I remember listening to a New Dimensions Radio interview with the late mythologist Joseph Campbell. He was paraphrasing Nietzsche’s analogy of the Artist’s Journey.
I make bold here to paraphrase Campbell’s paraphrase. It’s really fascinating and eye-opening (and maybe sobering if you’re honest with yourself)… and I believe largely true.
What’s meant by “artist”? Nietzsche’s analogy can be applied to anybody pursuing any field (not just art like dance, painting, film, music, writing)… but even sports. I don’t think anyone would argue with the idea that Michael Jordan wasn’t just a basketball player, but was an artist in the field of basketball. And, he too, took the artist’s journey that Nietzsche describes.
Nietzsche says that all artists start as children, meaning they bring the curiosity, fascination, passion, and wonder to the pursuit. More than anything, they are passionate, if not informed. They often exhibit flashes of raw talent, even genius. They are certainly better than their peers, but possibly too because their peers aren’t really interested in pursuing the field. The child does not bring aesthetic so much as passion and energy. A child wants to show you everything. They are convinced that what they are doing is good--great even--because they don’t have the extensive knowledge of their field to know otherwise. A child will run to you with every picture they draw. Will they be good? Likely good for a child with even a few accidentally well-executed strokes.
I think of the late Michigan poet (a Pulitzer Prize winner), Theodore Roethke (pronounced Ret-Key). Even early on he showed facility with words (not poetry yet) but as an essayist. In his freshman year of high school, he wrote an essay regarding the Junior Red Cross, which was translated into 26 languages. But, Roethke would flounder for many years before transitioning into poetry and finally giving up the unappealing idea of law school. He would truly start his journey of growth.. a long journey.
Many get stuck in the “child” phase. I have had students, who when we critique their stories, will argue, “But Mrs. Williams said I was the best writer she ever had at such-and-such high school.” To which I often think, “Good. Go back there. You will probably still be the best… the best 20-year old high school writer. What we are about here is growth, not showing off.” Some continue to be fascinated with their own raw output without ever truly wanting to know the full extent of craft involved in their field. (these are folks who get mad when someone rates their self-published book less than 4 or 5 stars, somehow wanting to blame the reviewer for being “mean” rather than seeing it is their work that warrants the poor review)
They take their identity from their “art” but they don’t have the aesthetic (and aren’t interested in the aesthetic) to see that they really aren’t that good. Their clinging to their "artist" identity gets in the way (and can even waylay) their growth as an artist. There are many 30, 40, and even 70-year olds stuck in the child phase. Without coaches, Michael Jordan would have likely remained one of the best players on the local basketball court. He also would likely have never made the NBA without guidance.
And so comes Nietzsche’s second phase… which he calls, according to Campbell, the camel phase. The camel says, “Fill me up!” Here the child has grown to understand that their passion needs to be honed. They turn to teachers, mentors, and other seasoned artists for their growth. They absorb as much prior knowledge of their field as they can in an effort to grow. Jordan listens to his coaches. After some minor college-level success with poetry, Roethke turns to W.H. Auden, Louise Bogan, Stanley Kunitz and William Carlos Williams for guidance. He reads everything he can from classic poetry to modern. Your camel phase is your period of being a student of your field. It’s an important phase that can’t be rushed. Too often in my fiction courses, my students start talking about sending out their stories for publication. I don’t discourage, but I often think, “You aren’t ready. You’re going to get your ass handed back to you when you start sending those stories out. Slow down. Learn more. Write 20 short stories. Learn from that experience. Share your work with mentors. Grow!”
Even though an important phase, we too can get stuck in the camel phase. We fear showing anyone anything we’ve written, for fear we aren’t good. And, if we don’t ever share our work, we don’t have to confront the fact that we might be mediocre. We take class after class after class. We go to conferences. We study. But, out of fear (not measured caution) we never share our work with the world. Probably many come to the end of their lives having only been a camel when it comes to their field. The camel phase can be long, but it can’t be too long. The artist must develop the aesthetic to realize of their own work, “It is ready.”
Ready for what?
Well, Nietzsche calls the next phase, the Lion phase. The lion phase is very much dependent on the phase that came before it, and one's readiness for "battle" as a lion depends on how well they navigated the camel phase. For they must be read for Facing the Dragon… and the dragon’s name is “Thou shall not.” It implies, “Thou shall not succeed.” That is the fear we carry. What if all the work, all the studying, all the hours were for nothing? What if we still aren’t very good? Facing the dragon is a scary prospect. The dragon has a lair not of treasure, but of rejection. Nietzsche argues though that if the artist spends the right amount of time in the camel phase, she will be ready to face the dragon and defeat it as a powerful lion. Some people rush the camel phase, think they have learned enough (like students who take one course with me and want to pursue publication), and the dragon answers with fiery rejection after rejection because they are nothing but a paper lion. But, if one spent enough time in the camel phase, their lion can defeat the dragon.
I think of Roethke, writing his first book of poetry entitled Open House. His poetry, though sometimes seen as derivative and showing the fingerprints of his mentors, is met with critical praise. His book is published. He’s shown he’s a competent, even gifted, practitioner in his field. He learned well, and defeated the dragon.
The dragon always involves a jury… other experts in the field confirming your skill. If you self-publish a book, you didn’t defeat the dragon because the only juror in the process was you. But if your self-published book does well (and no, not five-star reviews from family, friends and other writers for whom you provide 5-star reviews)… but truly well, meaning many others (strangers) are drawn to your work. Maybe even a publisher wants to take your book from self-published to traditionally published. Or, you sell 10,000 copies… well, then, yes you defeated the dragon.
It sounds like defeating the dragon would be the end of the journey, but no. Nietzsche says once the dragon is defeated, the true artist can enter the final phase. What is it? They become a child again, but they are a child of wisdom. They have all of the wisdom, but instead of the diligence and persistence of the camel, they come to their field with the renewed passion, innocences, curiosity, and individuality of the child. They begin to truly do their best work… work not derivative, but truly original.
I think of Roethke. After Open House, he began working on wholly new poems. And, not coincidentally, he began to explore the images of his childhood. Roethke grew up in the home of a professional florist, his father Otto Roethke. Behind their home on Gratiot Ave. in Saginaw, MI was acres of green houses. Knowing he was after those haunting images of his own childhood, Roethke returned to his childhood home to write... to sit on the back, second-floor porch of his childhood home and look out over those overgrown greenhouses.
He was on a Guggenheim Fellowship, but he didn’t travel to Europe, but instead traveled back to Saginaw, where he knew the poems were. His journey home to write helped him produce his groundbreaking second book of poems, The Lost Son. It contains Roethke’s famous “greenhouse poems” and it was met with critical acclaim, with no talk of the poems being derivative. Roethke had truly arrived, and with each new book (because he was a Wisdom Child) he reinvented himself as a poet. Honestly, very few actually ever reach this stage in the artist’s journey.
All of this asks you to ask, “Where am I on my artist’s journey?” Are you being honest with yourself? If you’re content with where you are, then maybe the question is unimportant. But, if you long for success, and you aren’t finding it, you might look at the phases to see if you’re stuck somewhere along the journey.
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