"Man is a creature who makes pictures of himself, and then comes to resemble that picture" - Iris Murdoch

Tuesday 23 August 2022

Hopeless feelings

Landscape painting (Fort Tryon Park, New York City, with grey underpainting) by Christopher Willard visual artist and author, via Wikimedia Commons
Yesterday afternoon I was trying to write. When I'm facing a deadline I often find myself thinking of the last person I was in love with. There are various possible reasons for this—some less complimentary to me—but one theory I have is prompted by this piece by Darren Allen. Perhaps there is something about writing that brings up the fear of death: out of all the possibilities that have been swirling inside myself, I am putting something together which is small and imperfect. This perhaps awakens a desire to, well let's not be too narrow, to co-create something that can take up those possibilities. Perhaps falling in love is finding someone you can trust to be a co-creator. Since this March my response to this mood has been to put on some Ben Howard, but though I'll never get tired of his playing or lyrics, I'm beginning to worry that this is locking me into a kind of madness.