Tag: art

My Mandala Journey

My Mandala Journey

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When someone says to you ‘I’ve been looking for a writer’, you might be about to begin an intriguing journey. For me that journey took me into the heart of the mandala. My exploration was intriguing and deeply moving. Ultimately, it led to a beautiful book of which I’m very proud. It also led to an enduring friendship.

A Lucky Outing

A number of years ago I decided to follow the Dandenong Ranges Open Studios trail. Once a year, artists throughout the hills to the east of Melbourne open up their secret, sacred studio spaces. They invite errant adventurers to dive deep into creativity and imagination. For me this adventure opened the door to exploring the power of mandala art.

Karen created this mandala to celebrate our collaboration

Mandala Magic

Karen Scott (www.mandalamagic.com.au) had her Mandala Magic studio open that day. Karen has painted mandalas for over 30 years. Her deep exploration of these sacred circles has taken her all over the world. Along the way she has met the Dalai Lama and conducted mandala-themed tours in Asia and Europe. She has studied Jungian psychology, Buddhism and sacred mysticism.Suffice it to say, Karen is very in tune with her intuition. Luckily for me, the day I wandered into her studio, something prompted her to say ‘I’ve been looking for a writer’.

At that stage I wasn’t a published author, only an aspiring one with dreams. Maybe, as I fell into the stunning mandalas at Karen’s studio, my dream resonated with hers. Karen wanted to write a book encapsulating her wisdom, and her experience with this beautiful art form. Something told her I was the person to write it with her.

Beginning the Journey

Our book journey began with a number of long conversations. Karen told me about her personal mandala story, beginning with the first mandala she created as a teenager, before she even knew what they were. This process had a profound impact on her at a difficult time in her life, opening her eyes to the magic of mandalas. Creating and sharing mandalas became her life mission.

Karen also spoke about her experiences travelling the world learning about mandalas and the spiritual traditions they sit alongside. The depth of knowledge and wisdom she holds is extraordinary. She invited me to take part in a mandala workshop and I created my first ever mandala (below…).

Hearing Mandala Stories

For the next stage, Karen introduced me to her students. Karen has taught hundreds of people how to make personal mandalas. During a series of interviews, I was privileged to hear extraordinary stories of transformation and discovery. I learned about the magic of mandalas through these stories. Time and time again people spoke about how the mandala experience was a catalyst for change when they were struggling with life’s difficulties. Creating a mandala truly offers a meditative journey towards recovering your authentic self. These stories make fascinating reading.

Bringing it All Together

Once all the research was complete, the writing and editing process began. Karen selected many beautiful mandalas to illustrate the magical stories. Some were her own. Others were the powerful images created by her students. I taught myself In Design specifically to bring words and pictures together in one coherent design. It was finally done.

Now all that is left to do is to celebrate!

Mandala: Journeys within the Circle will be released by Publisher Obscura on 17 March 2020. It will retail for $24.95 (paperback). Pre-orders are available now: www.odysseybooks.com.au or via Amazon.

The book will be launched at Habitat, in Hawthorn (2 Minona St), on Saturday 18th April at 2pm. Mandalas from the book will be on display. We would love for you to celebrate with us.

Pierrot in Popular Culture

Pierrot in Popular Culture

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People often give me blank looks if I say my books are about the Commedia dell’Arte. Italian Renaissance improvised theatre is not well known today. Those who have done theatre studies or drama are likely to know about it, but most don’t. Audiences might remember seeing Commedia-style plays like A Servant of Two Masters and the hilarious musical The Venetian Twins, by Australian playwright Nick Enright.

However, if I mention my books are about Pierrot, Harlequin and Columbine, sometimes people’s eyes light up. Pierrot, more than any other character, still has name recognition. This is ironic, because the character was originally very minor. But there is something about his pathos and romantic adoration of Columbine that touches people. Not only that, but the image of Pierrot is iconic.

Mirano Fujita and the Sad Clown

For anyone of my era, feminised versions of Pierrot are very familiar. During the 1980s these images were everywhere. In my early teens I received a birthday gift of a tin with two soaps and a facewasher inside. All had one of Mira Fujita’s sad clowns on them.  The soaps are long gone, but I still treasure the tin.

Fujita was the daughter of a calligrapher. After studying at art school in Japan, she began doing illustrations for a girl’s magazine. Her work stood out because the characters seemed willful rather than meek. With the growth of manga over traditional storytelling in Japan, Fujita moved to Europe. There her style was considered novel and mysterious.

