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Spotlight | On Sisyphean Certainty

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAIn the essay below, Kim Buck, whose drawings are exhibited in the Eckleburg Gallery, likens her drawings to the unceasing efforts of Sisyphus.

 

I draw.

Inspired by a broader theoretical framework informed predominantly by the philosophies of Friedrich Nietzsche and Albert Camus, as well as my own growing understanding of the repetitive nature of my drawing process – my focused and attentive study of the human form, the daily act of placing black charcoal on white paper, and my repeated gravitation towards particular themes – On Sisyphean Certainty is an exploration of human trajectory.

I draw.

How do we human beings continue to stay upright in a world that constantly tests our stability? How do we maintain some sense of equilibrium, as a species and as individuals, within this large and formidable universe? Why do we continue to strive and struggle? Has all of this been before and will be again or is the only one ultimate certainty our mortality?

I draw.

“The eternal hour glass of existence will be turned again and again – and you with it, you dust of dust!” [Nietzsche, F. The Gay Science, translated by Walter Kaufmann, Random House, New York, 1974, p. 341.]

I draw.

Nietzsche contends that the physical structure of the universe is composed of a never-ending, identically recurring circle of time compelling us to repeat our lives over and over, exactly as we have chosen.

I draw.

The consequences of this idea could suggest metaphors to live by: to positively affirm our lives such that we would want to relive every facet in precisely the same way again and again; to derive, not a sense of pessimism from this wisdom, but find pleasure in repetition; to recognize that, by reinforcing our small but vital existence, we also accept humanity.

I draw.

Sisyphus was condemned by the gods to eternally roll a rock up a mountain only to have it roll back down again under its own weight.

I draw.

Camus saw Sisyphus as an emblem of the seemingly absurd and relentless struggle against the obscure terms of our existence. He saw Sisyphus achieve his purpose only to watch in despair as the stone tumbled down. He saw Sisyphus walk back down the hill. It is during that return, Camus suggests, that the tragic hero is briefly freed. In acknowledging the futility of his task and the certainty of his fate, Sisyphus accepts that the struggle towards the heights is itself enough.

I draw.

“All is well”, Camus concludes. “One must imagine Sisyphus happy.” [Camus, A. The Myth of Sisyphus, translated by Justin O’Brien, Penguin Books, 2000, p. 111.]

I draw.

Individually, we are constantly embroiled in a struggle to maintain our own equilibrium through uncertainty, fear and the unknown. But like Sisyphus, we continue to push. To strain. To persevere, regardless of what may lie ahead. I am intensely interested in the human capacity to fight whatever forces we may encounter, whether within or beyond our mortal control. My figures are engaged. They struggle. Against what almost doesn’t matter.

I draw.

Making these hand drawn images with charcoal, perhaps the oldest known artistic medium, is an intensely laborious process. Again and again, charcoal meets paper. Time spent in the act of execution is essential to my practice. The struggle inherent in the creation of my work does, for me, not only reflect my own deep need to engage with the act of drawing, but also mirrors and substantiates the struggle of my protagonists. They will continue to battle for as long as they continue to be drawn into being.

And so I draw.

 

Kim Buck was born in Mount Gambier, South Australia. After studying Psychology and Science, Kim discovered a natural affinity for the medium of charcoal in 2006. Since graduating from the South Australian School of Art in 2009, she has had three sell out solo exhibitions and won a number of significant national prizes. Kim is represented by Peter Walker Fine Art (Adelaide), Jan Murphy Gallery (Brisbane) and Michael Reid Gallery (Sydney).

While Kim’s drawings have always found inspiration in the human form, her current work explores the intersection of figurative traditions and the natural environment, offering a unique broadening of the term landscape.

