Hello,
This week I discovered Mary Bishop’s artwork at Wellcome Collection’s In Plain Sight exhibition. I learned about her 30-year stint at Netherne, a mental hospital in Surrey (‘admitted in 1946 after a breakdown attributed to responsibilities assumed during the Second World War’). Her name kept coming up as an Adamson artist and her work part of Adamson Collection. This then led me discovering artwork by other artists at the hospital who also took part in art therapy with artist Edward Adamson. The Mary Bishop artworks I saw are pictured below.
I was pinned down by these three pieces, resembling a child’s work but filled with poignancy. I ended up staying with them for a long time. This morning I came across another piece of hers which she’s captioned ‘I would like a doctor I could trust’. I hope she eventually found such a doctor. She died a year before I was born.
Last Friday I turned 32. Due to a mixture of illness, rail strike and impending writing deadline I didn’t do anything to mark the occasion, but I’ve been thinking a lot about this number. When I was a child I had asked my mother her age and she told me she was 32. The number became magical to me and decided that when I’m 32 I will live a life just like my mother’s. Now that I’ve turned 32 I can’t imagine a life more different to the one I had assumed would be mine. I’ve been reflecting on this difference and how not living the life I thought would be mine also needs to be grieved, even though I actively fought to not have it. There’s something haunting in the ‘what could have been’ line of thought that is unavoidable, especially around birthdays.
A couple of days ago I came across this excellent profile of NYTimes book reviewer Anatole Broyard. Throughout the piece I thought about the price we pay when we pretend to be someone we aren’t. Broyard didn’t want to be known as a Black writer, he wanted to be known simply as a writer. His peers acknowledge his brilliance but the great novel never came. He wrote reviews and he published memoirs but the fiction he was expected to write, the thing he wanted to write most in his life simply refused to exist. He took time off work, he tried different things to fight his block. He went to several analysts and it was understood that he is blocked because he is denying a major truth about his life. But the fear of being seen as Black by others ultimately won over his desire to be true to himself.
For my draft I’m thinking about fears that stop us from living our true lives and the backlash that descends on us when we take those first tentative steps towards being true to ourselves. What is stopping us from pursuing happiness? Why have we convinced ourselves that the hardest option is always the right choice? How often do we let our fear win over our truth? And what is life if not a series of battles between our fears and our truth?
Our fears might win from time to time but my hope for us is that when it matters the most our true selves will come through for us. I hope for this even though I know there are consequences to our truth winning over our fear, that there is a reason why our fears exist in the first place and these wins can lead to backlash that is painful and sometimes difficult to survive. In such cases, I hope for us strength to survive and a steady source of solace that makes this fight bearable. I hope for us community that uplifts and holds us close and I hope for us a chance to return the favour and to uplift others in their fight for their truth.
I’m finding solace in films at the moment. I loved I Wish by Hirokazu Koreeda a story about two brothers separated due to their parents’ divorce. The film follows their attempts at remaining brothers despite the sudden long distance nature of their relationship. I was moved by the number of adults in their lives who showed kindness to them and it made me decide that I too want to be an adult who shows unconditional kindness to the children in my life.
I’m halfway through Force Majeure by Ruben Östlund. I love how honestly humans are portrayed in his films. I came across Östlund’s work after watching Triangle of Sadness in the cinema in November. I wasn’t sure what to make of that film. I also watched The Square and again, not sure if I fully understood it. But they must be good films because they have not left me all these months later.
On a lighter note, more recently I went to the cinema to watch Pathaan and it brought me so much joy. I tend to avoid such films but I made an exception for Shahrukh Khan and I came away thinking about the kind of art I consume and if my desire for ‘good writing’ is getting in the way of consuming ‘fun’ art (Why can’t I have both?). Anyway, from Pathaan I learned about the importance of conviction in storytelling.
I take regular breaks from social media and as a birthday gift to myself I deactivated Instagram in late January and every time I do this I’m struck all over again by how much being online shapes my mind space. I take breaks from it whenever I’ve a deadline so I can focus on my writing but it got me thinking about how different my life and my relationship to myself would be if I didn’t allow so many external voices into my mind as a normal, regular thing. The most notable difference is my relationship with my body (I’m happier in it when I’m away from social media) and the amount of money I spend (a lot less when I’m away). A low level discontentment seeps in whenever I’m online and this feeling is then monetized. I end up buying clothes, skin care, candles, books and whatnot. Instead of working on improving myself I outsource the work to the ever ready capitalist system. It feels unfair that not only do we have to battle our many fears to come closer to our truths but that we have to fight factions that actively benefit from our fears and consciously design software to ensure that our fears never leave us. Sigh.
Since November my reading has exclusively been submissions for a book prize I’m judging and it will continue to be so until end of March. This means I can’t share everything I’ve been reading but here are some other excellent books (outside of the submissions) I read since my last letter to you:
Super-Infinite: The Transformations of John Donne by Katherine Rundell is packed with excellent life lessons and brilliant storytelling.
Lucy by The Sea by Elizabeth Strout is so full of real life and real people, it was a balm to my heart.
Either/Or by Elif Batuman is easily one of my favourite books. So intelligent, self-aware and funny. I love how Batuman thinks about life and how she crystallize these thoughts in her fiction. I also enjoy listening to her speak about her writing and her occasional pieces in the New Yorker.
Dust Sucker by Jen Calleja is a poem that’s stayed with me. Again, it’s a beautiful rendering of real life. I will be carrying vivid images from this poem for a long time to come.
Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow by Gabrielle Zevin was the perfect novel. It reminded me of A Little Life in some places but felt more humane and not falling into the trauma plot trap.
Alison by Lizzy Stewart is a graphic novel following the life of an artist. It reminded me of Celia Paul’s Self-Portrait, excellent books both.
I hope February is kind to you.
Best,
Zeba
I think I needed to read this today! Thank you Zeba. KCx
Love those pictures!