I must accept the kind words others have for me
and other lessons from sketcher-fest that have nothing to do with sketching.
“The world fractures into ... a world of perspectives, of manifestations, not of entities with definite properties or unique facts. Properties do not reside in objects, they are bridges between objects. Objects are such only with respect to other objects, they are nodes where bridges meet. The world is a perspectival game, a play of mirrors that exist only as reflections of and in each other.”
- Helgoland: Making Sense of the Quantum Revolution, Carlo Rovelli
Dear reader,
Am I a writer without you, the reader? Are you a reader without me, the writer? We are nodes and this newsletter is our bridge. Our world of reflections comprises what I say, and what I mean, and what you mean, when you read. We exist only in this way.
I have spent a lot of time and effort over many years to not be around other people. For the longest time, the idea of other people made me defensive, as if I might lose those parts of me that are mine - my identity, interests, thoughts, my very sense of freedom. I believed that other people turned me into a different person, simply by virtue of being there. To some extent, this was a consequence of growing up in India, where society is less-individualistic. I had to push against larger forces to maintain my own space. It was constant friction and being told to adjust. I questioned authority. I undermined power structures. I refused to write between the lines. (I hate ruled notebooks.)
From the passenger seat, Nina Khashchina asked me where this instinct for individualism came from, if it was not nourished or supported by my formative environment. We were boarding the Kingston ferry out of Edmonds Ferry Terminal on a crisply cool morning that would become a hot, sticky afternoon, the day after Sketcher Fest.
And … I do not know. How can I know such a truth about myself? All we have is a game of Connect-the-Dots-as-you-Please, for the stories we want desperately to be true. Maybe we inherit traits from our ancestors that get encoded in our DNA? If I had stayed back in India, maybe the daily friction would have eroded it completely, left me with jagged edges. I found a supportive environment only when I first came to Chicago. In jazz bars and comedy clubs, I found inspiration and let it change my life. Once, and then again. I began to build private monuments on my private island. But no man is an island? And could you even be an artist on a deserted island?
In today’s post, reflections from conversations at intersections at Sketcher Fest. Pair it with my last post, about the USk Chicago Seminar.
The SneakyArt Post is a newsletter of secretly drawn art of the world. Every week, I share the latest pages from my sketchbook and the best ideas my journey as an artist and writer.
This newsletter grows because of your love and the power of the share button. Use it liberally. Tell all the people that you see.
On a deserted island, reader, would you have need for language? Language is a means of describing the world and, without another person to describe it to, what good are words? And if not words, why art?
So: is my most real instinct from early childhood, the one that needed protection against outside forces, the secret I kept hidden from any number of friends and family members, the thing that was always my truest self, this instinct to write stories and draw things, dependent on … other people?
So: can I only be an individualist around other people?
***
I have tried to change some things about myself over the past few years. Putting myself in spaces I would normally avoid, saying yes to opportunities after ignoring my first instinct (to say no), speaking to strangers with honesty and vulnerability instead of raising a defensive shield of humour and cynicism. I am trying to grow, and I cannot grow inside a walled fortress. I need to be under the sun in an open field around other growing things.
This last month has shown me so much. I am glad I was ready to see it.
***
No man is an island, but every person is a universe unto themselves. At the intersections of our worlds then, in no particular order, and before embarrassment catches up to stop me, here are some happenings that validated me, gave me courage, and showed me a way forward:
Amy Stewart gave me excellent advice about my upcoming book launch and we sketched together and made plans for Portland. (Readers from Portland, say hello in the comments?) Rita Sabler, with whom I spoke in Ep 36 of the Podcast, who paints so beautifully in wide sketchbooks supported on her lap in dingy bars and concert-halls alike, said good things about me in front of me to others. It was a generosity of spirit that left me a little breathless. (I would never dare, but perhaps I should.) I had long conversations about being a human-artist with Stephanie Bower, who has all the perspective of the world in her lines and will be on the Podcast later this year. Danny Gregory sat through my Artist Talk and complimented me afterward for keeping it together with wit and eloquence. He was surprised to learn that I never rehearse for such things. (It works by magic, Danny.) He also introduced me to Tommy Kane who gave me a sticker of a squirrel holding a gun. Nina Khashchina asked me many beautiful questions and pushed back against my half-baked opinions. As a textbook over-thinker, I appreciated being made to think harder. Jenny Zhang and I spoke for hours about Camus, Cezanne, van Gogh, and the point of it all. She is a kindred soul, as is Eleanor Doughty. Marielle Durand and I had coffee, and she signed my copy of her book with a full painting. (And she is a reader!) Gabi Campanario said the nicest things to introduce me before I went onstage for my talk. I made myself not turn away, and allowed for a world where the words might be true.
Over the weekend, I was in the company of incredible artists whose work makes me tremendously envious. I am counting on that envy to drive me toward bold, new experiments on unexplored paths. Over the weekend, I also met many readers and listeners who showed me the very real, but almost entirely immeasurable, impact that our words can have on others. (I will try to not forget how special you made me feel.)
I would not share any of the above, were it not for James Richards (who was in Ep 43 of the Podcast) insisting that I must, must accept the kind words others give me. For their sake as well as my own. (I will trust you on that, Jim.)
I write to organize my thoughts, to play with words, to taste the sentences before they go out to the world. So I back myself to speak my truth with clarity and coherence. It is magic but there is no spell to cast. You only have to make space for it, again and again and again. And it begins to show up. And you know that you will always find it whenever you need it. On the blank page or on a podium, it’s all the same.
Reader, are you leaving room for magic on your page and in your life?
📕 Secure a beautiful gift for your future self by pre-ordering my upcoming book, Make (Sneaky) Art.
🎟️ Grab this special offer to become a supporter of this newsletter.
✍🏼 Learn how I made up my job title.
Thank you for reading. I am glad to have a share of your time and attention this week.
(PS. I received some massive good news in my inbox the morning after Sketcher Fest. Cannot wait to share it with all of you soon.)
I deflect, all the time. Comes from my eternal imposter syndrome, and yes, totally understand the feel of not wanting to be surrounded by people; as an introvert, I felt so awkward at the event, trying to connect with artists who are leagues above me!
Love that your workshops students shared art in our “teenie weenie gallerini” at ARTspot! We started it during covid times, and it has been going ever since. Kind of fits in with sneaky art because we often don’t know who has left Art there to share… Including someone named Scutch who leaves something there almost every day and we never have figured out who it is.!
Tracy and the gang from ARTspot