 
 

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How to Write a Story about the Roller Derby

Roller_Derby_1950Prompt

I don’t mean to imply that I often use formal prompts. Mostly the prompt is just an idea that comes from my own head or from a thing that I see or notice — whatever first gets me thinking about a story. In the case of How to Bet on the Roller Derby, it came from a class I was taking: “The Structure of Short Fiction,” taught by Ron MacLean (a great teacher and great writer). Ron knew of a contest for stories about roller derby and he urged us to write one. It was a running joke that turned into a sort of motif for the class. Nobody did it. Then, finally, I did. Unsurprisingly, that first draft did not win the contest. But I kept working on the story.

Voice

The most satisfying stories that I ever write start with a voice. In this case, I thought about my prompt (the roller derby) until the voice emerged — the voice of a man obsessed with the roller derby. When I’m in this stage, I don’t feel like I’m writing; I feel like I’m listening. I’m figuring out how the voice sounds, what it’s up to.

Character

And, usually, voice will reveal character. The rhythms of speech teach me about the character’s personality. Eventually, the voice becomes a character, instead of just a voice. Not everything this character says will end up in the final story, but all of it is important to me in learning about the character, the voice. If I let the voice (the character) talk long enough — let it rant, let it rave — it will talk about itself more directly. It will tell about the character’s life, the character’s background, the character’s desires.

Desire

Aha! Desires are essential. Once I figure out what the character wants, I can find the story.

Plot

Plot derives from desire. What does the character want? What prevents the character from getting it? How does that all play out?

Mess

Except it’s never that simple. Maybe I’m doing something wrong, but at this point, there are always multiple, conflicting, and confusing storylines. My character wants many things. And all of them turn into separate, tangled-up subplots: the problem with Stinky, the problem with Christine, the problem with Johnny, the obsession with roller derby itself… Some plot lines seem too easy. Some too hard. Some conflict. Some are just plain idiotic. When I get to this stage, I realize I’ve let the character babble on for too long. There’s too much happening, too little sense, and I’m lost in it.

Workshop

When I reach this great big mess, I’m ready for workshop.  Outside opinions on the story help me to see which threads of my tangle are interesting — which plot lines are worth pursuing and which ones aren’t. I don’t always agree with my readers or take their advice, but it’s good to know what they think. This stage, for me, is like throwing spaghetti against the wall and seeing which strands stick.

But I got an odd result when I took my roller derby story to workshop:

Bill: I don’t think that’s how roller derby works…

Allie: I’m the writer. I’ll tell you how it works.

Erin: Yeah, I’m pretty sure this is just wrong.

Allie: My story, my rules.

Ginny: We like the confidence, Allie, but it’s time to do some research.

Allie: Aw, shit.

Research

I hate to research. I would much rather make shit up. It’s fiction, after all. And, much of the time, I get away with making things up. I wrote the first draft of the roller derby story knowing nothing about the roller derby. And I think most of the energy of the story derives from that pre-research time: I got the voice, the character, the desires, the way-too-many plot lines. But something was missing. So I turned to the Internet and, very begrudgingly, I did a small amount of research. It was awesome! I discovered that the shapes and patterns of roller derby are very interesting. And not only did I find them lovely, I noticed they had a lot in common with some things that were already happening in the story.

Structure

I mentioned earlier that I had these competing plot lines. I often end up with such things in early drafts — sometimes I manage to bring them together, but often I have to cut out the extras. In early drafts of the roller derby story, they were fighting with each other in really awkward and unreadable ways. But once I understood the rudimentary rules and patterns of roller derby as a sport, I saw that the battling plotlines could mimic those patterns. So I worked to make the structure of the story feel, at least to me, like each plot line was skating in a big circle around the rink. With each lap, the reader would get a little bit more information. And frequently, as happens with skaters in roller derby, one plot line would pass another.  I have no idea if the story feels this way when you read it—but it’s what I thought about as I teased out the structure of it.

Years and Years

Then I spent a very long time reworking everything. I tend to reach points with my stories when I need to put them away. I get sick of them, have every word memorized and none of it means anything anymore. If I wait a few months (at least), I can see them in new ways and rework them more meaningfully. I did that with the roller derby story many, many times.

