Tag Archives: process

Because the Processes of Both Art and Living Are Filled with a Multitude of Disturbances and Other Possibilities

Photograph by Jose Padua
Sometimes, like during the past few months when I’ve had plenty of paying work, I wonder how things would be if I just focused on that. If I tried to take on as much of the web work and editing as I can, and stopped writing all these poems, essays, and stories that don’t pay right away and much of time don’t ever pay anything, at least as far as money goes.

Soon after we moved to Front Royal, I began doing at least several hours of my own work every day. That doesn’t mean I’m at my desk or on the computer the entire time. Doing my own writing involves getting up to make a snack, going to the grocery store, taking the kids to school, picking them up from school, listening to my daughter Maggie play a Thelonious Monk song on the piano, building some Frank Lloyd Wright style house with my son Julien using stray Lego blocks, watching the evening news with my wife Heather when she gets home from the office. It’s a process that’s full of interruptions and for me, without the interruptions, there would be no process.

I recently read an essay by the poet Mary Oliver in which she maintained that she is “heedless of social obligations” and that her “loyalty is to the inner vision, whenever and howsoever it may arrive. If I have a meeting with you at three o’clock, rejoice if I am late.” That’s all fine, I suppose. I’m oblivious in my own ways, too, socially awkward in even more ways, and unable to focus on things and people who don’t intrigue me. Again, that’s all fine but then she says, “There is no other way work of artistic worth can be done.” To which my reaction is a big Fuck You.

Frankly, any artist who tells you there’s only one way to make art is an asshole. This isn’t to say there aren’t a lot of great artists who are assholes—as well as some lesser ones. I know that I’m an asshole in my own way, just not that way. If your way of making art requires you shut out the world, fine. If going off to a writers colony will help you get that novel or book of poems done, fine. Me, I’d go crazy being in a place surrounded by nothing but other dedicated writers and artists. But that’s just my process. That’s why I’ve never considered going to a writers colony or retreat to get more work done, because I know that my process would mess with other people’s processes. And that peace and quiet would be no help whatsoever in getting my work done.

I’ve been keeping up this process of interruptions for nearly ten years now. Before this period though, the interruption went on for a rather long time, because in the eight years before we moved to Front Royal I didn’t write much of anything. Lately, too, there have been days when I haven’t written a damn thing—and, as with those eight years—I felt fine. Which had me wondering.

Then today, with Maggie and Julien back home after school, Julien was playing in the living room when he noticed a book on the table next to the sofa. “Can I look at this?” he asked.

“Sure,” I told him, and he picked it up. What he was now holding was Puñeta: Political Pilipinx Poetry, a small anthology edited by the formidable poet Eileen Tabios that included two of my poems, “Headhunters” and “Seven and Seven Is.”

Julien looked at it for a minute, then looked at me and said, “Great writing, Dad!” He hadn’t really read the poems, of course, but even so, it was the best compliment of the day. And, somehow, he remembered that I was in it—or at any rate, what he was able to read was my name on the cover and inside the book.

“Thanks, Julien!” I said. That’s when I remembered that we are kickers of stupid things, which comes from the punk song Julien improvised on New Year’s Eve last year. It goes, “I’m the kicker of stupid things, I’m the kicker of stupid things…” And on and on like that. It’s plain, simple, and to the point—and what it means is that he, Heather, Maggie, and I do not quit. It means Heather will keep working on her next book while attempting to make change in the physical world, Maggie will learn to play Chopin like Yuja Wang or to paint like Frida Kahlo before moving on to do work that is entirely her own, Julien will continue to be a creator of fierce ideas and wild progressions, and I will continue with my process, welcoming all interruptions, whether long, short, or somewhere in-between.

-Jose Padua

Photograph by Jose Padua

Nine or Ten Things I’ve Learned About the Process

Photograph by Jose Padua
You can’t be more avant garde than to tear down
the hierarchy of those who seek to limit you.
Playing “The Revolution Will Not Be Televised”
full blast from my mini-van tends to remind the
people flying Confederate flags from the back of
their pickup trucks that Newton’s Third Law maintains
that for every action there is an equal and opposite
reaction. Even though you can catch more flies with
honey it’s better not to waste your time catching flies
and instead get rid of whatever brought the flies here
in the first place. Pretending that Jimi Hendrix is alive
can help you get through the roughest patches but most
of the time you’ll get farthest by thinking about the people
who hinder you and pretending that they’re dead. Loving
everything works just as well as hating everything but
you’ll have a better time if you love everything despite
the embarrassment you feel in times of deep reflection
when you look back at all the things you loved and ask
yourself, “Well, how stupid was that?” Give the things
that help you a name and give the things that hurt you
a number, that way the things that help you will feel
like old friends while the things that hurt will feel
like obscure statistics compiled by full-time employees
lost within the bowels of the cultural bureaucracy, which
means that no one really gives a fuck about them nor
should you. Remember that just like professional wrestling,
everything is fixed, the only way we can change direction
is through the choreography, which means that dancing is
a direct route toward reaching our objectives, even when
the only thing dancing on pointe is an idea in our heads.
Remember your power chords, play your stride piano
because these are the sounds of the people but be ready
to take the music back out to the ozone because this is how
they learn to fly. Pay homage to and remember the past
but remember that we’ve recently discovered that
what happens in the future can sometimes affect what
happens in the past because time and physics are two
things you must fuck with very carefully if at all. And
be silent, oh my sadness, as we move farther and farther
from the planet, and our troubles themselves begin to weep.
Let us meditate on these flowers and the task that lies ahead.

-Jose Padua

Photograph by Jose Padua