Literary Matters 5.3 - Association of Literary Scholars, Critics, and ...

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painters, printmakers, photographersand new-mediaartists from all over theworld, including Turkey, Israel,Bolivia, South Korea,and New Zealand. Duringmy first days at the VSC, Ithrew myself as much aspossible into an active engagementwith the otherresidents, relishing mealtimediscussions, daytimehikes, visits to the painters’and sculptors’ studios, andevening hangouts at “TheHub,” the pub across thestreet from the residency.I found that my job writingcopy for a media marketing company had leftme ravenous for conversations of the sort I washaving at the VSC, discussions with other artistsabout process, inspiration, frustration, failure,and the nuts-and-bolts realities of buildingand sustaining a life rooted in creative work.Soon the time had come for me to pull inwardfrom the expansiveness of the place and people,shutting the door of my studio behind me.As I embarked on my first full day of writing atthe VSC, Jui-Pin Chang’s Bucket Men paintingssurfaced in my imagination. I thought aboutthe dream she described, which had servedas the inspiration for the project. My thoughtsfloated back to that moment when she coveredher head with a bucket and felt an unexpectedrush of fearlessness and freedom.I had come to the VSC craving a breakthroughof some sort, a broadening of perspective thatcould extend and embolden my territory onthe page. I arrived feeling as if I’d entered atransitional phase as a poet, a period markedby both the excitement of not-yet-tapped possibilitiesand the discomfort of growing pains.One of my most native ways of working, up untilCaitlin Doyle at the Vermont Studio CenterPhotograph by Emilia Phillipsthen, centered on the goal of creating tensionbetween form and content by frequently writingwithin limitations (rhyme or meter, for example)or playing with self-imposed patterns within afree verse structure. I had found that composinginside of parameters that did not allow mefull expressive latitude led to surprising discoveriesin the writing process.But more and more, I felt eager to spend timeworking against the grain of my sensibilities,questioning my natural tendencies as a writer.The image I’d held in my mind, as a guideposton how to proceed, was one of tossing off restriction,the opposite of Chang’s Bucket Mendream. Yet, as I sat in my VSC studio and readiedmyself to start writing, my mind kept returningto the way that her dream and the art itproduced held the push-and-pull between freedomand limitation in such a powerful relationship.As my time at the VSC unfolded, I found myselfreflecting on the same sphere of inquiryin life as in art. It was hard not to see the VSCresidents as living versions of the Bucket Menfigures. We were individuals who had chosen16 LITERARY MATTERS | VOLUME 5.3 | FaLL/WINTER 2012
to limit our purviews for a period of time, tocover our heads, in a sense, from the outsideworld, directing our focus as much as possibletoward the universe within our minds andstudio walls. Each of us had come to the VSCon the premise that, in order to capture, explore,and enlarge the world through art, itis sometimes necessary to retreat from it, tohope that temporarily narrowing the range ofone’s reality will result in a broadening of imaginativescope.Our self-imposed limitation was both complicatedand enlivened by the freedoms beckoningus away from it. The sunny Northern Vermontsummer landscape called from outsideof the window, inviting us into the area’s rivers,waterfalls, and stunning hiking trails. Inthe evenings, the VSC hosted lectures, slideshows, and readings by visiting artists andwriters, as well as opportunities for the residentsto share our work through open studiohours and readings. The VSC never lacked forsocial goings-on among the residents: movienights, bonfires, impromptu dance parties,ping-pong tournaments, day trips to surroundingareas, and karaoke nights at the “TheHub.”I’m certain that I’m not the only resident whostruggled on a daily basis to hold the most effectivebalance between focused solitude andinvolvement with the compelling activitiesand people beyond the studio door. On occasion,my work suffered because I welcomedtoo much distraction. At other times, my writingstagnated because I holed up in the studioand tried to force progress instead of listeningto the voices urging me away from mynotebook.But when I managed to get the balance right,my poetry took off in ways that it only couldhave done within the buzzing atmosphere ofthe VSC. There are events that I absolutelydon’t regret missing because having the luxuryto choose poetry over other obligations ledme to creative breakthroughs. Likewise, thereare hours of productivity that I don’t lamentlosing because the experience that drew meout of the studio ultimately fed my processmore than if I’d stayed in my chair.Abandoning my desk to go to readings by GalwayKinnell in nearby St. Johnsbury and KathleenGraber at the Vermont College of FineArts charged up my pen for days. Attendingvisiting artist Odili Donald Odita’s presentationextended my questions about freedomand limitation in art. Back in my studio, I keptreturning to something he said, which I’dscribbled in my notebook: “Color in itself hasthe possibility of mirroring the complexity ofthe world as much as it has the potential forbeing distinct.”Odita’s statement about color seemed to pertainto words as well, spurring me to reflect onlanguage’s potential to mirror the world whileremaining distinct from it at the same time. Insome sense, the desire with which I’d arrivedat the residency, the urge to loosen my pengripand eschew limitation in favor of a freerprocess and product, came from a belief thatdoing so would allow me to engage a largeramount of the world’s complexity and messiness.Yet the more I labored in my studio tryingto achieve that effect, the more my imaginativeenergies dwindled. I was producing workthat gestured toward mirroring the world’ssprawling complications but, in the absenceof restraints pressuring that sprawl, it failedto contain any sort of distinction. My languagehad scope but it contained no “color,” as Oditahad defined the term; it lacked the ability toboth reflect the world’s complexity and existas a distinct and distinguished entity beyondthe world.I took a break from a frustrating morning ofLITERARY MATTERS | VOLUME 5.3 | Fall/winter 2012 17
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