Beth Kephart's Blog, page 14

on friendships, jealousies, and theft in art (The Art of Rivalry)

The Art of Rivalry has had my attention these past few days. Sebastian Smee on, to quote the subtitle, "Four Friendships, Betrayals, And Breakthroughs in Modern Art." Freud and Bacon. Manet and Degas. Matisse and Picasso. Pollock and de Kooning.

Most of the time it's just not pretty (the lives, I mean, not the book itself, which I loved). Most of the time, in fact, it is painful as the early friendships and conversations and comradely hope dissolve into jealousies and theft, unfair advantages, unforeseen attacks from the right or left. One artist will lean toward another, helpful. The other artist will admire, acknowledge awe, then take—acts of stealth and planned disturbances. The artists will goad the other artists on, and the work will advance, the volcanic pressures between them will yield new forms, but oh, the cost of it all. Borrowed ideals, lovers, friends, techniques. Smash ups. New work. Bold work. Despair. It is hard to watch, even at this distance, because the lessons here are not just historic. Such rivalries, in every discipline, still and always abound.

I felt particular empathy for Matisse in the face of a younger Picasso who wanted much, who drew close to Matisse for his own advantage, who leaned on the generosity of the older artist, then locked himself away in the hopes of emerging as top dog/best. Writes Smee, about Picasso's breakthrough Demoiselles, which borrowed heavily from ideas and discoveries of Matisse (ideas/discoveries that Matisse had overtly, generously shared with Picasso, ideas/discoveries that Picasso absorbed by paying close attention to Matisse's work), "The most credible account (of Matisse's comments after seeing Picasso's canvas) was him saying, more mutedly but with evident bitterness: 'A little boldness discovered in a friend's work is shared by all.' The implication being that while he, Matisse, had dedicated years of experiment and honest inquiry to making a high-order aesthetic breakthrough, here, now, was Picasso, stealing ideas he didn't fully grasp in order to produce a painting that was deliberately and senselessly ugly—all for the sake of looking equally bold."

From the evidence presented by Smee, at least, Matisse had every right to draw the conclusion he had, and every right to watch, amazed and not quite certain what to do, as Picasso continued to abuse their friendship in search of ever-greater stature. But what Smee's book also makes clear is that "winning" in art is hardly ever a satisfactory outcome. The victor becomes the target, the next big thing to push aside, the isolated genius who is no longer just one of the guys (all the primary artists in Smee's books are guys), but a force that (in order to be reckoned with) must in some way be destroyed.

de Kooning, for example, outlasts, outwits Jackson Pollock. He gets to be the Numero Uno Artist of the time. He even sleeps with Pollock's last girlfriend. He wins! But here is winning, not just for de Kooning, but for so many artists, dead and alive. Winning is its own form of loss:

But he was far from content. Even as the adulation peaked, he seemed increasingly harried, frustrated, and petulant. Alone at the top, he behaved as if under permanent threat—just as Pollock had. He was pining, too, for lost comrades—"imaginary brothers" gone missing. He was missing Gorky, his old sidekick, long dead. And he was pining, obscurely, for Pollock. More than anyone else, Pollock would have understood what de Kooning was now going through; what it was like to be at the top of the pile; what forces buffeted you up there and made you want to drink yourself to oblivion.

Moderation is not a sexy word. The quiet conversationalist is rarely the headline maker. The giver is not the victor, not most of the time anyway. Greatness comes at incalculable costs. The Art of Rivalry offers object lessons in how art gets made—and in how life might have been (might be) better lived.

on looking past the work we've made and, also, the opposite (in Decatur)

The Devon Horse Show grounds are empty, but the gates are open. No, not empty, we discover; there is a single contractor working within. With his permission we walk, in and out of the stables, the new buildings, the old ones. I find a ladder and Bill climbs it into a secret place. I think an abandoned sink is lovely. Also a discarded, woven hat. Also emptiness as countered by the milk of contained light.

In the sun it is hot. In the shade it is perfect.

What are we searching for on this Labor Day?

