I do not need to be co-creater in order to be an active participant in an artwork. I do not believe for a moment that the act of listening is passive. I believe more of us would be better at it if it were.
But then there is that other idea: that artworks are ennobling. When biographical facts color and contextualize the experience that is being conveyed through a work of art in a way that is exceedingly human, but not ennobling, do we toss the bibliographical context (and does that falsify the content?). Or do we toss the work of art?
After a glass of wine, my inner critic no longer tells me I need to get the answers right.
After a glass of wine, she actually sounds a lot like Dorothy Parker - 'cause when she's tipsy she sides with me, and turns on everyone else.
I am the imaginative version of Emilie Dickinson - shouting from the top of the stairs. Genuinely happy for any company, desperately suspicious. Scared.
When I think of this morning, it is never about eating the oatmeal. It's about the sensual details of a single moment, of an average morning. The heat on my face, the light weight of the spoon pressing against the burping mass. It's what oatmeal means to me.
I guess things don't always come as cleanly as the seasons on the calendar. The goddesses keep their own schedules. Rhythms. Deliberately syncopated.