Going without a title
and the passion for moving forward (explorations in art and writing practice and what draws the practitioner in)
There’s this man, and he feels pulled.
He watches the Indianapolis 500 car race, and he wants to buy an old car, like a ‘66 Corvette Stingray, learn in-depth all about mechanical engineering, and in light speed, be able to repair said car whenever needed.
The electric ending of this year’s Indianapolis 500:
But then, he’s like, “I don’t just want to own old cars and repair them. That’d be cool, but I want to do many things.”
He’s currently writing an erotic novel, and he imagines himself as a well-accomplished, critically acclaimed erotic novelist. The novel would not only excite pleasure in its readers but would intellectually engage and ask questions, a sleazy piece of smut that, at the same time, would be a literary, poetic achievement. He’s three chapters in, been writing it for a year.
Here’s the beginning of the first chapter:
Currently, he’s writing three chapbooks and an artist’s book/collage journal that he’s designed and hand-bound. Working on these four books, he thinks of himself as an artist’s book artist tapping into physical material art objects, encouraging himself and others to gravitate to the tangible, to the in-person experience of art, writing, and reading. Here’s where he’s at with his current artist’s book:
He could make a career out of making artist’s books.
He could make a career out of writing erotic novels.
He could make a career out of repairing old cars (though he’s less certain about this one).
He could make a career out of mending, up-cycling, and customizing clothing.
He’s been customizing a denim jacket for the past six months, sewing patches of denim together, replacing the lapel, cuffs, and hem with patchworks of different colored denim. He had customized another denim jacket before this one, has mended pants adding vibrant stitching over holes and tears, and customized a bag and an apron. He could engage in this practice more for commission for other people. He could speed up the work, and he would have himself a steady business. He could see people praising the clothing repair work he does. The denim jacket just needs a few finishes:
Yet, he’s not interested in mostly doing clothing repair/customization.
He’s not interested in mostly writing erotic novels.
He’s not interested in mostly repairing old cars and driving them.
He’s not interested in mostly creating artist’s books and selling them/having them in galleries/museums.
When something strikes his curiosity/interest, he’s pulled. His curiosity and interest builds. He researches and reads about the area of interest.
He recommends the book by Kate Sekules titled Mend!.:
He recommends a sleazy literary novel by Jean Genet titled Our Lady of the Flowers.:
He recommends this book about artist’s books Masters: Book Arts.
But yeah, when he’s interested in something, particularly something that he was interested in as a child (as a kid, he hung car posters on his bedroom walls), that something grabs him. His curiosity grows. Fantastical narratives build. What if he was driving a cool classic car down Lake Shore Drive in Chicago? Wind from Lake Michigan blows in through open windows. The engine’s roar captures the attention of beachgoers. He gears up, and through the seat, feels the chassis rumble. From the rush of flying fast and free, he smiles.
Although with that said from the rush of wearing clothes he’s made, he smiles. He smiles when he’s in deep focus when writing creatively. He finds joy and happiness in his collage projects.
If he pursued every area he had an interest with the intense tenacity he’s capable of, he wouldn’t be able to eat or sleep.
Yet, if he pursued just one interest and made that his entire career, he wouldn’t be happy. He’s someone who’s happiest going from one thing to another then back to that other thing — having a job(s)/a career that ventures down different avenues and incorporates different threads.
At times he has difficulty engaging in different avenues of work though. The announcers of the Indy 500 praise the drivers; a stir originates in his body that urges him to be like them. Instagram feeds him a post of someone utilizing a DIY method to transfer images from comics onto fabric, and a similar stir festers. That video:
https://www.instagram.com/reel/DXiUCJ8AFMX/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link&igsh=MzRlODBiNWFlZA==
Yes, he can make custom T-shirts, fully immerse himself into DIY up-cycling and clothing repair, and he could be a clothes-mender and tailor. After all, he needs to have a designated job title, right?
Do humans need designated job titles?
What if we didn’t have designated job titles? What would the world look like?
What if we gravitated toward what we truly want/need to do and without having job titles?
I don’t want to own a car (right now at least) nor do I need to. I don’t want to repair cars (even though classic cars and how they operate has infatuated me since I was a kid).
What is that feeling in my body that feels true to me and is less influenced by external stimuli? That’s that super strong yes, that passion that energizes my muscles and causes my bones and limbs to move.
My bones and limbs move toward self-care, the people in my life, and my current art and writing projects.
But . . . a man can still dream about his dream-car.