I have been reading Olivia Laing. I have been reading (I seem to endlessly circle her) about Virginia Woolf. Her ecstasy. Her mourning. Her river and her pocketful of stones. I have been reading, too, about artists, jealousies, rivalries. Bacon and Freud. Manet and Degas. I have been thinking of the panel I was on, just yesterday afternoon, at the exquisite AJC Decatur Book Festival, and all the things I didn't say, and the friends who came to see me, and the ease of our stupendously fine moderator, Terra Elan McVoy, who brilliantly coined perfumes for us and wove a silk thread between stories for us and wondered about our books as films and decided This Is the Story of You isn't really a film, not yet a film, though perhaps it is an Indie. Yes. Always. I am, will be, the Indie. Slightly out of step and over to the side and stewing inside the next act of making something, my preference, always, for the thing that is not yet made, as opposed to the thing that is.

Do we read our books after they are published (beyond when authorial responsibility calls us to), we were asked. No, I said. No, emphatic. For there is no fixing the book then, no new chance, and I always wish that my books were better than they were, and I am always trying, until they are printed (ask any editor of mine) to make them better than they are, than they will be, but yesterday, when I was feeling, I'm not entirely sure why, sad, there was a girl in the line after the panel who asked me to sign her books. "You are my favorite author," she said, and I was stunned by it, set back, this gesture of hers, this kindness extended. Words that pinned me to the present time, for that present time, in that moment. With me on one side of the table and this beautiful girl on the other, for just that moment or two, I was me, with the books I have made, in the present, in the moment. I was not looking past them.

Not in that split of time, anyway.

Write It for the Young at Heart/ten-part video series

A few days ago I shared here a video essay from my new series, "Write It for the Young at Heart." The topic? Complexity, and why it matters in the YA/MG sphere.

Today we're releasing all ten videos in a series that takes an honest look at topics that should matter to all writers. The place of truth in fiction. The role of research. The importance of a centering place in the stories we write. The (shocking!) reality that not all teens sound the same in real life (and therefore should not sound the same on the page). The stuff teens say about the stuff they read. And etc. I weave my own journey into the essays, excerpt passages from books that teach us, suggest a few prompts, goad and celebrate.

That's all here, lodged on Udemy. Available with a discount using this code.

finding the channel in the river of life

That channel sign, my friend Debbie Levy said while boating me along her gorgeous Wye River, marks the deepest part of the river. Stray too far from the channel, and you risk a grounding.

Navigational truth, of course. Also a metaphor. There are safe zones and muddy margins. The places you know you ought to be and the diversions that attract you.

I've spent much of this year working on something(s) new. On possibilities that may or may not carry forward. On books others may or may not read. On priorities that are assuredly my priorities, but will they become priorities for others? Can what I hope for become the thing that others hope for, too?

For someone with an obsessive need to somehow know the future, or, at least, to effectively shape it, this decision to leave the known, safe path for the unknown and unsure is (certainly) a danger. This is a new life with new rules and measures. There are, I will be honest, floundering, big-question, what am I doing days.

But here is what saves me: The time I spend with the people I love. The time I spend in the air and breeze. The time I spend with the books I choose to read. The time I spend writing the books I want to write, without wondering what might happen to those pages when I believe they're done.

The deep part of the river is the life itself. The mind at flow-forward ease.

Embrace Complexity/Write It for the Young at Heart (video series)

A month ago, we shared our first video series on the making of memoir, a Udemy offering that can now be found here.

This past week, we filmed a series of ten video essays all relating to the big challenges, themes, and opportunities that present themselves to those writing for the young at heart. These essays reflect the thinking I've done over the past many years on topics ranging from the question, What is excellence? in this category, to the essential truths in all fictions, to the development of authentic voices and complex characters. Some of the pieces are adapted from keynote talks; most of the material is brand new, fashioned from the challenges I've faced as a writer, from the conversations I've had with teen readers and fellow prize jury members, and from my ongoing dialogue with the leading practitioners of YA and MG.

The full suite of videos will be up on Udemy by week's end.

Today I'm sharing this single episode from the series. I'm focused on complexity here—why it is important, and how it is achieved. I hope you'll find the time to watch it through. If you like what you see, perhaps you'll share it with a friend. If you'd like to receive an update when the series goes live, you know where to find me.

