Powerful Woman Mercè Cardús

30 Wednesday May 2012

Posted by in Women Artists and Writers

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I am pleased to welcome Mercè Cardús as the first guest on my blog! 

Mercè is the author of two novels, I say Who, What, and Where! and Deconstructing Infatuation. Her novels are inspirational, thought-provoking, and witty.  Their themes reflect and explore the great questions of Life and constantly search for Truth.

She has a Master’s degree in Corporate Law, and has headed her own law firm. In 2008, after a wake-up call, she began an inner journey to realize her passion, and comitted to following her heart. She’s currently living her passion by working on her third novel.

Q&A 

From where do you draw inspiration?

My writing stems from the discovery and reflection of the great questions of life. So basically the analogy of my experiences plays a great role. Other sources can be a conversation, a phrase in a book, a piece of art, etc. Life itself is a great source of inspiration, hence I totally agree with Thoreau’s quote, ‘How vain it is to sit down to write when you have not stood up to live.’

What is the hardest thing about your creative process?

As in life, trust is the hardest thing. Once I wonder about a subject, and some fitful images and/or dialogues between characters come to me, all I need to do is to trust. Having confidence in conveying my discovery and my reflections in a funny, witty, and thought-provoking story.

Do you work everyday, or only when inspiration strikes?

Yes, I sit down at my desk everyday, even if I have to stare the blank screen the whole morning. I couldn’t agree more with Albert Einstein, ‘Creativity catches you when you’re working,’ though I always carry a notebook with me. Just in case. He discovered e=mc2 when he was taking a bath.

How do you feel about the current art market/art climate?

In the book industry, I feel the Internet is the invisible hand—the invisible power that guides the free-market—that Adam Smith talked about in The Wealth of Nations. So fortunately the invisible hand, along with the new technologies, have opened the publishing market to self-publishing authors, who are not at the mercy of the publishing industry and can participate in the Long Tail without needing validation from anybody. True enough, the open door gives room for more background noise, the opportunists who do not follow their passion, but only chase down the large event.     

If you could change one thing about the art world today, what would it be?

As in life, there’s a lack of awareness. I sense there’s no understanding, value, and respect for the art world, unless your name sits in lights on billboards. To give you an example, not long ago, one guy laughed in my face when I told him I was a writer. 

Talk a little about your current project and why you decide to embark on it.

It’s been a call of discovery, like the rest of my projects. My third novel is still an embryonic project, and all I can tell is that it reflects the dichotomy between time as a human dictation and time as a dictation from nature.  

How does being a woman impact your work?

My two novels are character-driven, so it doesn’t surprise me the two main characters of ‘I say Who, What, and Where!’ and ‘Deconstructing INFATUATION’ are women. 

If you had the chance to address a group of young girls, what would you say to inspire them?

I would not give them a lecture, but would share my experiences. They would be free to take them as a source of inspiration or leave them apart.

To find out more about Mercè Cardús, go to http://mercecardus.blogspot.com

Powerful Women Artists and Writers

25 Friday May 2012

Posted by in Women Artists and Writers

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After yesterday’s post, I thought long and hard about the things that matter most to me and came up with an idea.  I have invited other creative women to join me on this site and share their stories.

Each week, one woman will answer the following questions:

  1. From where do you draw inspiration?
  2. What is the hardest thing about your creative process?
  3. Do you work every day, or only when inspiration/opportunity strike?
  4. How do you feel about the current art market/art climate?
  5. If you could change one thing about the art world today, what would it be?
  6. Talk a little bit about your current project and why you decide to embark on it.
  7. How does being a woman impact your work?
  8. If you had the opportunity to address a group of young girls, what would you say to inspire them?

I am encouraging women writers and artists (all genres) to participate.  Please follow the blog (click the link to your right) and share this post on your facebook and twitter accounts to help spread the word.

Contribute to the dialog by commenting on the posts, sharing your own stories, and sending me pictures of of powerful, creative women.

Here’s a picture of me in my studio.  I look forward to getting and sharing yours.

To send me your answers and/or photographs, email me at destinyallison (at) aol (dot) com.

The first guest will appear next Wednesday.

Mapping a New Course

23 Wednesday May 2012

Posted by in book blog

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I tend to ramble, talking mostly about land and love, art and sky.  Today, I’m going to set a new goal.  I am going to pick a topic every week that relates to the things about which I am most passionate and I’m going to try to find something, or someone else, who is thinking/writing about the same topic.  I will post every Wednesday. 

To help with this goal, I’m going to list some things that inspire me here:

  • Art (all forms)
  • The creative process
  • Land and Sky
  • Women’s Issues (Yes, I am mad as hell about current legislative attempts to take away our rights)
  • Passionate people living their passion.

