- The Book of the Red King 2019
- Maze of Blood 2015
- Glimmerglass 2014
- Thaliad 2012
- The Foliate Head 2012
- A Death at the White Camellia Orphanage 2012
- The Throne of Psyche 2011
- Val/Orson 2009
- Ingledove 2005
- Claire 2003
- The Curse of the Raven Mocker 2003
- The Wolf Pit 2001
- Catherwood 1996
- Little Jordan 1995
- Short stories and poems
- Honors, praise, etc.
Just out: The Book of the Red King, a collection of poems about the mysterious Red King, the lunar Precious Wentletrap, and the transforming Fool (Phoenicia Publishing.) Illuminated by Clive-Hicks-Jenkins. "A must-read and a distinctive, evocative voice. There is no one like Marly Youmans" -Kim Bridgford. Please check out the link above for news, review clips, and more!
Friday, May 29, 2015
I'll be reading/signing/yacking at the Build-Fix-Grow Festival at Hanford Mills this Saturday... It's good that regional museums have begun to take an interest in their area writers. Before Christmas, there was a fun event at the Fenimore Museum--now that's convenient to me!--and I recently talked to and lunched with the staff of the Fenimore Museum and Farmers Museum bookstores.
Thursday, May 28, 2015
The essay itself is also a powerful tale that suggests issues of citizenship, faith, and living a life that matters. Four stories are braided together inside it--the story of Sovanna Soeung, the story of her mother's sacrifice to educate her, and the stories of her two children.
Why do foreign-born children often do so well, striving in ways that seem inconceivable to many native-born people who don't do so well? This account suggests some answers, but I'll just say that in all times and in all places, such drive and persistence are rare, precious commodities. I've always been proud of my father for beginning life as a deprived Depression-era sharecropper's child, and yet having the inner firepower and motivation to join the Army Air Corps at 17 (World War II B-17 tail gunner, also serving during the Korean War) and afterward rise to become a professor of analytical chemistry. Perhaps that's one of the reasons I'm married to a man who started life in a family where no one had been to college but who had the steam to become a physician, chief resident, Fellow, and then an academic doc. A story with an upward, aspiring arc calls out to us and says we can become. It proclaims that any of us can be transformed.
Who can't love inspiring stories like these? SreyRam Kuy's story of her mother and and her mother's two children contains indomitable drive and imaginative quickness in the effort to survive and triumph. First, she achieved as a child and young woman in a setting where it was not approved. She lost all and fought to find a new place in the world. The idea that Sovanna Soeung then returns to help others in the land where she was born is a testament to goodness, strength, and boldness. And behind these, faith. World history will look back at our time as one when Christians in the Middle East were being murdered at an astonishing rate, when "social" Christianity died, and when toleration for Christians decreased radically in the West. But a story like this one gives courage and tells a better tale of a woman living out a life that plainly says, "Love one another." Hers is a life that matters. No doubt there are many such tales, lost and forgotten in the great river of lives.
I haven't been to all that many countries in this big world, but I have been to Cambodia and Thailand, so I felt even more drawn to these words about both, having talked with Cambodians in Siem Reap and elsewhere about their experiences under the Khmer Rouge and their problems today. A visitor sees very few elderly people in that country. And on meeting one, she probably can't help wondering about story--how she or he survived, whether blood or sacrifice or grief is in those hands. In the case of Sovanna Soeung, such questions have painful, beautiful answers.
Saturday, May 23, 2015
When I was younger, I felt conflict between what the world seemed to want and what I wanted, but now I feel clear on the odd times that are ours. The over-focus on commerce and unleashed torrent of new books are just facts of our era and our cracked culture, nothing to do with what happens when a writer sits at her table and lets the words stream forth.
