My First Lessons in Neil Gaiman’s MasterClass on Storytelling Thank you for the Therapy Mr. Gaiman
I’m taking Neil Gaiman’s MasterClass. I never got to finish my MA. In literature so I am doing this (You know at a saving of 20K). In lesson two he asks all of us to write down the things we don’t want anyone to know about ourselves. The embarrassing.
You know when the universe throws pebbles at you then rocks, etc?
Then. This week’s Magician’s episode and Elliott (sigh swoon sigh again) has to go back into his most uncomfortable humiliating memories to find a door.
Either my entertainment is getting surreal, the Matrix is feeling especially lazy, or I have some work to do. Since I live in the US and can’t afford therapy hello there my friendly therapists!
Yeah if you are new here I am a loud flawed individual who mercilessly uses this blog and the podcast as my own personal therapy. See look how good I am at admitting the bad sides of myself!
I have a long history of putting artists on pedestals who unflinchingly bare their stories and scars. From the trauma of Tori Amos Me and a Gun (The anthem of every high school rape victim in the 1990’s Should I have put a trigger warning for this?) To Ani DiFranco’s abortion spoken word Tiptoe and THE BEST break up song hands down EVER Both Hands. Seriously if you have never heard it before please listen listen again then go look up the lyrics. I mean your flesh has been my pillow your bones have been my bed frame and I’m waiting for sleep to offer up the deep with both hands????? After my girlfriend left me back in the stone age this was on repeat.
Now if you want a fun one for laughs and I do mean hold your side wondering if kidney transplants might be needed go to Let’s Pretend This Never Happened Jenny Lawson. If you want full admission into mental health in ways comedians wish they could make you laugh here it is.
So I’m working on it. Some of you know I am also an author and illustrator but nothing I do will be true unless I look at what makes me uncomfortable. What I do not want to see about myself. Perfection is super boring but that flash of you too? I mean I might never get a chance to talk with you but you too? I’m not alone?
There are moments of real and true in so many pieces of art and fiction and they stand out because they ring so honest and real they stand out. It is perfect because they could be nothing else. In the Legion of Honor there was the most gorgeous painting of The Pieta. Now this has been painted a billion times. This painting was so desperately arresting that I with my ZERO attention span stopped and stared. This was not a religious painting. This was a mother who lost everything. She was recomposing her life for after. After what she had placed in the center left. There were no cherubs no angels. There were zero platitudes. It was raw grief and her eyes meet yours daring you not to feel it to. Not over a god but over her son.
Not religious. I am at best a swirling changing chaotic pot of spiritual but that painting was not about religion. That was truth of loosing what you lean on. It was true and painfully vulnerable