(Soon) Headed to the AJC Decatur Book Festival

Three years ago, I was there, at the AJC Decatur Book Festival, one of the happiest book events there ever could be. I arrived alone. I stepped into the hotel lobby and I wasn't anymore. Suddenly I was in the company of Jessica Shoffel (my Jessica Shoffel, I like to say) and Doni Kay, who walked me to the Little Shop of Stories (the epicenter of this event), sat with me over tea, invited me to meet Tomie dePaolo (images of all that here), to have dinner with him later. The next day I took an early morning walk and discovered the tour de force that is Diane Capriola out and about, so we talked. I needed some shoes, so I bought a pair that remain my favorite to this day. A few hours later, I sat beside the very brilliant Stacey D'Erasmo (a writing heroine, truly) and, before a packed house, we talked about memoir and intimacy as if no one else was in sight. I found Nancy Krulik on a stage after that. A long conversation with the smart DJ MacHale was had in the ride back to the airport.

Two days I'll never forget.

Next weekend I return to Decatur, this time to sit on a Terra Elan McVoy moderated panel with writers Ami Allen-Vath and Alexandra Sirowy. The topic will be Aftermath stories in the realm of young-adult books. I'll be talking, specifically, about This Is the Story of You.

Word is that my dear former neighbor, Shirley, will be there in the audience mix. That, perhaps, one of my favorite rediscovered friends of high school, will be there with his literary daughter. I'm looking forward to you, Decatur, and I thank Chronicle Books and Lara Starr for making it possible for me to be there.

My event is here, should you happen to be in town.

Sunday September 4
2:00 PM
Teen Stage
Aftermath
Ami Allen-Vath, Alexandra Sirowy, Terra Elan McVoy
AJC Decatur Book Festival

On finding your memoir in the kitchen: dinner is served

Today on Huffington Post I'm sharing (in words) one of my seven video essays on the art of memoir. Here I'm thinking about those memoirs that begin in the kitchen and about the writers (MFK Fisher, Mary Gordon, Lavinia Greenlaw, Diana Abu-Jaber, and Chang-Rae Lee) who lead the way.

The link is here.

going deeper

There is, in fact, no master plan, but this is what is happening: I'm growing.

No, I'm not referring to the physiological impact of the morning oatmeal cookie (butterscotch!). I'm referring to my spheres of interest, the books I'm reading, the ways I'm paying attention to the news, the bravado I displayed when I buckled down to learn how to throw a clay pot on a wheel (to learn, not to master; hardly master), the expanding repertoire in the kitchen. Hisham Matar's The Return has taught me some of the history, geography, and politics of Libya (and disappeared dissidents). Rebecca Mead has taught me Middlemarch and George Eliot. Katie Roiphe has taught me John Updike, Maurice Sendak, Dylan Thomas, and James Salter (among others). Scott Anderson, with his glorious New York Times Magazine essay, has taught me the antecedents of contemporary Middle East. Viet Thanh Nguyen is teaching me, with his Pulitzer winning The Sympathizer, the Vietnamese experience of war.


The world is complex. The news requires perspective. Life is once. I'm going deeper.

restlessness at summer's end

End-of-summer restlessness. Too much of the politics. Too much of the heat. Too much of the bad-behaving swimmers. Too much, even, of the books that (despite a major early-summer purging) have again piled up around here (she is insatiable, this Beth is, she can't help herself with books, but sometimes, too, the books box her in). Her mind seeks a vacation, a respite from the known—the small house and the home-cooked meals, the familiar routines, the same walk over the same asphalt beneath the same trees, daily.

Saturday. August 20. 7 AM.

What will she do?

Danielle Smith: A PW Star

There are no floating platters larger than these in the world.

And there is no greater star than Danielle Smith, who was just (drum roll, please) included on the list of the PW Star Watch. Nearly 300 entrants, my friends. Forty finalists. Just a handful of agents. And Danielle is one.

I nominated Danielle for this prize months ago, long before I even knew if Wild Blues (and me) would ultimately find a publishing home. I nominated her because I know her soul and her commitment to books and her kindness. These are the words I wrote. I am so happy for Miss Danielle.

