I was in Cooperstown yesterday, picking up my paintings after my show at the Fenimore Art Museum there had finally ended. After packing up and heading home,
I couldn’t shake a song from my head, it’s refrain running over and over again. It was Is That All There is? by Peggy Lee. It had been a hit for her in 1969 and was played regularly on the AM radio stations of the time. If you were listening to an AM station back then , there was no telling what you might here next. After Peggy Lee you might hear the Beatles or the Stones and then maybe something from Otis Redding followed by Roger Miller or the Doors or Johnny Cash. It was all over the place, stylistically, but that was the norm then before music on the radio became relegated to its stylistic niche.
But in 1969, there was Peggy Lee, the older Pop/Jazz chanteuse from a prior generation singing the existential lyrics of Is That All There Is? on my radio. She spoke much of the song, recounting episodes in her life and the disillusionment she felt after each occurred before singing the lines …if that’s all there is , my friends/ Then let’s keep dancing/Let’s break out the booze and have a ball/ If that’s all/There is…
It turns out the song, written by the great songwriting team of Lieber and Stoller, was based on an 1896 short story, Disillusionment, from German writer Thomas Mann and the song’s episodes were directly from the story. I didn’t know that and it really didn’t matter because , though I was only ten years old at the time, there was something in that song that stuck with me, something that I internally understood. We are always let down somehow by those things we seek and finally attain, even when they meet all of our expectations. We never feel as changed as we had thought we might and we emerge pretty much the same person.
That’s pretty much the feeling I had yesterday as I headed home. The show there had been a great, great experience. It had exceeded my expectations and was by all accounts very successful. But still… there was the inevitable moment of letdown accompanied by doubts and fears and questions. What if this is as good as it gets? Is this a peak and I have nowhere to go but down? Where do I go from here?
I’ve tried to explain this feeling here before. It’s something that baffled me early on. But after doing about 35 or so solo shows over the past decade and a half, I’ve come to expect this feeling and am somewhat prepared. I always tell other artists when they get their first show to savor the feeling, take it all in, but to not be too discouraged by that letdown moment in the aftermath. And they all do feel that moment, even after a triumphant show. I’ve had so many tell me this that there must be some validity in it.
I’ve gotten to the point where I anticipate it and try to prepare for it. There’s show preparation and post-show preparation. The show prep is actually the easy part in that it is all tangible. There is work to complete. deadlines to meet. The post-show is intangible, without goals or deadlines, and therefore more difficult to take on. I use it now as a catalyst, a cattle prod of fear to spur me forward in my work. Actually, I would be worried right now if I were without fears, satisfied and content with my achievement. I think that this feeling of contentment leads to complacency which is the end of growth and creativity for an artist. And to not continue to grow would be even worse than the few pangs of disillusionment I experience in the aftermath of a show.
So today I am discontented and anxious in the studio. Just as I want and need to be.
I think I’ll listen to a little Peggy Lee just to enhance that feeling. Maybe I’ll break out the booze and have a ball…
Well said, Gary.
Thanks. Good to hear from you, Mike. How everything is going well for you. Take care!
On Tue, Jan 15, 2013 at 6:56 AM, Redtree Times
I had to dig, but here’s a little snippet from a piece I wrote in 2008 after an entry on my first blog at Weather Underground was particularly well-received:
It’s a tremendous irony. The very success which brought me so much joy also brought me face to face with an experience common to every artist of every sort, an experience known as well to anyone who has succeeded beyond their wildest expectation when life set them a difficult task. Simply put, that experience is resistance to picking up, moving on and relinquishing life’s successes, a reluctance to embrace the uncertainties of new tasks or new journeys in life while preferring to live with the satisfactions of the past.
It doesn’t take much imagination to find an explanation for our reluctance. The resistance is grounded in an assortment of fearful questions:
what if I can’t do it again?
what if I try, and don’t succeed as wondrously well?
what if the vision fades, the voice disappears,the melody dissolves into dissonance?
To say I appreciate your post – in the sense of both liking and understanding it – would be a bit of an understatement.
You always want to believe that the achievement of some long cherished goal will somehow immediately change you but when the glory has passed, it has passed. Then it is time to put it aside with warm remembrance and set you sights ahead. The future’s a moving target.
Your show goes on as it lives in our memories in Cooperstown. Such is life, however, up and down but then up again!
I tend to think of life as a circle that keeps turning. Sometimes you are at the top of the circle and sometimes the bottom but never in one spot for too long.
Thanks for the warning, Gary.
I should say that we loved your show in Cooperstown and our visit there was the highlight of my fall. It’s a beautiful place and leaving it must add to that feeling you speak of.
It is a beautiful place and I do always feel a bit wistful when I head down the road away from it.
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