If you have thoughts or writings about any of these things, please share them with me and I will try to include them here.  You can email me your blog posts, books, etc. at destinyallison (at) aol (dot) com.

Talking About Art Now

10 Thursday May 2012

Posted by in indie publishing

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I spent today in a university classroom.  This is not my natural habitat.  In fact, I was so out of place I might as well have been a rattlesnake on a New York City sidewalk.  I was doing a friend a favor by serving as part of a professional “panel” chosen to help students defend their propositions on “Talking About Art Now.”  

The class, from what I could tell, had focused on art criticism but had covered a lot of ground.  The student propositions were wide and varied, ranging from critique being the most important validation of art to the role China is playing in shaping the art market. 

I was my usual self –  opinionated and passionate.  I do not really belong in the quiet halls of academia where objectivity, analysis, and intellect reign supreme.  No, I belong in the gutters of chaotic materials, memories and dreams.  I live in the mud-pie magic of childhood jubilance, the anguished mayhem of decision making in an atmosphere bereft of rules, and the always yearning for something true.  In my studio, or in front of a blank screen on my computer, there is seldom solid ground. 

I remember a literature class I once took where the professor led our class through an analytical dissection of a work by some well known poet.  I followed her lecture and participated in the discussion on rhythm, use of metaphor and simile, and the context of time and place, but in my head I was screaming, “It’s a poem!  Just feel it!  Let it be!”  Listening to the dissection of that poem was like watching an autopsy of a living thing, a puppy under a knife.  No, I do not belong in classrooms.    

Today was a little different.  I wasn’t there as a student, though I learned some things.  I didn’t really care what people thought of my opinions, and I was enchanted by the young women in the class.  Some were savvy and articulate.  Some were passionate and committed.  One seemed to have recently climbed out of bed.  They had pushed themselves for this assignment and their frustration and excitement were contagious.  My friend, the adjunct for whom I had come, appeared to have been an excellent teacher. 

Yet at the end, on this last day of what must have been an intense and heated semester, there was no consensus, no qualifying absolute about how to talk about art now.  In this post modern world, where truth doesn’t exist, concept is more important than perception, and form has transcended line and plane, the traditional vocabulary for determining artistic merit is seemingly obsolete.  

Everyone in the class had their own opinion.  There was no text book conclusion.  I silently applauded my friend for teaching her students that the questions are always more important then the answers.   Still, I found it ironic that “talking about art now” seems more subjective than it has ever been.  Is this a good thing?  Or are we collectively “dumbing down?”  Are independent authors and artists the barbarians at the gate, or are we righteously revolting against oppressive tyranny?  How do we set the bar, or should there be one?  I welcome your thoughts.

Why is it I never have a camera when I need one?

24 Tuesday Apr 2012

Posted by in book blog, Uncategorized

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On Sunday, we took the backroads home.  We drove up from Tucson, through winding hills in high heat, our little car working hard to top the mountains and mesas.  In the desert there were yellow flowers, blooming cactus, and greens in every shade.  Juxtaposed against the sandstone variations and the deep blue of the sky, the colors were striking.

We didn’t talk much.  Too many days of busy left us quiet in our own minds as we took in the landscape and the silence.  The desert is a good place to disappear inside yourself.

As the landscape changed, we switched positions and my love fell asleep.  So I drove through miles and miles of land interrupted only by endless strings of barbed wire.  Soft, undulating grass hills, blackened occasionally by lava rock and minerals, were yellow against a sky readying itself for a storm.  There were no other cars, no other people.  It was like driving into a painting, the landscape frozen in a muted pallet of gray and ochre.

Like art, the land is also, to quote John Updike, breathing room for the soul.  At the reading and book signing event at the art gallery in Tubac, I gave everything.  It was energizing, exciting, and gratifying.  But after, I was a bit of a wreck.  Driving home along those beautiful back roads filled me back up, and opened again the wealth of possibilities.  I just wish I had remembered to bring a camera so I could share with you the wide vistas, the silent roads.

Blue Highways

18 Wednesday Apr 2012

Posted by in book blog

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I just finished reading Blue Highways, by William Least Heat-Moon It was beautiful.  Man in search of himself without a place to start.  Man in search of himself on the road.  Man in search of himself at journey’s end.  A familiar story. 

