POEM: The Idea

BY KIRSHIN C. GEORGE

Don’t ponder on it for too long,
don’t let it mature
that’s what steaks are for.
Let it come out of you like a rage,
like a hurricane tearing through
a small city,
like a hungry shark tearing off your limb.
Let it tear you apart
and rebuild yourself
into something more beautiful

EXTRACT: The Mind’s Eye

In this extract from The Mind’s Eye, the late JUDITH MASON’s book about art and the creative process, the acclaimed artist explores artist’s block, suggesting various ways of dealing with this frustrating phenomenon.

Judith Mason’s Self Portrait at 90
Judith Mason’s “Self Portrait at 90”.

This is a real affliction and will plunge you into despair at some time in your life. It is peculiar to the creative arts. Carjackers, arms dealers and nursery school teachers don’t wake up wondering how they are going to spend their day and dentists don’t whirr their drills in hopeless reverie. Your muse has returned to his/her boyfriend in the Czech Republic and left you bereft. You could take evasive action. Get drunk, as Hemingway and almost everybody else did. (Pleasant but counterproductive.) You could brood in cafés. (So last century.) Overeat? (Plump ruins your Look.)

But let us be serious about this dark night of the soul. Have you been overworking? Maybe you are running on empty because you need a break, a change of scene, even if it is just walking around a different part of your neighbourhood. Most probably you have forgotten how to play with your creativity and are anxious because nothing substantial or sellable is being produced. Take time out. Don’t touch pencil or brush for a week. Leaving your easel may persuade you that the opening in the arms industry really is your bag.

If blockage has not destroyed your vocation, try playing games with your surroundings in order to ignite new ideas. Russian roulette with a dictionary is a great idea. Open at five random pages and select the most promising subject. I have just this minute found GYRE, IN VIVO, SHEWEL, HARPY, and DEFLAGRATE. Harpies I drew long ago so now I read up on SHEWEL and find a clue to something. It means ‘a scarecrow or mark to scare deer’ so I start scrawling versions and options and soon I am thinking about being a deer, and being frightened, and what shape or form would scare me, and … and … away I go. Move over, Landseer, and your mawkish Stag at Bay!

Another game is to clean your kitchen cupboards. Yup. Take everything out and while you are dusting mouse droppings from corners and eating stale crackers, look at your stored items. Tuna tins? Imagine their containing canned mermaid. Draw the label. Tins of ham? Imagine their dropping over a cliff edge like the Gadarene Swine. (You’re looking for a sort of Andy Warhol/Eugene Delacroix vibe here.) Check the salad drawer in your fridge and paint the rotting leeks in plastic wrap, the sliced cabbage like an MRI scan, the wilted lettuce. Call it ‘Signifiers of the Arbitrary’ and away you go! Now notice that your cat is sitting in sullen fury before the food you have offered it. Tiger, tiger burning bright in the forests of shrimp in aspic. You can make something of that. Then go outside and listen. Try to draw birdsong, the sound of a jackhammer, laughter, a siren. Of course, it is not as easy as I suggest. But use your sense of humour and the absurd. They are tools with which to release lateral thinking at a time when you really dread that you have lost something precious.

As with most forms of depression, artist’s block eventually vanishes, and it helps to accept that it comes and goes. Sometimes artist’s block is a cover for the unravelling of complex ideas from our subconscious. Curiously, the older we get, the less blocked we become. Ideas flow freely and we have a different problem to deal with – the sense that we are clutching at the edge of time by our fingernails. We won’t complete all we want to do, but going out brush in hand makes for a pleasing obituary.

The Mind’s Eye is published by Books & Books Press and is available from Amazon as an ebook. Read Gregory Kerr’s review of the book as well as our interview with Mason about her reading habits and favourite books here.

REVIEW: The Mind’s Eye

We remember acclaimed artist Judith Mason who passed away a year ago with GREGORY KERR’s review of The Mind’s EyeMason’s book about art and the creative process.

The Mind's Eye by Judith Mason

In the late 1960s I was a student of Fine Arts at the University of the Witwatersrand. I was not a good student; I tended to take the lecturers for granted or to get into conflict with them. I was a difficult student. I think I wasted some splendid opportunities to improve myself. I was a lazy student. It was not their fault I was indolent, but some of the indolence came from a refusal to buy into the current fashions, which were flat, hardedge, and to me, sterile and pointless. I was a cocksure little bastard, for sure, and deserved everything I didn’t get from the brilliant academics who ran the show.

