November 22, 1963
by Steven McCabe
I used excerpts from my mother’s journal(s) in some of the poetry. The Super 8 footage is from Kashmir & Europe in the 1960s courtesy T. Nanavati. I remember watching the family black and white television the night of the Kennedy assassination with my mother. The haunting never left me. The Beatles had not yet arrived. The war in Vietnam, ironically enough, was just about to kick in high gear. My father spent the weekend deer hunting. Years later, reading Robert Bly’s Iron John, this hit me like a sledgehammer. Although I view the event through a political prism I choose to deal with it in the context of mythic time.
Director: Steven McCabe
Director of Photography: Eric Gerard
Editor: Cliff Caines
Chanting: Sandra Phillips
Electronic/ambient music: DreamSTATE
Narration: Lynn Harrigan & Tanya Nanavati
Performers: Preethi Gopinath/Tanya Nanavati/Nicole Pillar/Paula Skimin
Poetry: Steven McCabe
Sound & online: Konrad Skręta
poemimage 
This is the thing about making art, including something simple like writing in a blog. One has to bear the incomprehension of the audience, the stories they will see in it you never intended, the things they miss that trumpet for you.
Please excuse the brutishness of whatever I say 🙂
I’m struck by a lot of things here. That the power of the veil is indomitable. That you are a poet of memory. That I’m moved by the thought of you years later recalling your father was hunting that weekend.
Also that Camus really got the dilemma of communication:
“If, by some chance, one of us tried to unburden himself or to say something about his feelings, the reply he got, whatever it might be, usually wounded him. And then it dawned on him that he and the man with him weren’t talking about the same thing. For while he himself spoke from the depths of long days of brooding upon his personal distress, and the image he had tried to impart had been slowly shaped and proved in the fires of passion and regret, this meant nothing to the man to whom he was speaking, who pictured a conventional emotion, a grief that is traded on the market-place, mass-produced. Whether friendly or hostile, the reply always missed fire, and the attempt to communicate had to be given up. This was true of those at least for whom silence was unbearable, and since the others could not find the truly expressive word, they resigned themselves to using the current coin of language, the commonplaces of plain narrative, of anecdote, and of their daily prayer. So in these cases, too, even the sincerest grief had to make do with the set phrases of ordinary conversation.”
Thank you Nel for this response. I really want to comment on the idea of ‘audience’ and ‘communication’ and it takes a bit of background story to do so.
But first a couple of responses: ‘The power of the veil is indomitable.’ – Very thought provoking. I will consider this.
Yes, the loss I explored in this video poem covers three areas: My family (mother in particular), Society (America’s violent loss of the presidency and subsequent ‘developments’), and Nature: An unspoken theme but through textures I wanted to connect with ‘Mother Earth’ and our loss of sacred bond.
This is a three part project. First was a book published in 1995 called ‘Wyatt Earp in Dallas: 1963.’ A long, speculative, narrative poem morphing identities, times, and myths of the old west with early 1960s in America. Second was a mixed media exhibition in 2003, reflecting the text and commemorating the 40th anniversary of the assassination with a reading/performance collaborating with a guitarist. Then this film (2009) which moved the ‘concerns’ into a more textural feeling involving emotions, nature, and myth. Perhaps more obscurantist. And yet specifically aimed.
In 2011 I had an exhibition of ink drawings (& video) called ‘A Cathartic Document.’ An artist friend said to me, ‘I think you are drawing from your DNA. I’m not sure you ‘actually’ know what you are doing.’ I loved her visceral and insightful insight about where the work was coming from. I have since given this quite a bit of thought and trace the impetus back through my DNA (and all DNA) to what I think is the ‘source’ of ‘doing art.’
I wonder if Camus (as brilliant and revelatory as his arguments are) is perhaps operating from the 20th century ‘creator as solitary figure’ model. Not that anything he says is untrue. It seems that as the numbers of artists have exponentially grown so to has the audience involved in thoughts about creativity and applying creativity to their field of investigation. So now there is very little reason for one to feel isolated or solitary in their efforts. There are so many visually literate people active in the world that one can find connections. Poor Vincent Van Gogh. If only he had lived today. The ‘Arles Blog.’
Yes if one creates a difficult work then unless one has been championed by media critics one does face a more ‘under the radar’ type of societal response. Not in terms of quality of response but in terms of ‘numbers.’ And one realizes it comes with the territory for most artists. Not all but most.
And on the other hand to confirm the Camus quote above I’ll share an anecdote. I would take the dog to the dog park filled with young, corporate professionals doing the same. Young lady asked what I did and replied, ‘Oh my boyfriend is a writer too.’ And told me he wrote headlines (for some equivalent of the MSN homepage). The Dylan line ‘Is everything as hollow as it seems…’ is not inadmissible evidence.
In the end it’s all about energy. Generating good energy with work that is psychologically honest and technically exhaustive. It finds a home in its doing. Its being is its doing. It’s doing is its connection to being.
Thank you for stimulating my thoughts on this matter. I very much appreciate this dialogue with you (and Camus).
Thanks for elaborating generously on your intention. I particularly like your words about the work being psychologically honest and technically exhaustive. On the days when something I write or say sinks without trace (from myself) so there is absolutely no residue, when the perfect experience of completion is there, that for me is success.
The dog lady is an example of what Camus is describing. He scorned any kind of heroics or self-aggrandisement so I think he would be leery of the “creator as solitary figure” trope.
The veil of separation, so thin, what side are we looking out from.
This (question) image is going to stay with me in the centre of my mind as I ponder. And ponder some more. Thank you mn.
An enthralling experience.
Thanks for letting me see the universe through your eyes as one melancholic dance of loss memories.
Thank you marcelo for your viewing yes and poetic description.
Reblogged this on symbolreader and commented:
“The illumination of the black veil.”
I love how this takes blogging to a different dimension.
Thank you Monica for reblogging this and your thought on the dimensionality of the work. Looking at the line you quote about the veil I look at it anew.
Thank you all (!!!) for your comments and thoughts. Your involvement with this work adds a new dimension to its expression.
I watched this days ago, and haven’t been able to find the words. I still can’t, but it’s stunning – languid, poetic, bullishly melancholy – I don’t know but it’s great art.
Thank you for investing time in this Richard. I will contemplate your impressions and love the phrase ‘bullishly melancholy.’ Like ‘slow food’ this was ‘slow art.’