Maybe because I was born last, I
learned to stay out of people’s way, to not be a problem to others, to be
quiet, blend into the scenery, and not call attention to myself. And so here I
am, X number of years later, a writer, which requires a special kind of putting yourself out there, of presenting
yourself to people. Even people who never knew of your existence until you
popped up in front of them. It’s not enough to heckle the people you know; you have
to also do it to complete strangers.
We artists can tend to not be
social critters—which comes in quite handy when the crafting of our artistry needs to get
done. Mostly by default, we’re polite and humbly meek. We typically try not
calling attention to ourselves. It’s best when we’re off others’ radars. But
art requires an audience, which means we artists can’t keep our
output tucked away somewhere; we have to publicly display it.
Awhile back, Rosemerry Wahtola
Trommer, a poet of my recent on-line acquaintance, sent me a copy of her just-published work, to review. In the thank you card she included, she wrote,
“It’s so hard for me to put myself out there this way,” but that my openness
and excitement toward her work, “went a long way toward making it seem ‘okay.’”
I recently asked her about this,
because Rosemerry is very definitely, “out there,” what with readings, workshops,
co-hosting a monthly video-taped program with Telluride’s Wilkinson Public Library, various group poetry performances, and also published work. (She has
yet another collection, coming very soon.) Her reply mentioned the paradox of
the scariness of sending deeply personal and intimate work into the world; yet
there being little real risk, because the ego isn’t so involved. She concluded
with, “I guess my point is that it is a stretch to
‘join the big conversation’ as I like to say, but at the same time it begins to
feel dangerous not to. We are all in it together, and if it rises up to join
in, then join in!”
