Tag: writing

The Bon-Vivant Artist

Says Burckhardt, in my English translation:

Indeed, without this degree of force of character, the man of the most brilliant “talent” is either a fool or a knave. All great masters have, first and foremost, learned, and never ceased to learn, and to learn requires very great resolution when a man has once reached heights of greatness and can create easily and brilliantly. Further, every later stage is achieved only by a terrible struggle with the fresh tasks they set themselves.

“Force of character”, “never ceased to learn”, “terrible struggle”… here is a sensible view of the state of mind that produces great works. It is really a joke this romanticized view of the bon-vivant artist, so widespread these days. According to it, the exercise of art is a pleasure, a diversion for idle moments. An artist of this sort is, if anything, mediocre. Faced with the posture of a serious artist, even the much-talked “search for beauty” seems outrageously futile. All this idealization of the artist and art does not seem to define very well the real motivation of the one who devotes a huge effort, who shapes his entire existence around his own occupation, never relaxing, never satisfied, contrary to what is convenient for him. Burckhardt, like a few, gives us a prudent vision of what true greatness represents.

Mastery in an Occupation Is Conditioned to the Starting Point

Nietzsche said somewhere that mastery in an occupation is conditioned to the individual’s starting point, more specifically, to how much he receives as a legacy. So for the son desirous of eminence, it is recommended that he follow in his father’s footsteps. There is a good deal of truth in this; but, as always, the exceptions are more curious than the rule. What a wonderful sense of the irony of fate in placing a Nietzsche as the son of a Protestant pastor! and a Cioran, growing up the son of a priest! From these and other examples we note that eminence, besides the enhancement of the legacy, also accepts violent rupture as a starting point.

The Writer Can Sleep Even on the Floor…

It was Faulkner, I think, who said that the writer can sleep even on the floor, but needs a decent place to work. The idea is interesting in many ways. First, it shows the need for seriousness in dealing with one’s work; otherwise, it is difficult to do anything of value. Having a “decent” place to work, even if there are no decent conditions in the rest of life, is a proof of priority, of respect for one’s occupation. Psychologically, it is to know that there is the most important moment of the day, the moment for which the routine is shaped and efforts must converge. With this, several problems are overcome. There is another noteworthy aspect: the comfort of a “decent” place confronted with the “sleeping on the floor” is satisfaction for someone who, used to inadequate conditions, settles down in a propitious and stimulating environment. A reasonable chair, a table, light, and silence; a set schedule and a commitment set in stone—thus, excuses arising from mental weakness are burnt away.

Gradations of Mental Manifestations

There are times when the idea is of little worth—but should be noted;—on further reflection, however, it is fair to discard it. At other times the idea seems weak, but later, re-examined with renewed breath, something valuable is drawn from it, and the weak is shown to be an important spark. Other times the mind manifests itself clearly, and the idea seems fair—from these the bulk of a work is extracted. And still other times, the mind manifests itself with such impetus that the artist, by restraining it, and not immediately focusing on what it tries to say, commits a crime against himself, and wastes what he can best extract from his mental manifestations. Attention and method are not enough; for the best use of the mind, is needed a disposition that goes against what is convenient.