I think part of what makes a person great at what he or she does, and what elevates that person to another level of authenticity, is the refusal to separate life philosophy from work. These people are writers who find it hard to write without expressing some sort of stance, or in whose work a certain passion is unavoidable — because the writer or artist can’t simply shut off the moral compass/driving force, what have you.
It’s what makes one writer’s travel essay stand out from the others, and makes it about more than travel or place. I’ve been considering this idea since hearing the great Peter Matthiessen speak at Brooklyn Academy of Music last month, following a screening of a documentary about his life. Matthiessen was a founder of the Paris Review, has had much of his non-fiction serialized in The New Yorker, and recently won the
National Book Award for the epic Shadow Country, which I’m too intimidated by to even attempt to read right now. In the documentary, one of Matthieseen’s many admirers discussed the author’s insistence on incorporating his personal beliefs and agenda into his work – more than an insistence, the incorporation was simply what came naturally to him. The admirer said this un-separation was the true definition of integrity. For most of us, I think, it’s a sort of distant dream to be able to live and work seamlessly.
The concept is mirrored in food and cheffing. At NYC restaurant Savoy, for example, chef Peter Hoffman refuses to “stay in the kitchen,” as it were. Hoffman is passionate about serving food sourced from local farmers, and doesn’t shy away from the politics of this decision. Savoy is hosting a Cassoulet Fest this weekend, featuring six NYC chef’s interpretation of this simple classic, by the way.
Another great artist who has a passionate belief in his work, and whose work seems determined by his own life is writer Gabriel García Márquez, who “attributes his groundbreaking artistic epiphany to his grandmother’s storytelling,” according to Isabel Cowles. García Márquez did poorly in school because he could only put real effort into what he loved and believed in: reading and writing. In building his career as a novelist, he “realized that in order to create effective fiction, he needed to believe the stories he was telling as if they were completely real,” writes Cowles. This is different perhaps than the more politically-minded ambitions of Matthiessen and Hoffman, but still displays a binding of life and work.
I’m wondering whether this unbreakable tie between work and life can be achieved by will or practice, or whether it’s a “have it or not” type of thing.