cbertsch: This is me, reflected in my daughter's eye. (Default)
( Aug. 29th, 2012 09:57 am)
As I'll explain in a subsequent entry, I've been trying to reconnect with some of the writing I've published and, with it, a part of myself I have had a tendency to keep boxed up. To that end, I am going to be revisiting various pieces here. The first is "After the Storm", written last year for my latest venture Souciant. It's one I find especially difficult to read now, since it reflects the end of a period in which I opened up about my life with decidedly mixed results.

But the subject, driving through the territory ravaged by Hurricane Katrina at a time of great stress in my personal life, is too topical right now, as Hurricane Isaac bears down on New Orleans, for me to ignore. There's a ton I could say about this piece, but it would probably be more sensible to let it speak for itself. The photographs -- and their captions -- are an important part of it, though, so I do want to draw attention to them. This one is probably my favorite, which makes it a shame that its selection as the WordPress "featured image" shrinks it so much in the piece itself:

Something about those twisted nails brings home the force of the storm and, on a metaphoric note, how hard it is to maintain attachments amid so much turmoil.

Like many of my longer pieces, this one takes detours that may seem rather strange at first. As a devoted fan of W.G. Sebald's work, I love the effect that dislocations can conjure. In this instance, though, the conceptual link between my reflections on traveling through a post-Katrina landscape in 2010 and my trip to East Berlin in 1987 is pretty clear, if you stop to think about it for a moment:
I was as intrigued as the other Western students by the strange “mirror world” we encountered there. But I also felt sheepish that my companions were mocking the East for its ugly goods and unattractive people. Whether it was because of my nascent political sympathies or just the realization that I had grown up wearing not-quite-good-enough brands myself, I was more inclined to note the ways that Communist everyday life was like my own than to remark its eccentricities.

That’s why I soon left the group I’d crossed over with to strike out on my own, camera and tripod in tow. Soon, I found a much more compelling sight than imitation 501s or Eastern Bloc rock albums. Unlike every West German city I’d visited, Communist Berlin was still studded with rubble from the war. While some tourist attractions had been restored, much of the central city looked like a set from a Hollywood movie about the Berlin Airlift. I rapidly overcame my fear of taking photographs outside of tourist attractions and began trying to capture my impressions of a life interrupted.

Finding ruins there didn’t require the complicated mental exercise of overlaying post-bombing photographs over a contemporary view of the cityscape. Far from having been erased, visible reminders of the destruction were so prominent in East Berlin that they seemed like a point of pride, a strange modern-day analogy to the splendors of Ancient Rome. And that comforted me somehow.

So did the Berlin Wall. I loved its brightly colored Western side, a powerful testament to freedom of expression. But I also took solace in the Wall’s less attractive aspects. The void presided over by the watchtowers in the East, the way it looked like a scar bisecting the city from above, the stark contrast between the buildings on its two sides: all were powerful reminders that history can’t be wished away.
That theme, of not wanting the evidence of historical trauma to be hidden away, is one I've consistently articulated since I was a teenager. And, come to think of it, it jibes quite nicely with the move to revisit this piece now.
I'm in the process of trying to reestablish a connection to my older writing. All too often in recent years, I've closed the door on a piece shortly after its publication, as if the mere fact of its being out there in the world called its worthiness into question. The reasons for this debilitating attitude towards my own work are complex, but I'm making my best effort to sort through them in the hopes of feeling less fragmented.

People generally think of me as someone who spends too much time looking into the past, the prisoner of a melancholy relation to others and myself. Certainly, when it comes to my tendency to accumulate more stuff than I have the time to manage efficiently, this tendency comes to the fore. But this backward-glancing mode of existence is largely confined to material that I regard as still raw, not yet fully realized.

My published writing, on the other hand, has what I regard as the deathly aura of the finished product, something that is played out and therefore not available as an energy source to move me forward. The strange thing, though, is that this conviction directly contradicts the way I feel about other people's work. As a cultural critic, I am tuned into the way that old texts are able to become new. So why has it been so hard to grant myself the license I take for granted in others?

That's a question that extends beyond the scope of this topic. Indeed, it's probably the most crucial question I can ask of myself, the one that I have to at least attempt to answer if I am going to have a chance to set goals, as I discussed in a recent post, and achieve something meaningful in their pursuit. My hope is to be able to do some of that work here, among friends as it were. Rather than try to take on the full extent of the task at one time, though, my plan is to break it down into parts that can be more easily managed.

One component I have in mind, to return to the beginning of this post, is a revisiting of work that I'd consigned to my mental trash bin. Just now I was reviewing some of the piece I wrote only a few years ago and was surprised to find how many I'd completely repressed. Despite the fact that neither my interests or my writing have changed much in the interim, I had lost all connection with these pieces. In some cases, this has led me to "reinvent the wheel" when covering related subject matter, an exercise that is even more wasteful than my proclivity for getting bogged down in sorting projects.

Yes, there is something self-indulgent about such an enterprise. It makes me squirm a but to contemplate. But I also know that it will only work if the project is public to a degree. I have to share it with others -- with you -- for it to bring about the changes I'm hoping to achieve. So I will just have to trust in your patience. If one of the pieces I bring to your attention catches your fancy, I would love to hear from you about it. In the end, though, merely having you here as a sort of "passive listener" will mean a lot to me.

vvvv
.

Profile

cbertsch: This is me, reflected in my daughter's eye. (Default)
cbertsch

Syndicate

RSS Atom

Most Popular Tags

Powered by Dreamwidth Studios

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags