on amateurism....
Despite the rain and my wet feet, it's been a beautiful day. I took care of the dogs [Adrian's in SoCal for a funeral, so I'm petsitting this weekend], skipped mass (largely by accident--I overslept), and "made up for it" (or not) by wandering into a craft sale at the basement of a different Church.
I love church(y) craft sales. They remind me of the best elements of growing up in the Midwest...the small, tight-knit communities, the (semi-Protestant) valuation of hard work and taking pride in one's handicraft. I walked off with a oversized, chunky, hand-knit wool sweater for $25. It has a luxuriously thick shawl-collar, which I can't stop petting. It's intended as a Christmas gift for my mother...but I'm tempted to appropriate it for myself. In the same spirit of "chunky & oversized," I bought a necklace of rough-cut fluorite stones and a green turquoise-and-silver pendant for $35 total. It's a departure from the "delicate" jewelry that I usually gravitate towards...but this seems just right for sweater season. And a pound of handmade English Toffee...for $5.
It was lovely to stop & talk to people who obviously love what they're doing...and who do this almost exclusively for a "hobby." The prices on everything there are way too low for this to actually be profitable (the raw materials--stones, wool--retail for more than what most of these sellers were charging!). The lady who sold me the necklace tells me that she enjoys making jewelry...but she can only enjoy it when she sells once or twice a year. Otherwise, it feels too much like work. After my recent experience with writing/baking, I can relate.
(It makes me wonder...what is it about "amateur" work that allows us to pour our love & dedication into it? Why does "professionalization" feel so paralyzing? A year ago, I had a long talk with Ian about the dangers of pre-professionalization...I think I'm only just beginning to understand what he had meant when he said that students somehow stop doing "good work" when they pre-professionalize too early. We adopt the trappings of authority and expertise...but there's something about that very posturing that seems to curtail the "play" that is so necessarily to finding exciting-yet-useful ways of thinking about our work. )
I wonder if this is part of why I find it most productive to work in coffee shops. I have to find the right one--it's usually a semi-busy, semi-quiet space, with music that stays atmospheric (rather than expressive). It doesn't "feel" like work. I come here to update my journal, look up recipes, stalk anthro sales...and happen to write a few sentences about De Quincey on the side, while waiting for the internet to load. I'm learning, I think, to accept this desulatory method as a method, rather than to continuously berate myself for not getting more work done. I work best, perhaps, when I give myself room to explore...when I feel licensed to "play" with ideas (and when reading/thinking feels like playing...an exploration, rather than pounding out words for a deadline).
I'm learning to leave guilt behind. [A priest once told me, "I don't do Catholic guilt and neither does the Catholic church." Implicit--but unspoken, I think, was the word "anymore." I figured that if the Catholics are leaving behind their trademark, it's probably a good indication that guilt doesn't work...in the spiritual, pedagogical (spirituality is always pedagogical. I think)...or any other realm.]. What does seem to work (for me, at least) is consistent dedication to the process.
I just started running again, after taking a few months off to nurse my shin splints. I have such a love/hate relationship with running. On the one hand, it helps to structure my day and suppress my neurotic-hamster-on-speed tendencies. It keeps me fit and calm...and when I have a "good run"--as I do most days--I love the act, as well as the effects of running. But I've always disliked the "discipline"--the necessity of going out there every day (or most days), which makes running feel like a chore...even when I enjoy it. I finally started giving myself a 15-minute rule. I'll go out for 15 minutes, stretch out and warm up...and if I don't feel like running further, simply head home. 90% of the time, I choose to go further. That 15-minute rule is just enough to coax me out of a warm bed on a cold morning (because I know I can crawl back into it, if I should choose to do so).What matters, I think...is that I always have a choice--or rather, I feel as though I have a choice.
I'm adopting a similar process for writing. I show up at the coffee shop every day with my books & my laptop. I'll read for 15 minutes, and see if anything catches my eye. Something usually does...and when that happens, I go with the flow. When it doesn't...at least I'm enjoying a good cappucino cappuccino.