A Parisian poster company commissioned Fujita to do a series of images of clowns and Harlequins. These were extraordinarily popular and soon sold as prints and on various household goods. A large number of teenage girls in the 1980s had a Pierrot poster on their wall as a result!

Who was Pierrot?

There is an early (1547) reference to a Piero in Commedia history but the character seemed to disappear for decades. In the 1570s it reappeared as Pagliaccio, then Pedrolino. Pedrolino was very low-status, usually played by the youngest son in family player troupes. His early name derived from pagliaio, meaning a pile of straw, since the youngest often slept in the barn with the animals. Around 1665, as the Commedia grew in popularity in France, Pedrolino took on a French name: Pierrotto. This was ultimately shortened to Pierrot.

Pierrot wears baggy clothes because he is the youngest, and only receives hand-me-downs. Unlike other Commedia characters, he doesn’t wear a mask. Instead, he paints his face with white flour. This means the actor can be far more expressive. Perhaps this is why people remember Pierrot, more than other Commedia characters, for his big heart and sad expressions. He is highly sensitive, conscientious and totally honest. In writing the Tales of Tarya these seemed to me to be the perfect characteristics of a hero. In my fantasy series Luka not only plays Pierrot, he bears many of the characteristics of this iconic character.

Other Pop-Culture References

Pierrot has inspired many artists. One of the most obvious is David Bowie. For the video of ‘Ashes to Ashes’ he wore a Pierrot costume. He also wore one on the sleeve of the album Scary Monsters. The Seekers’ song ‘The carnival is over’, features the line: ‘but the joys of love are fleeting/for Pierrot and Columbine’. Musicians from Brazil to Italy to Japan have written songs or albums featuring the sad clown. There was even a Japanese rock band named Pierrot.

It’s still possible to find Pierrot (and Harlequin) themed decorative items. Generally the best place to look is in op shops. The Commedia dell’Arte may be mostly forgotten. But the sad clown lives on and can still evoke a sense of romance, pathos and gentleness.

 

The world needs stories

The world needs stories

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I never dreamed of writing the “Great Australian Novel” or selling enormous amounts of books. I just wanted to tell stories. The world needs them. It always has.

Photo from Pexels by Suzy Hazelwood

Stories reach people when all the arguments and debates don’t. There can be understanding and connection on an intuitive level. Points can be made without anyone feeling they’re being beaten over the head. And stories stay with us. We may not remember all the detail, but a story we’ve loved will stay in our heart. Who doesn’t hold on to the memory of a book they loved as a child? I can’t remember the details of many of the books I read as an adult. But my early adventures in reading stay with me, with amazing clarity.

Sometimes we revisit the tales that moved us. We know how they made us feel, the realisations they gave us, the way they sparked our imagination. A good story can reach out to people. Unlike other forms of writing that are located in a specific time and place, they can be, in a way, eternal. Enduring.

We are narrative beings.

Something about tales speaks to a spark that lies within all of us. Children who are denied stories are denied a chance for a garden to grown in their soul. Perhaps what we learn through books needs to become more nuanced as we grow to adulthood. The world is not divided into good and evil. But the tales we encounter early on give us a framework to start with.

In fact, we could understand the world better if we questioned the stories that underpin it. Every society has its own narratives. In Western society the enduring story is that everything must be done in service of the economy. We are told this so often we don’t even realise it’s just a story. Nobody questions whether there is another way to conceive the world. What would our society look like if the underpinning narrative, the story we all believed in, was that everything should be done in service of humanity? What if the cultural stories placed living beings at their heart?

Fiction writers use their imagination to create worlds that are underpinned by different stories. They show us other possibilities. We need that now, more than ever. To change the world, we need to see how it can be different.  And we need to care. We need our hearts and minds engaged. Stories can do all of that.

Dreams of story telling

This is why I chose at a young age to be a story teller. Not a ‘writer’. I didn’t have visions of sitting in a garret starving while I carved out some masterpiece from blood and suffering. I didn’t picture myself appearing at writers festivals, exchanging words of wisdom for book sales. No – I just wanted to tell stories, because they seemed magical.

I’ve been told I’m naiive for imagining writers can change the world. But all it takes is for one idea to light a spark that grows into a flame, and change can happen. I suppose that belief is why my central character in The Tales of Tarya, Mina, is a story teller who changes her world with her stories. Art and imagination are tools for doing magic in the world.

 

For the Love of Art

For the Love of Art

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art on wall of face with tearsArtists, whether writers, painters, sculptors or any other medium, are generally not paid well. This has been true throughout history. We know the image of the struggling writer starving in a garret so well it is almost a cliche. And the painterly genius who died in poverty. It’s part of the story we tell about artists. To create true art, the idea goes, we need suffering. Hunger is apparently a great motivator.