However, there was at least one person on the teaching staff for whom I had nothing but the utmost respect and affection, and that was the astonishing Judith Mason. Judy was teaching senior students in the department, but no one objected if there were gatecrashers at her crit sessions and though very callow and junior, I was a gatecrasher of note. She stuck in the brain like a special kind of revelatory sage, speaking with the tongues of angels and art students. She was not puffed up; she got to the nitty-gritties of the everyday existential crises of being an imaginative painter (and thus a demonstrably frivolous and irrelevant person) in a world of conscientious pragmatism. She took it for granted that we all wanted to slay the beast of painting, to find the path and the truth and the way and the light. She was a shining example of the artist, the ham-fisted wrestler with the craft and sullen business of finding, but she was also something else, something so rare that it intoxicated. She could find the words and the images and the poetics to speak directly to the acolyte. She made sense that was not the elegant sense of the art historians and design lecturers, but the thew-and-sinew sense of the maker.

Reading The Mind’s Eye was to be taken back 45 years into that studio in the John Moffat Building, listening to the dark-haired young woman with the strangely plat accent and the twinkle – the inevitable twinkle – of anti-earnestness sweetening the stern seriousness beneath the monologue. In this publication –  a wonderful companion to art-making –  Mason allows herself the freedom to write as she speaks, from the hip, from the heart and (you’d better believe it) from the head. She addresses all the departments – the neuroses, the need for discipline, the compulsion to form. How does one tackle the metaphysics of the human face, the living anatomy, the stagnant psyche that refuses to paint? What is beautiful? (The answer will surprise you, but you must first draw or paint shrouded things, shadowed things, moving things, harsh, gross and edible things.)

Since I left Wits and her diverse influences, I have been making a living as a teacher of art – theory, education, drawing, painting, even history – and have developed strategies that address a range of issues: conceptual, perceptual, technical, historical, philosophical and psychological.  I am quite proud of the strategies. I didn’t know until I read Mason’s book how very much my well-worn ideas, theories and methodology must have been shaped by her. I kept saying, “But I say that!” and I do, but so does she and so well, and she probably said if first. I shall be setting her text as prescribed reading for my professional students because she says things that absolutely are required drumming-into-the-head stuff for anyone faced with the prospect of making art. She is gung-ho on looking very hard at things and choosing things that do not immediately declare themselves to be lovely. She is stern with base matters like techniques and (contra mode) believes passionately in the dark and numinous power of the creative imagination expressed in a stern and controlled emotion – what Yeats called “the rag and bone shop of the human heart”.

Anyone who knows the history of Judith Mason, as I do –  the clot-fisted schoolboy acolyte who saw her drawings in the 101 Gallery in 1967 (and had a damascene experience right there and then) and who has followed this straight-talking mystic over 50 years of poetics, romance, religion, Africa and her place in it, who has learned from her what it is like to stand aghast and amused at the demented business of making paintings, despite all kinds of logic and reason – will recognise in this pearl of a book much of the commentary that has accompanied her artwork over the years; what she herself has described (if my memory serves) as “the fragments that shore up our ruins”.

From the rich soil of a fabulously informed and intrepid imagination, Mason has grown a history of dark metaphors for our singular place in the evolution of Africa. Her book, despite her disclaimer, “this is not a how-to book. It is a how-to-think-about-how-to book,” is the perfect concordance to that history.

Gregory Kerr is an artist and writer who has served as a professor of fine arts at the University of Stellenbosch. This review first appeared in Ceramics Southern Africa Magazine.

The Mind’s Eye is published by Books & Books Press and is available from Amazon as an ebook. Read our interview with Mason about her reading habits and favourite books here.

POEM: Not quite ready for a wider audience

BY GRAHAM DUKAS

I’ll not pretend that I’m happy,
or even partially satisfied, with the way
this poem lounges across the page.
Looking beyond that for now,
I’m not sure that this is the best place
for a stanza break, but I’ll trust my instincts

and hope that I’m not swooped upon
by the greater uncertainty that hovers
above my head like a hawk. But now seems
like a good moment to visit the comfort
of the kitchen to boil the kettle

for a second, or is it my third, cup of coffee;
a blend of Jamaican beans that evokes
the spirit of the Caribbean, none of which
has anything to do with this poem,

except that the kettle is one of those
new glass ones with a bubbling universe
of blue light; a dazzling opportunity to lose

myself for a few precious moments
in a miniature cosmic ballet of roiling water.

Now, let’s try to breathe life into this poem.