Write Me a Poem -- Creativity On Demand
Steve Beisner -- March 20, 2009
"Assignment: Write a Poem About ..." Why is one thing easy to write about, while another leaves us mute, even when both are inherently interesting, complex, and full of possibilities? As a member of a group of poets asked to write poems inspired by the visual artist, Yinka Shonibare, I found the assignment surprisingly easy, and I wondered why.
It wasn't an unusual request. Versifiers are often asked to compose for an event or in reaction to a painting, a historical figure, or some artifact. I've done it myself and I know the drill, so when the group of poets I hang out with was asked to write poems in response to the Nigerian-British artist Yinka Shonibare, I said "yes."
The exhibit, entitled A Flying Machine for Every Man, Woman and Child and Other Astonishing Works is at the Santa Barbara Museum of Art from March 14th through June 21.
I stepped into the room containing the first piece, Hound. Before me was a life-sized realistic yet dreamlike scene of a foxhunt. It filled the greater part of the available floor space. It occurred to me that there where three agendas on display: the disengaged human hunters, the quiet, determined, and serious hounds, and the fox: crafty, exhausted, tongue hanging out, but confident. As I examined the figures I could feel words being pulled from some corner of my mind onto the 3x5 cards I carried to take notes.
Shonibare's work is that rare combination of the mysterious and the familiar. The objects are immediately recognizable, even if their surfaces hint at something strange. Their arrangements are dramatic in the sense that writers use the term: one feels that there is a veiled narrative waiting to be discovered.
I found myself wondering at the ease with which I could translate -- or rather interpret -- these sculptures and images. What was it that made the work so suggestive to a writer?
The answer lies in recognizing Shonibare's true subject. Looking over the entire collection it is apparent that the artist is examining not a foxhunt, or a family group, or some strangely inventive flying machine, but the dreams and unconscious mind that we, as human beings, have in common. Walking through an exhibition of Shonibare's work is like walking through life-size illustrations for a book by Joseph Campbell or Carl Jung.
Shonibare's work, being both mythic and at the same time real-world and approachable, encourages us to examine our own lives for mythic elements. He reminds us that the same great themes of the unconscious are present everywhere we look. For a writer, this is a lesson worth remembering.
Of course, it's all highly subjective -- that's part of the fascination: to learn how other poets might react to the same stimuli. On April 19th at 2 p.m. the Santa Barbara Museum of Art is hosting a reading of poems written for this exhibition. It will be an opportunity to hear how Shonibare's remarkably energizing work has been interpreted through each poet's individual perspective.
But back to the original question: Why is it that in response to some experiences we can easily put together words on-demand, while at other times we remain mute?
We'll each have our own answer to that question. Mine is that we're inspired by things that we recognize on some deep, unconscious, emotional level. Whether it be art, music, literature, or personal experience, the creative energy we need as writers is contained within our own unconscious experiences. Anything that can open the doors to those experiences can be a stimulus to our writing.
The corollary to the above is that how we look at something is probably as important as what we look at. Really? More later. I'm headed to the supermarket in search of mythic images on the front of cereal boxes.