See You Soon #5: Versions
Should you destroy the evidence, or look at it more closely? And should the ghost of Georgia O'Keefe paint my dog as a landscape?
Hello!
A quick note: Trying a thing I don’t usually do with this version of my newsletter, which is previewing my paid newsletter, which means in a few paragraphs you’ll hit a paywall if you’re not already a paying subscriber. I realized my subscribers have grown a fair amount since I went paid and that some of you may not know this version—which is largely about the way I engage with the visual as part of my practice, and which I think of as Talk Soon’s cool and artsy older sister—exists? Or, maybe, maybe, maybe!!! you have long been a free subscriber and think perhaps reading the rest of this is worth throwing a little cash behind? Maybe you are the person who won a literal billion dollars at Powerball recently and are feeling flush?
Since the one-year anniversary of going paid is coming up, I’ll say two three things:
I really really appreciate those of you who have subscribed with dollars; it has helped me take on less freelance work and devote myself more fully to my novel. When you support this newsletter financially—at whatever amount—you’re helping me do my work with more ease.
I often want to buy paid subscriptions myself for writers’ newsletters and simply cannot put my financial resources there, and so I never! ever! hold remaining a free subscriber against you and most of my content will remain free. I think of the newsletter as a place to keep connected to readers in the in-between books times and to be myself as a writer and thinker (sometimes aimless and weird and obsessed by shiny things like a forest imp), outside of the traditional publishing system. When you support this newsletter by subscribing you’re supporting me as a writer, and I really do feel each and every one of you rooting for me in that way.
I’ve made small changes to the Founding Level benefits. The creative coaching option still exists, but is now longer, at 45 minutes each. Reminder that this is not only for writers and can be given as a gift to anyone over 18! And the second option if that doesn’t appeal is a mystery package from me. I promise it’s a good mystery.
Okay, that wasn’t quick. I suspect you already knew that would be the case.
Now, onto it!
I got some film back from the lab not too long ago, rolls from last summer through the spring. I rarely remember what’s in my rolls, as I tend to wait till a few are full till I send them in. In the past year I took lots of photos of buildings, apparently.
I try so hard not to be precious about film. These shots, for instance, were taken on expired film, FUJI Superia X-Tra 400, that I pulled1 just because. Some of the photos in the roll were double exposed, which I think was because the film was expired, maybe? It was fun to see my friend appear as the ghost of herself in another photo of her. I think one of the rolls might have been Kodak Portra. I can’t even remember. I did warn you at the beginning of things that I’m not going to be technical with you. It just doesn’t interest me in this medium. Again, not precious.
Most importantly, my rule is always if I think something might be a decent shot, if it catches my eye, I take it. This practice helps me shake off my tendency to second-guess myself, and in the end a solid 50% of the shots are things I’m happy to have taken. The other ones range from fine to whoops.
This ratio feels good. It also feels honest, because making any art is inherently about accepting imperfection, about trying and trying again without a hyper-specific be-all-end-all final product, which can only end in disappointment. Of course satisfaction is possible, but perfection? Not so much. The finish line shifts; work should evolve as you make it, should surprise even the maker at the end. When work isn’t curious in any medium, when it has a foregone conclusion, it shows. You know it when you see it, or read it, or watch it. This kind of work has an insistence on neatness, a fear of what could be considered mistakes. It’s never letting the shakiness of a human hand show whether that’s a literal dip in what should be straight line (get up close to one of Agnes Martin’s grids and see this), or not presenting the answers to the work’s questions, or, in the worst case scenario, not even having any questions.
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