinking about "what it's all for," and "what it all means."  I look at the thousands of words I've written and the art I've created, and ask myself, "Am I pouring years of my life into something that means nothing?"  When I die, will it all turn to dust and blow away?  Am I just a misguided idiot wasting precious time?  Is John?

With regard to creating art, John says,  "It takes guts and sometimes stupidity. You  have to have an ego strong enough to accept that the creative force is not always a pretty smiling greeting card, and what you are making might not fit over the proverbial couch or match the newest art fad."

So if it doesn't fit over my neighbor's couch or become an art fad, is it wasted? The answer is supposed to be no. But why? Is the answer no because it's healing my soul, because it gives me something to do, and provides meaning in a meaningless world?  Is that enough? 

Lately, I'm confused about what I should be painting, what I want to paint, why I want to paint, etc.  Trying to resolve those questions is slowly driving me nuts.  What I do know is that I need to paint.  I don't want to stop.  And if I had to stop for some reason, I'd write.  They are avenues to funnel out a tiny spec of all that rages in my head. If I didn't have a way to relieve the pressure, I'd explode.

John also paints and writes, and he believes that "the continual fire to create, in whatever shape or form, draws from the same source regardless of medium."

Yes, that's it.

I'm burning; there's a fire pit in my soul that just won't die. It's sad to think that it may never actually cook up anything phenomenal.  But I realize now that it doesn't matter; the fire is all that matters. It rages on. 

I think John gets it ... has it ... needs it like I do. 

What's your story (in a nutshell)?

Inside the nutshell, a curious child wonders alone in the busy cracked sidewalks streets always wanting to know what's around the next corner, or why he doesn’t feel cool inside and out because he questions everything, hoping his parents won't notice his rusty safety pin ear rings, his hands covered in spray paint and the poetry books he is reading.

Whispers of lovers, foreign lands filled with new cities and the genuine smile of strangers, beckoned me onward with the chance to experience new thoughts and experience new ideas regardless of the outcome.

Was the journey on a straight or twisted path?

Upon reflection there were many times when the puddle I jumped head first into was really a bottomless pit with slimy cracked walls, armed uniformed thugs, the stench of raw sewage and no toilet paper.

Crawling my way out, I lost many a battle watching the skin on my face and knuckles reveal bare bloody flesh, a locked and bolted door, or worse, a condescending pat on the back making me feel like a snail crawling along the edge of a razor blade.

Unable to look away or behind me keeps the journey constant even though there were many times when one step forward and two steps backwards was the only way to go.

I always knew from a very early age I had to create something. In Working Class England the word artist was never really in the vocabulary. Folks started calling me that long before I considered myself one. These days I accept the label and dig my heels in deeper.

How long did it take to establish yourself as an artist?

Twenty five years ago the concept of working part time and creating art was new to me. Europe was under the rule of Thatcherism and the main reason I stayed in the USA was the abundance of part time work. I didn’t have any formal art training, knew nothing of the gallery scene but was given plenty of opportunity to work with my hands. I made a point of living as frugally as possible, often in ghetto situations, a friend’s van, or abandoned buildings where I could use the money I made to create art.

Quite quickly all I was doing was making art and to my surprise folks started buying it. The day job disappeared and these days it would be impossible for my mind to conceive of doing anything else.



Are you surprised by your success?

I tend to use the word gratitude rather than surprise. Every morning I look out of my studio window at all the folks working really hard, thankless jobs and inwardly thank the Universe for my lot in life.

Success for me is being able to do my job without any consideration for what others might think, not caring if it sells or not, and enjoying a good bottle of Chianti for breakfast.

With regard to your current creative focus, was there an "ah-ha" moment you can tell us about?

The adventure is stepping off the crumbling cliff top ledge and plummeting towards the abyss, into the unknown, realizing you have no wings to fly as the inevitable rushes closer. I try to observe the descent, feeling the air fill my lungs, feeling the knots explode in my stomach as I taste the goods. If I’m lucky something comes out of this fall, something new is translated, and some kind of expression manifests. I guess I am an optimist in the sense that as I enter the creative cave I think the end result might be worthy of daylight.

It takes a lot of guts to create something new and refreshing; the “ah- ha” moment is waking up every day and slogging onward.

You have also written a novel, Hurricane Hotel. Please tell us about the book?

Hurricane Hotel is a rollicking street car ride into the underbelly of New Orleans and was started many moons ago while living in a small dive hotel on St Charles Avenue in New Orleans.

The attraction to the hotel aside from the cheap rent was the 24/7 bar and dance hall conveniently located downstairs. An assortment of outsiders, lost souls, artists, sailors, oil rig workers, poets, dancers, ravers, DJ’s and circus performers haunted both at the bar and in the rooms.

During an exceptional hot summer, a mandatory evacuation was given due to an incoming Hurricane. Several of us decided to stay at the hotel simply because we had no place else to go. The flood water came in very quickly forcing us to go upstairs, basically trapping us from the outside world for several days. Without power the intense humid heat and lack of emergency provisions started taking it’s toil on us.

Everything became really wacky when all the booze and drugs ran out. Back then there weren’t cell phones and the hotel was far from Internet savvy. We were trapped like rats on a sinking ship. It was during this intense time that I started writing the novel.