This story does artists a terrible disservice. No one does their best work when they are living with income security. Having to spend your time searching for income takes away from time making art. For many of the writers I know there is a constant battle in their lives, between time and money. They usually have enough of one, but not of the other. If they are earning money, they don’t have time to make art. If they have the time, they are struggling financially. But isn’t this the way it has always been, and will always be?

Is art worth less?

Meta-narratives are the stories that underpin society. They are big picture stories that shape how we think. The prevailing meta-narrative we live with in Western society is that the economy is more important than anything else. You can’t read the news without finding something about the economy, but what makes it a meta-narrative is the underlying message. In recent years that message has increasingly become that the value of something comes from its ability to generate income. Growing the economy (and making more money) is always put forward as a good thing, if not the ultimate goal.

Those who help grow the economy are rewarded. If they work in the field of finance, or manage a company to maximise its profits, they can receive huge salaries. Their contribution to society is unquestioned. Artists don’t grow the economy*. They often make very little money from their art. And under the current meta-narrative, this means their contribution is not valued.

What art contributes

The truth is somewhat different. Art and culture are enduring pillars of society. Wherever you go, around the world, you can see the art that has survived the centuries. We understand earlier civilisations through their art. Much of what art contributes to the world is intangible; it can’t be reduced to monetary worth. What it does is lift us out of our lives, let us see the world differently. It connects us to others, shows us how humanity. Entertains, provokes, enlightens, awes…  Without art, our lives would be very bleak.

Who does this narrative serve?

There have always been gatekeepers to the creative arts. These were once known as patrons. Now they have many different titles but they are always the ones who decide whether artists will be paid for their work or not. And since the ‘economy’ narrative places a low value on art, the gatekeepers don’t feel the need to pay them very much. In fact, the unspoken argument is often that artists do what they do for the love of it, so reimbursement doesn’t need to be that high.  Their reward is the joy of creating. There is a growing trend of asking creatives to produce something for ‘exposure’ or so they can ‘put it on their CV’.

This is great for those who want to buy the outcomes of creativity. They can get them cheap, but it isn’t great for the artist. What they create is not only the outcome of many hours work to produce that individual novel or painting or song, but also the result of many years of gaining mastery of their form.

So where to from here?

The economy meta-narrative, with its focus on ever-growing profits, has led to endless consumption and pushed us towards environmental disaster. We need to shift society’s values, to re-focus our sense of what is important. A new meta-narrative that valued art and saw that it should have a central place in life and culture, would be a great beginning. Maybe then artists would not be expected to do what they do simply for ‘love’, but would be paid a living wage. Imagine what a rich world we would live in if writers and painters, performers and sculptors, and others who contribute beauty to our world, had both the time and the money to create.

* (This meta-narrative is, by the way, outdated and inaccurate – arts events such as festivals and exhibitions bring significant income, although often the artists see little of it.)

The Magic of Creativity: Why the Tarya books are about all artists

The Magic of Creativity: Why the Tarya books are about all artists

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Photo by Ivandrei Pretorius, from Pexels

Tarya, the mystical otherworld of the Tales of Tarya series, is a place of magic and creativity. It is a place reached in those moments when we become absorbed in what we are creating, whether that is a novel, a painting or a song. When author Laura Goodin recently launched Columbine’s Tale, she talked about why creatives know Tarya and its magic so well. I was so thrilled with the way she had captured the central premise of the book that I asked if I could include her speech on my blog. Read on to understand what lies at the heart of the books Harlequin’s Riddle and Columbine’s Tale.

When creatives get together…

One night a few years ago, our apartment was filled with actors, musicians, and techies. They had just closed a successful run of The Merry Wives of Windsor (in which my husband had had a role).  As is the way of theatre people after closing night, they were boisterous, roisterous, and rowdy.  The windows were rattling; the light fixtures were swinging; people were bouncing off the walls.

Our daughter, also a theatre person, was in high school at the time.  She’d brought a friend over for the evening:  a quiet and pensive young woman who was by nature a scientist.  Our daughter, of course, was completely at her ease, but her friend sat stiffly, hands clenched together in her lap, shoulders drawn in, looking uneasily around the room.  My husband, himself an exuberant bear of a man, bounded over to the sofa where the two sat, flung out his arm in an expansive gesture to indicate the chaos around us, and cried jubilantly, “This is what we have instead of money!”

