Curator’s Note

Posted on April 15, 2013 by

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Each curator for Eunoia Solstice comes from a unique vantage point, discipline, and stage in his craft.  Our professional stations are as incongruent as our geographical locations. We are separated by a combined 1,500 miles and have intersected in a haphazard way.  My unofficial position in the group is technical advisor and noob-writer.  I first began writing in journals to chronicle my intercontinental and international teaching journeys.  In doing so, I found awe in the facility of language and mystery in the universality of human interaction.  I’ve come to recognize language as the universal intersection where one can build shanties or skyscrapers, develop or destroy nations, and form or shatter identities.

I desperately wanted to ride the cliché and describe my writing identity as the metamorphosis of a butterfly, but starting out as a writer is ugly, like a cicada. I once visited a college in Missouri where I was an unexpected witness to the largest brood of cicadas to emerge in nearly two decades.  Brood XIX overshadowed the trip.  Everyone’s conversations were accompanied by rolling shakes and rising screeches.  The slightest disturbance caused them to disperse in black cloud-drifts, exploding from tree to tree.  It only took walking a block to discover that their movements stemmed from fear and agitation (There is plenty of both for a writer.).  Though the features and existence of the anxious little insect may be aesthetically unpleasant, for most, there is still beauty in the transformation.

Being a noob, I feel like I’m just now, after a decade, emerging from the ground to look for a tree.  Now that I’ve surfaced, writing and teaching, for me, have become a practice for delving into the depths of my own identity, an exercise in molting.  But, my molting process is much slower than that of a cicada.  I’ve found that the practice sheds patches instead of the entire shell, so I’ve been unsettled and half-formed in my search.  The patches have become layers that construct a path of particles for others to read, like tealeaves in the dirt.  I’ve left some of them here for you.  Feel free to pick up, discard, or chew on them as you please.

I’m caught in a cloud-drift and along the way have met others in a similar drift.  I’ve noticed that as we go, we design a map of our experiences with language to create a composite of beautiful thinking — eunoia.  As our paths cross, we mark a place on each other’s maps that leave a brush stroke on the universal canvas.  These junctures are not distractions or roadblocks.  We need divergent paths and intersecting points to lead us to new ideas and find new trees.  Diversity, collaboration, and discourse forge the beauty of our collective interpretations and allow them rise to the surface, creating sites where we can closely observe the blended registers of voices, sundry shades of opinions, and abundant angles of perspectives that make up the details of the splendor.

Let us, Eunoia Solstice, be a shoulder on your path, an interlude to test the limits of the “file–>save” new world, a residence where we share experiments in expression before continuing on the next phase in our individual journeys.  Think of it as an outpost, a branch to latch on to, a space to step away and observe the amalgamated beauty as it unfolds.  I found my tree.  As I’ m working on my wings, please forgive the shrieking.

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Posted in: Notes