Damn, I'm such a Romanticist. Would I be more regularly productive if I was, say, a Victorianist?
I love church(y) craft sales. They remind me of the best elements of growing up in the Midwest...the small, tight-knit communities, the (semi-Protestant) valuation of hard work and taking pride in one's handicraft. I walked off with a oversized, chunky, hand-knit wool sweater for $25. It has a luxuriously thick shawl-collar, which I can't stop petting. It's intended as a Christmas gift for my mother...but I'm tempted to appropriate it for myself. In the same spirit of "chunky & oversized," I bought a necklace of rough-cut fluorite stones and a green turquoise-and-silver pendant for $35 total. It's a departure from the "delicate" jewelry that I usually gravitate towards...but this seems just right for sweater season. And a pound of handmade English Toffee...for $5.
It was lovely to stop & talk to people who obviously love what they're doing...and who do this almost exclusively for a "hobby." The prices on everything there are way too low for this to actually be profitable (the raw materials--stones, wool--retail for more than what most of these sellers were charging!). The lady who sold me the necklace tells me that she enjoys making jewelry...but she can only enjoy it when she sells once or twice a year. Otherwise, it feels too much like work. After my recent experience with writing/baking, I can relate.
(It makes me wonder...what is it about "amateur" work that allows us to pour our love & dedication into it? Why does "professionalization" feel so paralyzing? A year ago, I had a long talk with Ian about the dangers of pre-professionalization...I think I'm only just beginning to understand what he had meant when he said that students somehow stop doing "good work" when they pre-professionalize too early. We adopt the trappings of authority and expertise...but there's something about that very posturing that seems to curtail the "play" that is so necessarily to finding exciting-yet-useful ways of thinking about our work. )
I wonder if this is part of why I find it most productive to work in coffee shops. I have to find the right one--it's usually a semi-busy, semi-quiet space, with music that stays atmospheric (rather than expressive). It doesn't "feel" like work. I come here to update my journal, look up recipes, stalk anthro sales...and happen to write a few sentences about De Quincey on the side, while waiting for the internet to load. I'm learning, I think, to accept this desulatory method as a method, rather than to continuously berate myself for not getting more work done. I work best, perhaps, when I give myself room to explore...when I feel licensed to "play" with ideas (and when reading/thinking feels like playing...an exploration, rather than pounding out words for a deadline).
I'm learning to leave guilt behind. [A priest once told me, "I don't do Catholic guilt and neither does the Catholic church." Implicit--but unspoken, I think, was the word "anymore." I figured that if the Catholics are leaving behind their trademark, it's probably a good indication that guilt doesn't work...in the spiritual, pedagogical (spirituality is always pedagogical. I think)...or any other realm.]. What does seem to work (for me, at least) is consistent dedication to the process.
I just started running again, after taking a few months off to nurse my shin splints. I have such a love/hate relationship with running. On the one hand, it helps to structure my day and suppress my neurotic-hamster-on-speed tendencies. It keeps me fit and calm...and when I have a "good run"--as I do most days--I love the act, as well as the effects of running. But I've always disliked the "discipline"--the necessity of going out there every day (or most days), which makes running feel like a chore...even when I enjoy it. I finally started giving myself a 15-minute rule. I'll go out for 15 minutes, stretch out and warm up...and if I don't feel like running further, simply head home. 90% of the time, I choose to go further. That 15-minute rule is just enough to coax me out of a warm bed on a cold morning (because I know I can crawl back into it, if I should choose to do so).What matters, I think...is that I always have a choice--or rather, I feel as though I have a choice.
I'm adopting a similar process for writing. I show up at the coffee shop every day with my books & my laptop. I'll read for 15 minutes, and see if anything catches my eye. Something usually does...and when that happens, I go with the flow. When it doesn't...at least I'm enjoying a good cappucino cappuccino.
Damn, I'm such a Romanticist. Would I be more regularly productive if I was, say, a Victorianist?