Why is it we are always taught we are going to get somewhere and that  the journey will end?  The author’s journey was a peaceful thing, tying together our common threads and our individuality in a way that made me feel not so alone.   I loved the people he met, the rain on his windshield, the taste of fresh fish, and the holding onto history as the vehicle through which we arrive at our future.  I loved more the metaphor of his small roads.  We think our lives are along the big highways, our achievements and milestones the things we celebrate and commemorate.  But really, it is the blue highways of our lives — the small twisted roads, the roads that end and force us to turn around, the hitchhikers and creeks we happen upon without intention that are the fabric of who we are and where we are going.  This book is about the process and the journey of self and it is well worth reading.

01 Sunday Apr 2012

Posted by in book blog

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Though it was Sunday, I was working.  Despite the light breeze, warm sun, and fledgling green on the trees, I was tucked away in the cool, quiet privacy of my gallery after hours.  When the phone rang, I was surprised. Not many people call the gallery on a Sunday.

The caller was my son.  He wanted to tell my why he got arrested at an art gallery in Aspen this past weekend.  He was laughing, pleased by his own sense of irony.  After a few drinks with friends, he walked the streets, killing time until his girlfriend arrived to meet him.  He saw lights on at an art gallery that was still open, and went in to look at the work.

It happened that the work was good.  He perused the gallery until something caught his eye.  It was a sky blue painting with crystal drops that took his breath away.  He fell in love.  He espoused. He gestured.  He stared.  He walked away and came back.  He called me.  He called his friends to come over and see the work. Fixated on the work, he was passionate and excited.  Unfortunately, he was dressed in an old A-shirt, baggy shorts and a backwards baseball cap.  He is 6’2.  Though he is gorgeous and articulate, he was also drunk.

The sales associate didn’t know what to do with his passion.  Or his size.  Or his intoxication.  So she called the police.  He left the gallery and the police picked him up on the sidewalk.  The police report indicates that the sales associate didn’t think he was a serious buyer and felt threatened by his presence.

When he called me on Sunday, he said, “There was something about this painting mom.  I can’t even tell you what it was, but it grabbed me.  It was amazing.  Have you ever felt that way about a piece of art?  Do you know what I’m saying?”

I am not sure where the story lies in this.  Is it about a 22 year old man who fell in love with art?  Is it the stereotyping of a young man in sloppy clothing?  Is it that art is reserved for the wealthy?  Is it in the artwork itself?  It is probably in all of these, but the story is his to tell.

For me, I am proud of him, and sharing his laughter.  I think it is almost great that he was arrested for loving a piece of art, and I had to smile when I replied to his question, “I do understand sweetheart.  I do.”

On Being a New Author

24 Saturday Mar 2012

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An editor at The Flaneur recently asked me to write an article on being a new author.  Wow.  The parameters are huge.  

Should I write about what it feels like to finally have the book in the world?  How could I write about that?  10 years in the making, 5 professional edits, still finding things I wish I had said better, and I am not, finally, at peace – though perhaps this is a flaw in my character. 

Should I write about the marketing process?  Now, after so many years of being a big fish in a small pond, I find myself swimming upstream against a strong current and competing with the likes of Zombies and Vampires for a small sliver of market share. 

Should I write about the moments, waking softly from a night of turbulent dreams, when I think about the one young woman whose life I might change?  Or, conversely, should I write about the waking nightmares, where my book vanishes into obscurity before anyone ever reads it in its entirety? 

What is it like to be a newly published author?  It is sheer hell.  I track every hit, ponder deeply every sale, shout my name and my book into the vast void of internet and social media while I pray — and contemplate consecrating dead animals — in the hope that someone I do not know will read this book and like it.  

Truthfully, my new book, Shaping Destiny: A quest for meaning in art and life, is the most honest I have ever been with the world.  I am expecting to get flayed.  I am expecting those intellectual enough to understand the references I make and the thread I follow, to destroy me for feeling.  I am expecting those who live by emotion to flay me for being too intellectual.  I am terrified that this time, as opposed to the dozens of solo art shows where my blood and guts are visible for all to see, I will get eaten.  

There is no joy in being a new author.  I imagine there is joy in being a seasoned author, as there must be joy (I remember it vaguely) in aspiring to be an author.  Being a new author means doing everything a serious artist loathes – marketing, smiling kindly and trying to hide the spark in your eyes when someone says they are reading your work.  It means begging for the reviews, posting listings and info on sites you have never heard of and are, occasionally, ashamed to be listed on, and it means hours every day checking stats, social media, and review possibilities while always remaining gracious.  New authors should be Southern women, not artists.  I am not sure artists have the stomach for it.  

Still, I do it all.  I smile.  I wait.  I submit.  And through it, I pray.  Here is my mantra:  Thank you for your gifts.  My hands are yours.  Let the book reach one woman searching for herself.  Let it reach one artist who wants to go further than technique.  Help me have the patience.  Help me have the grace.  Let this book succeed.

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