Tarya is magic

What was the “this” he was talking about? What had we chosen above security, above money, above society’s approval? It was Tarya:  the wonderful realm of magic and mastery and exhilaration that we artists enter when we create – if we’re lucky.  It’s not a sure thing.  But once you manage to find it, you spend the rest of your life trying to get back there.  When you’re in Tarya, you are aligned with something huge, irresistible, and utterly glorious, like a needle aligned with the massive magnetic forces of the earth.  You are doing what you were born to do, buzzing and ringing with the elemental power of the universe.  Who wouldn’t give anything for that?

Tarya can be dangerous

The characters in Columbine’s Tale have been to Tarya, and, yes, they’ll do anything – absolutely anything – to protect their access to it.  At the same time, Mina, herself no stranger to Tarya, knows what this access costs, and she’ll do absolutely anything to stop the other characters from wreaking yet more damage, ruining yet more lives.  And here is the kernel of this fabulous story:  the irresistible force meets the immovable object.  She must stop them, but she can’t stop them.  She must stop them.  Yet she can’t stop them.  These characters want what they want with a mighty wanting, which makes them vibrant, complex, and entirely alive.  They face terrible consequences whichever way the plot resolves, and they act within a complex and richly described world that imposes genuine constraints on their choices and actions, which makes the story both riveting and deeply emotional.

Tarya is a compulsion

This book is written not just with craft, but with heart.  The idea of Tarya is not just a clever plot device or facile metaphor for artistic creativity.  Instead, it’s a focus for yearning, for the compulsion to create, for the demands that art places on the artist – demands that we leap to fulfill, for we can do nothing else.  We have been there.  The question Columbine’s Tale asks is an uncomfortable one:  will we, too, do anything to get back?  Anything? Are we greater or lesser artists if we, like Mina, hesitate?
Why we need slow art

Why we need slow art

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Living fast – or slow

In the developed world levels of stress and mental illness are rising rapidly. There are various contributors to this: feelings of inadequacy that arise from comparing yourself to others on social media; the unexpressed grief caused by the mammoth in the room that is climate change; and the ever-increasing pace of life that demands everyone do more but get paid less.

In reaction, there has been a growth in social movements that promote a more considered pace of life. The slow food movement encourages the appreciation of real food, cooked in a considered way that takes time to draw out maximum flavour and nutrition. Slow living has come to the fore as part of voluntary simplicity, encouraging a lifestyle based on returning to more traditional ways of doing things, such as baking your own bread or making your clothes. Another movement that could sit side by side with these, that is desperately needed, is a return to slow art.

Churning through life

The pace of life has been carefully sculpted by large societal forces: Capitalism and social media. Social media works on principles identified by Pavlov. Every like and smiley face is positive reinforcement that keeps us scrolling. Each new piece of information keeps us hooked to our feed. We get a little dopamine hit every time we get something new, so we have become attuned to needing constant input. This results in churning. There always has to be something fresh to catch our attention.

Capitalism reinforces this. Capitalism only works if everyone keeps shopping, which requires a constant flow of new products. After all, people won’t buy things they have already bought. This is noticeable in the book industry. The time a book spends in a book shop has been getting less and less over the years. New books now are given very little time to make an impact (ie sales) before they are removed, returned and pulped. When I was told this by a bookseller, that time had shifted from three months to one month. It could be less now. New authors get very little opportunity to be noticed – the briefest window before everyone moves on to the next big thing.

The Netflix effect

The other thing that works against slow is the Netflix effect. Being able to binge-watch a show means people no longer want to wait for the next instalment. This is true of books too. I have spoken to authors who are under pressure (and contract) to get the next book in a series out as quickly as possible. Otherwise the readers’ attention and dollars might go elsewhere. The industry seems to believe readers don’t have the patience to wait, and sometimes they don’t. Nowhere is this more evident than in the case of Patrick Rothfuss, author of the Kingkiller Chronicle, a marvellous fantasy series. The third and final book has been a long time coming, and Rothfuss has been subjected to significant online abuse for keeping people waiting.

Why this is a problem for art

Is this just how the world works now? Should we just accept it? I don’t think so. Because art takes time. Art is the expression of a human life. Through art a soul is bared on canvas or on the page or through a dress design. The creative process isn’t just the moment when paint is applied or words are written. It is the research that allows a piece to have depth and substance. It is the many hours spent developing technique. And it is that magical, alchemical time when the creative imagination is allowed to daydream and wander, transforming experiences and inspiration a creation that will reach out to others.

