Fitting myself in; Sorting the world out
'(Forging a) dynamic between poetry as language and poetry as a kind of action, probing, burning, stripping, placing itself in a dialogue with others beyond the individual self' (Adrienne Rich, 1987)
I have always wanted to change the world. Injustice fuels my bones. I once said to a boy (while we were sitting on a tree-stump ending our summer romance), ‘You are ready to see all the good in the world; whereas I am burdened by all the problems I need to fix’. Sometimes I need to sit on a tree-stump and cry for all the pain I see and hear and feel in the world around me (and regrettably that specific boy couldn’t understand this need).
'No, Sir, law could not guarantee justice'
My passion for civil justice (along with the rather unimaginative career guidance offered to teenagers) led me to study law at university; but writing essays on the European Convention for Human Rights only served to dampen my initial enthusiasm for the subject. How could we call it justice if we were merely applying, often unworkable, government legislation in the courts? And if we declare the law incompatible, no one does anything about it? That surely isn’t justice. I want to challenge and to question and to change the world (preferably yesterday). My law lecturers wanted me to learn dated cases by heart and regurgitate them in tutorial discussion questions. No, Sir, law was not justice.
So if applying the law doesn’t guarantee justice, maybe making and influencing policy is where I belong? For a few years now I have been immersed in that world. However, it seems that campaigning is often full of talking-shops and buzzwords, while politics is a manipulative popularity contest resulting in a loss of morals as one invests all energy into winning a swing-seat. Adolescence saw me being channelled into academia by the formal education system so I never really had time to ‘breathe’ with my ideas. As a grown-up in the third sector, I was finally given this space and I relished the opportunity to bring creativity to my work. However, my 21-year-old-self didn’t realise just how novel it was to sit cross-legged on the floor to make a ‘family tree’ wall chart to explain management structures or that other people hadn’t thought of doing consultation via cardboard cut-outs before.
But, to me, this wasn’t real creativity and I definitely wasn’t an ‘artist’ in any sense. ‘Artists’ were people who went to formal ‘Art School’. ‘Artists’ made contemporary work that I didn’t understand. People dedicated their life to becoming an ‘Artist’; you don’t just scribble poetry in notebook and then call yourself an ‘artist’…..right? Until recently I had genuine doubts about my skills as a writer too. I was used to funnelling all my writing energies into over-referenced, word-counted essays which crippled me with perfectionism. But, now, I have realised that writing can mean taking a pen to a blank page and letting myself just express.
'Why do you not work like me?'
Until recently, society made me think that the way my brain worked was a problem to be ‘fixed’. Now I am well-versed in the social model of disability and can challenge society back with, ‘Why do you not work like me?’.
When I realised that formal ‘psychology’ didn’t hold my answers, I started to research my own brain to try and make sense of things myself. Several books and google searches later, I realised that there was a link between creativity and ‘madness’. For years people had been telling artists that they were dysfunctional. Generations of women writers had been called to the pen to challenge oppression. Lots of radical theatre companies have questioned the status quo of society. Slowly I began to feel less alone as I recognised myself in the research I was doing.
'The creation of art for therapeutic value is simply not enough'
But what do you do when you get to a place where you realise that your ‘place in the world’ might actually be of the not-fitting description? How do you explain to your conventional family that you have this urge to create and to challenge and to communicate?
For me, the creation of art for therapeutic value is simply not enough. Perhaps it is the academic part of me? Perhaps it is the perfectionist in me? But self-indulgent, this-is-what-is-wrong-with-the-world-screw-you-art, is not my calling. I still feel that urge to change things. Okay, great, you were entertained for an hour but how do I now get you to help me make the world a better place?
I have always wanted to change the world. Injustice fuels my bones. I once said to a boy (while we were sitting on a tree-stump ending our summer romance), ‘You are ready to see all the good in the world; whereas I am burdened by all the problems I need to fix’. Sometimes I need to sit on a tree-stump and cry for all the pain I see and hear and feel in the world around me (and regrettably that specific boy couldn’t understand this need).
'No, Sir, law could not guarantee justice'
My passion for civil justice (along with the rather unimaginative career guidance offered to teenagers) led me to study law at university; but writing essays on the European Convention for Human Rights only served to dampen my initial enthusiasm for the subject. How could we call it justice if we were merely applying, often unworkable, government legislation in the courts? And if we declare the law incompatible, no one does anything about it? That surely isn’t justice. I want to challenge and to question and to change the world (preferably yesterday). My law lecturers wanted me to learn dated cases by heart and regurgitate them in tutorial discussion questions. No, Sir, law was not justice.
So if applying the law doesn’t guarantee justice, maybe making and influencing policy is where I belong? For a few years now I have been immersed in that world. However, it seems that campaigning is often full of talking-shops and buzzwords, while politics is a manipulative popularity contest resulting in a loss of morals as one invests all energy into winning a swing-seat. Adolescence saw me being channelled into academia by the formal education system so I never really had time to ‘breathe’ with my ideas. As a grown-up in the third sector, I was finally given this space and I relished the opportunity to bring creativity to my work. However, my 21-year-old-self didn’t realise just how novel it was to sit cross-legged on the floor to make a ‘family tree’ wall chart to explain management structures or that other people hadn’t thought of doing consultation via cardboard cut-outs before.
But, to me, this wasn’t real creativity and I definitely wasn’t an ‘artist’ in any sense. ‘Artists’ were people who went to formal ‘Art School’. ‘Artists’ made contemporary work that I didn’t understand. People dedicated their life to becoming an ‘Artist’; you don’t just scribble poetry in notebook and then call yourself an ‘artist’…..right? Until recently I had genuine doubts about my skills as a writer too. I was used to funnelling all my writing energies into over-referenced, word-counted essays which crippled me with perfectionism. But, now, I have realised that writing can mean taking a pen to a blank page and letting myself just express.
'Why do you not work like me?'
Until recently, society made me think that the way my brain worked was a problem to be ‘fixed’. Now I am well-versed in the social model of disability and can challenge society back with, ‘Why do you not work like me?’.
When I realised that formal ‘psychology’ didn’t hold my answers, I started to research my own brain to try and make sense of things myself. Several books and google searches later, I realised that there was a link between creativity and ‘madness’. For years people had been telling artists that they were dysfunctional. Generations of women writers had been called to the pen to challenge oppression. Lots of radical theatre companies have questioned the status quo of society. Slowly I began to feel less alone as I recognised myself in the research I was doing.
'The creation of art for therapeutic value is simply not enough'
But what do you do when you get to a place where you realise that your ‘place in the world’ might actually be of the not-fitting description? How do you explain to your conventional family that you have this urge to create and to challenge and to communicate?
For me, the creation of art for therapeutic value is simply not enough. Perhaps it is the academic part of me? Perhaps it is the perfectionist in me? But self-indulgent, this-is-what-is-wrong-with-the-world-screw-you-art, is not my calling. I still feel that urge to change things. Okay, great, you were entertained for an hour but how do I now get you to help me make the world a better place?