In 1977, my first wife, Cynthia Griffin Wolff, published A Feast of Words, a literary biography of Edith Wharton. The Publisher, Oxford University Press, arranged for her to do a little tour of book clubs and such to advertise the book. Naturally, I went along. At one stop, she appeared on the program with Garson Kanin, a well-known movie director and producer and the husband of the famous actress Ruth Gordon. Kanin had published a memoir of his time in Hollywood.
I was too nervous just to sit and listen, so I stood by
the side of the room during the event. When
it came time for Kanin to speak, he stood up in front of the audience with his
hands behind his back and told a series of amusing stories about famous
actors and actresses. He seemed to be enjoying himself considerably, and the
audience responded in kind. So far as they could tell, he was completely
relaxed but from where I stood, I could see that his hands were not clasped lightly
behind him. Instead, they twisted and writhed like snakes trapped in a box. I
marveled at his ability to maintain a casual, offhand, relaxed demeanor while
he was obviously tied up in knots of tension.
One question spot quiz: why am I telling you this story from
45 years ago?
11 comments:
Because when you write a blog post, it comes off as casual, relaxed, and chatty -- as blogging is considered to be a "relaxed" form in many quarters -- but actually, like Garson Kanin's talk on that occasion, the relaxed result is a product of a lot of "tense" work.
Bravo. Full credit.
we (often) hide parts of ourselves in our social relations/performances
P.s. I don't think that phenomenon is confined to blogging as usually understood, but may apply to other forms, online or otherwise. (I happen to be writing something autobiographical at the moment, and getting a relaxed, offhand tone, and putting things concisely, takes a lot of work and effort, at least for me.)
The following quote by Garson Kanin, from his play “Born Yesterday,” appears on a plaque in front of the New York City Library:
“I want everyone to be smart. As smart as they can be. A world of ignorant people is too dangerous to live in."
(This comment is not tangentially related to Prof. Wolff’s post, which, though ambiguous, does not mean that it is totally unrelate to the post.)
We are getting grades?!
LFC,
This all applies musical performance as well. The practice time equates to the time writing and editing, and nervousness alway precedes the performance. If you nailed the performance, nervousness and tension turn magically into pleasure. It's a bit more complicated with group performances, but every musician is nervous before and during a performance.
@ CJM
Good point.
I can't track down the source of this anecdote, but I'm thinking of Wittgenstein's frustrated response to someone who complained about his writing style, with its lack of explanation, illustration, and argumentation - something like, "If I handed you a flower, would you complain if I left out the roots?"
Point being, I agree, for an intellectually active person, it can take a surprisingly huge amount of work to "sound normal" (or lighthearted, spontaneous, relatable, or simply agreeable to the reader/listener) - especially, I imagine, if you've spent several years doing serious work on the likes of Kant.
So (as a final bit of acknowledgment and appreciation), the sheer quantity - to say nothing as to quality! - of work you've done on this blog and elsewhere is admirable and inspiring, and larger indeed than appearances tend to suggest.* And the comments section does take on a life of its own and turn this site into a sort of blog/forum hybrid, which means that the blog "component" - and the work that goes into it - can feel overshadowed. Turning the comments off may indeed be for the best; at the very least, it's totally understandable that you'd find yourself considering it.
Thanks again, Prof.!
*Can't resist throwing out one more image here: I think Wittgenstein (or Russell himself?) said that the most abstruse and painstaking parts of Principia Mathematica were comparable to the finest details painted on cathedral ceilings by medieval workers, who knew that these aspects of their work would be completely unseen and unacknowledged by everyone viewing them from the floor down below, but who painted them anyway, through utter love of the work and spiritual devotion.
These comments call to mind the line attributed to Churchill and Pascal: "I would have written a shorter letter if I had more time."
(Apparently my pseudo-namesake was desperately short of time!)
a very good friend, I have known him since we were both young and fresh and had a lot of nonsense in our heads. He became a painter, studied in Vienna by Friedensreich Hundertwasser. I often visited my friend in his atelier in the past. At one stage of his work he painted a series of pictures with the theme: fire, water, earth and air. While he was working on a painting on the last element "air" I was sitting near him when he suddenly dropped his brush, turned to me and said: it's no use, how can I do this? I am already sweating wet, and where am I supposed to get the lightness that is supposed to be there on the canvas?
Two years later I saw the finished series in an exhibition. Somehow he has actually found the lightness but certainly not without sweating.
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