<!-- /* Font Definitions */ @font-face {font-family:Cambria; panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:auto; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:3 0 0 0 1 0;} /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Cambria; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} @page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} </style> --> <br /><blockquote class="tr_bq"><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: #134f5c;">Now here’s a young woman you must meet.</span></div><span style="color: #134f5c;"> </span><br /><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><span style="color: #134f5c;"> </span><br /><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: #134f5c;">Trained as an engineer, hailed early on as a major KidLit blogger (that award-winning 200,000 hits-a-month “There’s a Book”), and frequently consulted as a Cybil’s judge, say, or as a board member of the BEA Book Bloggers Advisory, Danielle Smith turned to agenting just a few years ago. At Foreword Literary she sold the sensation, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Snappsy the Alligator (Did Not Ask to Be in This Book). </i>Now, at<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> </i>Red Fox Literary, Danielle is continuing to both create careers and extend them for authors and illustrators of picture books, middle grade novels, and young adult literature. </span></div><span style="color: #134f5c;"> </span><br /><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><span style="color: #134f5c;"> </span><br /><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: #134f5c;">Don’t try to pin her down to a single style or a raging trend. Don’t build, for her, a box. Don’t be ashamed to name your dreams. Don’t come to her mid-career (as I have) worried that your mid-career is maybe, perhaps, oh no, more like your end-of-career. </span></div><span style="color: #134f5c;"> </span><br /><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: #134f5c;"><br />Because Danielle Smith has a plan for you. And it won’t be the well-trod one. </span></div><span style="color: #134f5c;"> </span><br /><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><span style="color: #134f5c;"> </span><br /><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: #134f5c;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">How about this,</i>she’ll say, in the twinkle of an email.</span></div><span style="color: #134f5c;"> </span><br /><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><span style="color: #134f5c;"> </span><br /><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: #134f5c;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">We have momentum,</i>she’ll say. </span></div><span style="color: #134f5c;"> </span><br /><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><span style="color: #134f5c;"> </span><br /><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: #134f5c;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Optimism fuels the goodness in my life,</i> she’ll say.</span></div><span style="color: #134f5c;"> </span><br /><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: #134f5c;"><br />And she’ll be right. About all of it.</span></div><span style="color: #134f5c;"> </span><br /><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><span style="color: #134f5c;"> </span><br /><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: #134f5c;">Danielle is innovative. She’s connected. She’s thoughtful. She reads, she advocates, she suggests. Agents (great ones) do all of those things, but Danielle further distinguishes herself by her approach—a philosophy that puts kindness first.</span></div><span style="color: #134f5c;"> </span><br /><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><span style="color: #134f5c;"> </span><br /><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: #134f5c;">Kindness.</span></div><span style="color: #134f5c;"> </span><br /><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><span style="color: #134f5c;"> </span><br /><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: #134f5c;">Imagine.</span></div><span style="color: #134f5c;"> </span><br /><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><span style="color: #134f5c;"> </span><br /><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: #134f5c;">It’s tough out there in the publishing world. It’s hustle and razzle dazzle. It’s solar blast and fizzle. It’s the hot new thing and the marketing slogan. Danielle somehow quietly stands above the fray. She sees what must be done and she does it—with integrity, with an open heart, with a deep desire to populate the world with good books.</span></div><span style="color: #134f5c;"> </span><br /><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><span style="color: #134f5c;"> </span><br /><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: #134f5c;">By taking on books and authors she genuinely believes in, by celebrating their victories all along the way, by practicing the art of gratitude, by caring deeply about the power of stories, by bringing her whole self (and indeed, her two adorable kids, her test readers) to the task, Danielle has the capacity to restore one’s faith in the publishing business.</span></div><span style="color: #134f5c;"> </span><br /><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><span style="color: #134f5c;"> </span><br /><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: #134f5c;">She has certainly restored mine.</span></div><span style="color: #134f5c;"> </span><br /><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><span style="color: #134f5c;"> </span><br /><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: #134f5c;">Danielle Smith is a rising star. That <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Snappsy</i>, her first sold book, has been featured almost anywhere a book can be featured, gained a gigantic fan base, and started a movement. Her line-up of recently sold books wouldn’t fit on this page. Her connections to TV, movies, and foreign rights surprise even those who know how excellent she is.</span></div><span style="color: #134f5c;"> </span><br /><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><span style="color: #134f5c;"> </span><br /><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: #134f5c;">She’s no wheeler-dealer, this Danielle Smith.</span></div><span style="color: #134f5c;"> </span><br /><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><span style="color: #134f5c;"> </span><br /><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: #134f5c;">She’s something more. Proof that excellence can also be the product of humanity, dignity, humor, and love.</span></div><span style="color: #134f5c;"> </span><br /><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><span style="color: #134f5c;"> </span></blockquote><br /><br /><div class="feedflare">
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