intimations
Six Essays by zadie smith
I have been processing my feelings for days now. The weight of every word, the painting of every scene, the sentiment shared without ever having a conversation. The truth and understanding shared with someone I have never met.
I have long admired Zadie Smith. A writer, a mother, an artist, a human, a New Yorker, a woman, and many more. White Teeth captured my attention many years ago. I was late to the party and didn’t read this one until 2004 upon my stint in Columbus, Ohio, surrounded by a whole new world of individuals and persons to push me forward. But the moment I read that book, Zadie had transfixed me. Her writing style, her purpose, her voice, the characters. I was left wanting more. I have followed her ever since. Zadie is one of the main reasons I still want to go to Graduate School at NYU for creative writing. I would do anything to be her student. A writer, something I will always be. I survive with being able to write. Even if no one ever sees or reads it, I have presented a space where I feel heard, even if it is the paper alone.
Friday night, waiting for the election results, I decided to open this one as I lay on the sofa hearing Wolf Blitzer talk of the recounts and so on. I needed a place to escape. The stress of the past seven months has undoubtedly peaked, and we were at the tipping point. I had moments of creative blankness, words I couldn’t articulate, and blank canvases that just stared back at me. I had been reading more than ever, and in a way, their solace is what grounded me to be present. If anything, they transported me elsewhere. Anywhere but in the current state of affairs. But here I was with Zadie’s essays. It wasn’t going to be a story I wished to be accurate or something that would have an ending we all applauded for at the end. This was now. COVID! A pandemic, a time we would always remember.
There will be many books written about the year 2020: historical, analytical, political as well as comprehensive accounts. This is not any of those—-the year isn’t halfway done. —ZS
The foreword. The first sentence. I was all in. CNN became muffled in the background. This is not a book review. This is not a means for you to purchase it. (You should!) It is merely a reflection of one portion in particular. The time in which I stood still and felt a heaviness and an understanding all simultaneously. In the Essay: Something to Do, it suddenly all made sense. As I mentioned, this time for being creative has felt anything but inspiring. Anything creative felt like a fraud. But here in this essay, she writes it. If you make things, if you are an “Artist” of whatever stripe, at some point you will be asked—or may ask yourself— “why” you act, sculpt, paint whatever. Later on, she brings love into this relationship. Love is not something to do, but something to be experienced and something to go through—that must be why it frightens so many of us and why we so often approach it indirectly. Here is this novel made with love. Here is this banana bread, made with love. All of this: the art, the loaves of bread, the cards with washi tape, my little offerings of warmth in times of cold were my creative moments, my control, and my love. Indeed it filled time up and gave me something to do, but it was an act of love when I had no other ways of showing up. My art and the form I used had become a rain cloud in the time of COVID. Who needs another pair of jeans when people are dying? Who wants to talk about a shade of blue when you want to make sure front line workers have a hot meal that night? So filling my time is/was art. It is/was purpose, and it is/was LOVE! It still is. It was also my means of control when the world was crumbling around me.
This book will be one that goes in my tote wherever I go. It will have more dog-eared pages than most. The pages will have pen marks starring an important quote. It will be another post when I want to share another part of where it took me. I will pull it out when I need some clarity. It indeed captures much more than I have written about in this post; race in America, George Floyd, and many other issues. I spoke of LOVE and the need for Something to Do for my duality of both. My art creates change. And my art creates love. Zadie does this with her writing.
I encourage each of you to read this. To pause and reflect. And when this year and moment is over, we must never go back to the old ways. Too many things need changing. Too much needs Love. We all have Something to DO!
All proceeds from this book go to charity: The Equal Justice Initiative and The COVID-19 Emergency Relief Fund for New York.
