learning to love you more
I have been writing ever since I was 8 years old. I tended to keep to myself when I was a child, and loved nothing more than singing out loud and making my way through stacks of books - so when I watched the 1994 film adaptation of Little Women for the first time, and breathlessly watched Jo fly in the face of expectation in order to pursue her imagination and her passion - I know I wanted to be a writer when I grew up.
As an adult, I tend to entertain the myth that in order to create, you must be operating from a really legitimately profound place - so for the longest time, I absolutely hated that origin question: where did your interest in writing come from?
Seventeen years later, I am more interested in the reasons why I might feel ashamed about being inspired by a strong female - fictional or not - than I am interested in the origin of the creative impulse. It has, in fact, become a centrally organizing theme in my life. Why, for instance, did it never occur to me that I could be a doctor or a lawyer?
No matter who you are or aspire to be, accessing community is of critical importance - not only to enrich ourselves, but also so that we can unburden ourselves from unnecessary or arbitrary boundaries (read: shame). Now, as one 'writer' to another, I am on the fence about Miranda July - but one thing I am not on the fence about is the collaborative nature of her art projects, and the way that she manages to curate the private in a very public space. Ever hear of Learning to Love You More? For seven years, Miranda July and Harrell Fletcher operated this site that engages with the curious visitor, and asks them to contribute to their project. The site is chock full of 'assignments' - like perform the phone call someone else wished they could have, or make a paper replica of your bed. They then ask you to document the end result and submit it to them, so that they can share your lovely with the world. You can be as serious or as silly as you'd like here - it's all valid, and it's all worthwhile.
It's kind of incredible.
Pictured above is my contribution to the project, done one impulsive evening home alone at my apartment. It's been some years, but looking it over has gotten me to thinking about the ways in which we do these small yet momentous things that connect us to something bigger. What kinds of moments have you had, like that? What does this site inspire you to do? I want to hear all about it.
xo
As an adult, I tend to entertain the myth that in order to create, you must be operating from a really legitimately profound place - so for the longest time, I absolutely hated that origin question: where did your interest in writing come from?
Seventeen years later, I am more interested in the reasons why I might feel ashamed about being inspired by a strong female - fictional or not - than I am interested in the origin of the creative impulse. It has, in fact, become a centrally organizing theme in my life. Why, for instance, did it never occur to me that I could be a doctor or a lawyer?
No matter who you are or aspire to be, accessing community is of critical importance - not only to enrich ourselves, but also so that we can unburden ourselves from unnecessary or arbitrary boundaries (read: shame). Now, as one 'writer' to another, I am on the fence about Miranda July - but one thing I am not on the fence about is the collaborative nature of her art projects, and the way that she manages to curate the private in a very public space. Ever hear of Learning to Love You More? For seven years, Miranda July and Harrell Fletcher operated this site that engages with the curious visitor, and asks them to contribute to their project. The site is chock full of 'assignments' - like perform the phone call someone else wished they could have, or make a paper replica of your bed. They then ask you to document the end result and submit it to them, so that they can share your lovely with the world. You can be as serious or as silly as you'd like here - it's all valid, and it's all worthwhile.
It's kind of incredible.
Pictured above is my contribution to the project, done one impulsive evening home alone at my apartment. It's been some years, but looking it over has gotten me to thinking about the ways in which we do these small yet momentous things that connect us to something bigger. What kinds of moments have you had, like that? What does this site inspire you to do? I want to hear all about it.
xo
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