[This post has been published to the
past using blogger's scheduling feature]
I must admit that I have not delved as
deeply into Anna Deavere Smith's Letters to a Young Artist
as I have The Right to Speak,
but from the first few chapters, I know that this is a book that I
wish I had had been forced to read at age seventeen. Let me explain.
My
first career, I was a bassist. I played double bass in orchestras,
pits, and the studio and electric bass on the road and in bars and
dives all over the southeast. As has been revealed in class, I not
longer make “my living” in this way. This is not because I hated
it or was a failure. In fact, I made more money than I make now.
Ultimately, I was called to other work, but this book might have been
useful in helping me avoid many of the pitfalls into which I stepped
almost willingly.
I have been BZ, but it seems in many
ways, I am still BZ. This strikes me as I read the lines, “maybe
you are in a claustrophobic dorm room at college” (4) as I sit in
my claustrophobic dorm room.
How far can the artist really remove
him- or herself from his or her art? There is something about my
personality, muse, or whatever that had me sit in a room, by myself
for hours practicing a bass then, or a story, now.
I look forward to the rest of this
book.
-Bob
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