Why slow art matters

According to Celtic tradition, the Poets who guard the fountain of knowledge, known as the Aois Dana, give the gift of insight and creativity to artists, poets, story tellers and bards. These people are chosen so they can imbue their art with the memories and wisdom of their culture*. Artists create works that express the soul, that speak of what it is to be human, that provide connection and meaning to those who experience them. But art that is thoughtful and beautiful, and says important things, takes time. It must be nurtured carefully so that it emerges in the best form to express its truth.

We live in an era where truth is fragile and meaning is reduced to marketing catch-phrases. More than ever we need art that speaks to us, reminding us of the wisdom that is missing from so many public conversations. The greatest gift we can give the artists and creators is time. Time to research, time to dream, and time to create art that will speak to us.

 

* See the wonderful Celtic Folk Soul: Art, Myth and Symbol, by Jen Delyth

Brilliant darkness: An interview with Isobel Blackthorn

Brilliant darkness: An interview with Isobel Blackthorn

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Today I’m delving into the mind of author Isobel Blackthorn and I have to admit to being both excited and a little nervous. Isobel’s books are brilliant, and having a thrilling dark edginess. She holds a PhD in Western Esotericism and the occult features in most of her writing. So far Isobel has published five novels, The Legacy of Old Gran Parks, The Cabin Sessions, A Perfect Square, The Drago Tree and Asylum, and a short story collection, All Because of You. An avid writer, her current work includes two dark psychological thrillers and a biographical fiction of occultist, Alice Bailey. If this little taste leaves you wanting more, visit her website.

Which writer or writers opened your eyes to the magic of storytelling and why?

I’ve always been an avid reader and it’s hard to single out any particular author. As a child Pastures of the Blue Crane by Hesba Fay Brinsmead left a deep and lasting impression. In my early twenties, I was captivated by Hermann Hesse and Franz Kafka, and then by Doris Lessing. I devoured her entire Children of Violence series, which is set in what was then Rhodesia, and much of her Canopus in Argos Archives, which is amazing science fiction. A little later I read Iain Banks’ The Wasp Factory, and I loved the novel so much I read everything by him I could lay my hands on and there was a stage when I didn’t read any other author. I wasn’t reading much during that phase of my life, it was a dark period, and Iain Banks kept me going. I’ve always felt a profound sense of belonging to the world of novelists, even before I was one, as though the authors whose books I loved were sitting beside me as friends.

Why do you think people need stories in their lives?

Stories give shape to our lives. Stories help us make sense of the world. Stories open us to our own imaginations. Morality, empathy, compassion and understanding, all these qualities are enhanced by reading fiction. For many, stories are a form of escape from the burden of life, a way to unwind, or a form of entertainment. Even then, a story may invite us to ponder or question.

What is your greatest magical power as a writer?

What an interesting question! All storytellers are magicians. All creativity is a form of magic. We cast spells on the minds of our readers, viewers, listeners. We enchant. And we do so to manipulate the reader into seeing the world our way, or another way, if only for a while. We might be trying to transform the reader in some way. Even at the level of pure entertainment, a novel is enchantment, the reader is taken away from their ordinary reality and into their imaginations.

Which mythic archetype or magical character most resonates with you and why?

The Fool. I walk through life and into situations naively and largely unaware of the people around me and their hidden motives and agendas. I have a sort of natural blindness. I take people at face value and in good faith. I accept what they present to me as truth. I fail to see the shadow. Therefore, I have been tricked and deceived, abused and trampled on, or treated as though I am not worth more than as somewhere to wipe one’s feet.

Isobel Blackthorn writes across a range of genres

That said, I do not carry around a sense of victimhood and I am not bitter, I simply keep walking on, just as the Fool keeps walking. Although with age, I am a little wiser. We are all made wiser if we try to learn from situations and our mistakes. I have learned that people lie. I have learned that people run their own agendas. I have learned that the person who tells you to beware of someone stabbing you in the back, is in all likelihood holding the knife. On the up side, I have accumulated a treasure chest of experiences and every writer needs those!

What themes or ideas do you find keep arising in your writing?

The occult crops up in most of my writing as a theme, as do art and social justice. I have a passion for the Canary Islands (Spain), and set some of my stories there. Each novel I write is distinct. I write across genres and I like to explore a range of ideas. A Perfect Square is a good example of the themes I like to explore. On one level, it is a story about different approaches to creativity. It is also a dark mystery concerning two mothers and their daughters.

Bio

Rachel Nightingale is a writer, playwright, educator and actor. With a passion for story telling and the theatre, it was only natural that her first fantasy series would centre on both. She lives in regional Australia with her family, a very bossy cat and the cutest dog in the world. She is represented by Creative Net speakers.

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