Drinking

Then I got drunk and decided it was done.

 

Allison Wyss was born in Fort Wayne, Indiana. She earned an MFA from the University of Maryland and now lives in Minneapolis, where she’s working on a novel. Her stories have appeared or are forthcoming in The Doctor T.J. Eckleburg Review, [PANK], Metazen, andMadHat (Mad Hatter’s Review).

 

 

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Never Complete

borshchDmitry Borshch discusses his art, which is viewable in the Eckleburg Gallery, and why only certain colors harmonize with white.
 
Eckleburg: What motivated you to make the works that are posted to Eckleburg?
 
DB: I distinguish between narrow and broad motivations, which may not always interact. The second type of motivation is a desire to speak as an artist — silence, especially artistic, is painful. The first involves being challenged by narrower, often technical problems — arranging successfully a group or one-figure portrait, succeeding as a landscapist, still-life painter.
 
Eckleburg: Why do you label your motivations as narrow or broad?
 
DB: Expression of one’s artistic feeling is broader, more significant than technique.
 
Eckleburg: What moves you as an artist? 
 
DB: I find moving whatever helps me to begin or finish a picture. It may cease to move me tomorrow, be totally unmoving to someone else today, but I am always willing to be moved by anything that contributes to the picture-making effort.
 
Eckleburg: What event or thing or person moved you to paint?
 
DB: So many events, persons!  I conceived ‘Bush-Maliki News Conference. Baghdad, December 2008’ after seeing that video of the shoe incident with Muntadhar al-Zaidi.
 
Eckleburg: What are your inspirations, and what are not?  
 
DB: I call nothing uninspiring, although it may be that today.  On another day inspiration will begin emanating from a source that I never felt could inspire.
 
Eckleburg: Why are all of your pieces in blue and white?
 
DB: Blue harmonizes with the very white paper I like to draw on better than other colors.  But not all my pieces are blue; ‘Odalisque in Red Satin Pantaloons (after Matisse)’ and some others are red.
 
Eckleburg: Is there a feeling associated with blue?
 
DB: Yes, but I restrain myself.  It’s better not to elevate one color above another — they are all wonderful.
 
Eckleburg: Why is “Odalisque” red and white?
 
DB: I tried to connect this picture not only with Odalisque à la culotte de satin rouge, Matisse’s lithograph, but also his famous painting L’Atelier Rouge, both in the collection of The Museum of Modern Art, New York. Hopefully, the red I chose for this drawing will be seen as harmonious with the paper’s white.
 
Eckleburg: Isn’t any color harmonious with white?
 
DB: No, black and some other colors would look inharmonious on very white paper.
 
Eckleburg: What is your artistic process? How do you find a subject or theme to draw?
 
DB: Good, timely themes for a picture are found everywhere — Internet, newspapers, food bills.  I make written notes regarding a possible theme on the back of those bills, and usually accompany them with a little sketch. After a period, which could last weeks or months, I go over what was sketched and all the writing. Whatever excites me the most then is developed into a fuller work.
 
Eckleburg: Which piece would you like to work on some more?
 
DB: I continuously work on all of them, improving lines and background stippling.
 
Eckleburg: How do you work on these pieces if they are sold? Do you work on them in your mind?
 
DB: I have ‘master copies’ of all the drawings and return to them periodically for editing.
 
Eckleburg: What is your favorite piece?
 
DB: No favorites. I place contemporary history painting above allegories, so one of my pictures on your website, ‘The Loaded Kiss (Dmitry Borshch and Leemour Pelli),’ may be placed above others, but this hierarchy is subjective and personal; it should be disregarded by the viewer of those pictures.
 
 

Dmitry Borshch was born in Dnepropetrovsk, studied in Moscow, and today, he lives in New York. His paintings have been exhibited at the National Arts Club (New York), Brecht Forum (New York), ISE Cultural Foundation (New York), and the State Russian Museum (Saint Petersburg).