There’s no “h” in Wine

by childofwine



It’s been a while

How’ve you been?

Funny that I’m writing again here in freezing cold Chicago… that my last post was from lovely sunny Chicago… that a whole six month long lifetime has happened in between 

I don’t write when I’m not in school. Not here at least, somehow it’s not the same thing, as if what I’m doing is not worth writing about. I assure you I was working on much the same things during that time, or at least, I was working through much of what I’d been writing about in that previous time.

I arrived back here a week ago this past Friday and have had this here self-assigned task on my mind. In no way for the repeated oh so subtle proddings from the pUnit, “so, Child of Wine?” they say… well, the Mom Unit does, the Dad Unit can never quite remember what it’s called, but, you know, he tries and he cares.

No reason why. Beyond my own expectations. Beyond having created it a few years ago when I first embarked on what is now fondly referred to as my “bespoke MA”. Beyond having decided that this was a thing which was to be part of my training. To write, to document, to share what it takes to make myself into the kind of artist younger me could never have dreamed I could actually become. (The only person who needs any convincing of this I’ve learned is me.)

I was thinking that this was becoming self indulgent. More Child of Whine than of Wine and who wants that. Who wants to hear me whine about getting to spend the most part of the past several years pursuing the development of an artistic passion. 

Rough, right?

There’s got to be something I should be doing instead, something to justify my extremely fortunate current existence in this world. I have family who love me and support me, who encourage me to practice something which demands a life other than that which the world would seemingly prescribe. I have friends who offer me shelter and guidance, who put up with neurotic anxiety and constant doubt. I have colleagues who discuss into the late late hours all sorts of crazy ideas and plans, who wish me well and who tell me to hurry back so that we can get back to making things happen. I have a doctor who sends me off for six months and tells me he’s not worried for me and finally, I can agree with him, finally I walk out with tears of release and growth rather than tears despair and defeat.

One week back in Chicago, back at The School, in the circus gym and I’m trying to find my footing, or rather to find the next level of footing.

I spent the week thinking I need to do something different, to somehow make this page about pushing my writing to a new more focused place, to talk about things that I think about outside of the classroom. To relate the work that we do to the world I see at large. Like the experiences I was having walking around my most recent Toronto neighbourhood with all its sad unfortunates, the lost broken women who brought involuntary tears to my eyes and the men, old before their time, who walked past you leaving in their absence the inevitable knowledge that they will not make it through this winter. The utter madness of our online lives and how we no longer talk with but yell at each other. That oil is spilling and shitty shitty movies are worthy of acts of terrorism and there is no subtlety left in the word… hah, in the worLd. That some people have to pay twenty dollars for milk and that’s just when they have financial support. That girls are disappearing and this is less important that a fucking panda. That…

But I can’t right now, I need to be here. In this moment. In this training. Because, after all, I have given up a lot to be here. I have made bold choices and worked my butt off to get here and I have the rest of my life to pay it back. And I will, the more I feel this work the more I know that I want a life that opens outwards rather than spirals inward. But for the moment, I must be here.

I must give myself the courtesy of getting as much as I possibly can from the fantastic resources at my disposal. I must challenge myself to be bold and brave. To search rather than step back to watch.

I’ve watched for a long time, I know how to watch, I know how to read, how to see but I’m not so good at the doing. Not so great, yet, at pushing off of the heels and on to the toes. I’ve been finding it a bit in my music, in the way that the piano is revealing itself anew to me and I hold on to this and bring it along with me because it’s a clue. It’s a key.

So keep reading if you want and I’ll try to share with you what we are doing and I’ll try to do it in a way that challenges me to write better, clearer. Betterer…

Oh, yeah, and I’ve already cried in class this week.

It felt great.