Safety Man

I went and saw Dan Chaon read from his novel You Remind Me of Me last night. I love it when an event takes you by surprise. I should have known it would, because I was resisting it. Thinking, I don't have time, I should be doing more artwork for the calendar, etc. etc. Rico was introducing him, and spoke highly of his work, so I said, what the hell. I was stunned by his writing. Riveted. His descriptions are deliciously visual, and the loneliness he describes is not bleak or tired. It's a presence in itself, like the two characters of the boy and the dog.
He lives in Ohio. Why is Ohio romantic to everyone else but people who live in Ohio? I don't know why, but I have this romance with Ohio--the firelflies and thick green trees; the river that devides it from Kentucky.

Before I went to see him read, I started a portrait for the Great Gals Calendar of Susan Sontag. She has an amazing face--ragged, strong, and dark. Drawing lately centers me more than anything. It's like a practice of being still and watching. I always forget this until I start a new picture. It stops my mind and teaches me to really look.

When I was driving home from the reading, my head was on the ego trip again--that old dragon was shoving at me, spinning tales of empty glory. I thought of the Susan Sontag picture, and I remembered a time when drawing had become hard for me, but my songwriting was taking off. I mourned and struggled over the loss of that easy ability of drawing, and ignored the songs that were coming to me easily, and fluidly. It was a good reminder that I go through periods of struggle with the mediums, but one always seems to dominate. I yearn for the one that is unavailable, while there is an obvious flourishing of another. Why do I drive myself nuts?

This is the truth: In the 3 years I have been struggling with songwriting, I've released a CD, produced 3 calendars, and a completed a first draft of a novel. Why am I so bound and determined to believe that I am wasting away? Why can't I trust that things come around again?

I went home and read the first story in Chaon's collection Among the Missing. It's called 'Safety Man' and it's both funny and tragic. The main character's mother says, "...I'm very comfortable with doubt, and I thought you'd be the same way, because you're my child. But you're not that way at all!"
Sandi doesn't know what to say to her. "Comfortable with doubt?" What does that mean?

I looked at the Sonatag picture. I am amazed by the things I still cannot see.