For personal reasons I had to abandon this project for almost 10 years.

Then in the summer of 2005 Hurricane Katrina hit and we all know that story.

I was on a family vacation in the NE at that destructive time and for some strange reason, I had grabbed a box containing all my poetry and the Hurricane Hotel manuscript before leaving the city. My New Orleans home and studio sat in nine feet of floodwater for six weeks and during that time, living in a friend’s apartment in NYC, I started reworking the novel. By Thanksgiving of the same year I felt it was finished and showed a tattered manuscript to my cousin, author Andre Dubus III. He read the novel, told me it was brilliant, and proceeded to write the foreword. During this time, I made 12 hand made copies of the book and gave them to friends as gifts. Their critical response convinced me I had something worth publishing.

The rest is history and for some a good read.

What do you see as the similarities and differences between writing and painting?

Expression means translating a feeling, a fleeting moment, a response to something personal and accepting the end result is simply a snow flake landing in a puddle of tepid lake water.

I believe the continual fire to create, in whatever shape or form, draws from the same source regardless of medium.

What does each bring to you as a creative individual?

Continual room for improvement.

Do you believe some of the various attributes related to being highly creative have caused you aberrations in life, helped you deal with life's aberrations (issues), or both?

The creative cave is the looniest, loneliest place in the world. Ultimately it’s the scariest and safest place as well. For the few who can let go of society’s demands and dogmas, and really dig deep enough into the self, eventually a primal place is found. This place can be described as a fountain if you like of unlimited resources where everything is possible and nothing else really matters.

For many years I wrestled with some formidable demons, being a passenger in a strange land and the jaws of poverty kept the monkey on the back, so to speak. I am lucky.  Somehow my art, a small group of loyal friends, and the kind folks at Charity Hospital in New Orleans kept me alive, kept me coming back for more. It would be fair to say I wouldn’t be here now if it wasn’t for my art and a few folks believing in it.

Have you ever had to deal with people in your life failing to understand your creative personality, interests, or drive? If so, can you tell us about it and how you've dealt with it?

From the very beginning no one understood why I had to make art, why I had to scribble on bathroom walls, deface posted signs, or kick down the barbed wire fence. It’s a very selfish pursuit. It takes guts and sometimes stupidity, you have to have an ego strong enough to accept the creative force is not always a pretty smiling greetings card, and what you are making might not fit over the proverbial couch or match the newest art fad . My friend Bob Hogge, says it best, “If you’re not excited or driven by what you make, why expect anybody else to be interested.”

I think these are very exciting times to be a visual artist. The electronic world has numbed the raw sense of immediacy. Film and television has opened the doors for artists to express their ideas to hundreds of thousands of people, but neither of these mediums can replace the visceral place a painting or sculpture holds.

Alone you have to go into the studio and do battle and in that struggle there is no room for caring what other people think, if you pause you lose. Period. Sure it feels good if some folks dig the end result, but I avoid trying to make art that competes against other art. If my work has any truth to it at all, if what I am saying actually can stand on its own two legs something positive will manifest.

It took me a long time to master the trick of not taking negativity personally. It comes with the ride so get used to it. Everybody is driving their own car and has a right to their own opinion whether I agree with them or not.

Have you developed a specific creative process that enables you to meet your creative goals? If so, can you tell us about it.

Discipline can be achieved through daily routine.

Every day I work on something.



Where do most of your ideas come from?

Good question.

Perhaps in the way an opened can of half eaten sardines, imported from Thailand, drowned in red wine, resembles the nape of a lost lover’s neck.

What do you believe places an artist apart from his or her peers?

The inability to sit still and do nothing.

So many are highly talented, but what makes one stand out as truly gifted?

Luck, continually working it and helping folks less fortunate than ourselves.

Do you plan to write more or will your main focus continue to be art?

The 1000 or so coffee stained poems, sitting in a cardboard box, beside me now, salvaged from natural and unnatural disasters, ex’s ex-husbands, and sometimes their wives, mice, and the neighbor’s cat, continue to grow legs and constantly scurry across the floor, walls and ceiling of my rented womb resembling sniveling pesky cockroaches.

No matter how many times I’ve doused them in tequila and lighter fluid, plucked their wings, singed their tails with hot cigarettes, trapped them into remote dusty corners or flushed them down the sink, Providence demands that they fly.

Hurricane Hotel, for all its flaws, can be described as a deranged epic poem.

The fact that Hurricane Hotel continues to be read and is rapidly becoming a best seller is beginning to fuel the notion the contents of my cardboard box is worthy of publishing.

It has been suggested on many an occasion I should incorporate my poetry into my paintings and this may be the next logical step.

What is your primary motto or mantra in life?

Gratitude.

Why is this important to you?

It combats greed and beats stealing from the poor.


"Without poets, without artists, men would soon weary of nature's monotony.  The sublime idea men have of the universe would collapse with dizzying speed.  The order which we find in nature, and which is only an effect of art, would at once vanish. Everything would break up in chaos. There would be no seasons, no civilization, no thought, no humanity; even life would give way, and the impotent void would reign everywhere."  - Guillame Apolinaire