In the end, I am a solitary maker who is dreaming something into being, spinning the straw of the world into what I hope will be gold, true and beautiful and doing justice to the marvelous, tragic, lovely Creation. And I am mad enough to think that the gold-spinner dreaming along in the room is what an artist should be.
|Also Clive, a portrait of Thalia|
I begin with an underdrawing, sometimes faint like smoke, sometimes confident, usually a bit of both, mostly fluid at this early stage. Then the painting and the rendering begin. It feels as though I'm attempting to produce a mosaic from thousands of glittering tesserae, each one of them a different micro-thought flashing through my brain. When I'm working away I have to make the image one tiny tile-of-thought at a time, and it's as though this flood of thoughts and moods spreads across the board. The thoughts/voices/poetry at this point are a cacophony, and I have to try and catch at the most insistent ones to fathom their meanings, all while listening/watching for the next to emerge. Each takes me where it will. I get buffeted in one direction by playful zephyrs, carried smoothly for periods on the dazzling surface, or dragged down into deep currents where all is shadowy and cold. Sometimes everything slows and then halts. I trace the curved route for the stem of a tulip, graze a petal with the striations of its markings. Becalmed, I drift.Into the unknown, leaping off the edge of everything one has created before...
Then something pulls at me again, the insistent and unguessable current reasserting, the line of poetry that lightning-flashes in the head, the breeze though the open window that sends all the fragments of drawings and poetry flying, and in a moment I'm away again, off into the unknown.
***Coming up soon: events at Hanford Mills in central New York and at the Culture Care Summit at Cairn in Philly.
Tuesday, May 12, 2015
© 2014 Makoto Fujimura
Mineral Pigments, Sumi ink, silver, and gold on Kumohada paper
60.25 x 45.25 x 1.25 in
Prints are available - click here.
Frontispiece to Culture Care.
The book is Makoto Fujimura's Culture Care: Reconnecting with Beauty for Our Common Life, which I am spending some time with in preparation for reading at and participating in the June Culture Care Summit, sponsored by International Arts Movement and Fujimura Institute, at Cairn University in Philadephia. Here are some quotes from the part of the book that is foundational and sets up the terms of his argument for change.
In the aftermath of two World Wars, artists began to articulate the culture's dramatic loss of humanity... artists recognized the gap left by the weakening witness of the church in culture and increasingly came to see themselves as secular prophets and priests with a call to "speak the truth" against the "establishment." They intentionally isolated themselves from society and produced work aimed at shocking people into recognizing and decrying the horrors of the age. As critic Robert Hughes has noted, "the shock of the new" became a way of life in the twentieth century modernist experiment.
Artists have been pressed--sometimes willingly and sometimes not--to speak not for their own work, vision, and principles but for (usually leftist) ideologies. The implicit and explicit cultural pressures for ideological uniformity are so high that one could say that in the culture wars artists are free to express anything other than beauty.
With the exception of ideological uses, today's art has been commoditized to such an extent that we often see commerce as the prevailing goal of art, and value the arts only as transactional tools to achieve fame and thus wealth.
Why is Culture Care needed? From the perspective of the arts, it is because today, an artist cannot simply paint; a novelist cannot simply write; a pianist cannot simply play. Utilitarian pragmatism and commercialism so thoroughly pervade culture that without some shift in worldview and expectation, what we do as artists--the activities of the arts--will be neither sustainable nor generative. We will not be able to resist their use as weapons in the culture wars.
We need to recognize our time as a genesis moment.
I recommend it--the book is suffused with Makoto Fujimura's bright vision of a world that is generative for artists and others, a world that flourishes and produces arts that our descendants will find worthy and beautiful. As a Christian, Mako tends toward the ideas of fruitfulness and wholeness that pervade the book. It is a book for anyone who cares about the vicissitudes of culture, and where our culture is headed after Modernism and its aftershocks.
Sunday, May 03, 2015
|detail, jacket image for Maze of Blood. Art by Clive Hicks-Jenkins.|
I'm on my second round of the second pass galleys of Maze of Blood. Meanwhile, everything else in my life seems to be hopping up and down, demanding attention. Two children are heading toward graduation (one from high school, one from The Center for Cartoon Studies), with all the frenetic events and activity that precede such life markers, and a third is returning to New York for a new job. Wild times! I'll meet you back here in a few days. If you miss me, ramble around in the blog or read one of my books! I'll meet you there too. Maybe even more so...