Creating art requires an artist to channel the mysteries of her intuition into something others can behold. It requires her tune out chatter from within and without.
In my writing workshops, I ask students to avoid prescribing solutions to their classmates. I do this for several reasons:
- The main goal of the workshop is to get the students to listen to their experience as readers, and if they begin to offer prescriptions, they shift out of listening and into broadcasting.
- The artist is the person most in tune with what she is trying to make. Attempts to interfere with her process are likely to disrupt the learning that is bringing forth the artwork.
This does not preclude the students from considering possibilities. But note the difference between this . . .
“I think you should end it at the third paragraph from the end.”
and this . . .
“I was really captivated by the description of the parachute ride back to earth, but the closing paragraphs after the landing felt less compelling. I wondered if you considered ending the piece at the third paragraph from the end, when the narrator is still in the air.”
The first response offers prescription without experience. It leaves little room for the writer, who might know that the final paragraphs are crucial to some purpose not yet evident to her readers.
The second reports on the reader’s experience, and rather than prescribing a particular solution, which might conflict with the writer’s ultimate purpose, merely invites the writer to consider one valid option.
In order to create work that will reach her audience, an artist must tune out the chatter of the audience members (real and imagined) and descend into her own intuition. It requires the kind of focus and deep attention so evident in the following clip of sitar player Anoushka Shankar, tabla player Tanmoy Bose, and tampura player Kenji.
Thank you for reading.