How many times have you sown yourself up? Has the experience been helpful? Hurtful?

The mind unravels very much the same way that a good story does: it all begins with the pull of a single thread…

A thread, that depending on our condition, either will, or won’t, be sown back together. Turning chaos into cohesion…a deeper and much darker understanding of the true self. This is the struggle of the artist and the psychoanalyst. This is the struggle of creation.

What horror…

Which parts of you are you? Which parts of you are other?

I’ve been thinking deeply about Frankenstein these days….not just because the spooky season is upon us, but more so in regards to my dark and archaic musings on how I have come to be my own Frankenstein Monster; a true compilation, made up of small parts and pieces, sometimes coming together in wholeness, at other moments, falling apart into fragmentations. Yet, the threads remain, as well as my ability to sew myself back together, as I have done time and time again, as both a person, an artist and now a psychoanalyst. I am a creature made up of so many parts, of so many experiences…that in the process of growing and healing scars, I was forced to reevaluate what belonged to me and what did not…slowly but surely I began to learn who I was as a “human” and who I was as a “monster.” How did I come to be this creation?

What are you desperately trying to feel/not feel? What makes you feel alive? Is it the shadow of death?

We can argue that our creation is the first and most primal experience of “true horror.”

Leaving the dark, warm safety of the womb to be thrust into the chaotic reality of blood, pain, noise and sensory overload…This is the same experience I imagine the Monster felt as those bolts of electricity shocked him out of the peace of stasis and into the harsh cruel confines of humanity and civilization…with all its discontents. As an artist and training psychoanalyst, I know these early life experiences and affects are essential in our growth, understanding and further development, but they can also be responsible for our psychic disintegration. I think of the rejection of love and care that the Monster experiences; his fragmented body mirrors his psychic state; the continual abandonment and neglect ultimately turns him into the horror society has seen him as, and as a result, he becomes a reflection of their own murderous projections. How are humans any different? Have we not all experienced those same early infantile feelings of helplessness? Have we not experienced the sting of rejection? Disgust? Alienation? Does it not shape much of the horror we see in our world today?

Creation can generally be seen as a miracle or purposeful experience, but what if the creator is in fact, looking to “create” their own destruction? Artists often find themselves consumed by their craft, their ability to express and sublimate the darkness into something progressive and lasting…but what if that darkness cannot be contained? How aware are we of the parts of ourselves that we lose and often destroy in the hopes of creating something meaningful? How much of ourselves are we willing to sacrifice? For what? For humanity? Or for the ego?

The horror of creation follows us endlessly.

The fear that our work will never survive the building process, or perhaps the terror that once the creation is introduced to the world, it will be hated and attacked. And that which is often considered the most horrific of artistic fears: that of our work being meaningless…forgotten. I believe we are responsible for the horrors that influence our art/craft, and as a result, the lives of those who consume our creations. If we are creating without purpose, without intent, what or whom are we really creating for? What are we actually saying? And how much of this can have a direct impact on lives outside of our own?

Psychoanalysis, a highly artistic and individualistic craft steeped in investigating the secrets of the human mind, follows this same structuring: if we have not dealt with our own darkness, if we cannot understand our patterns…if we do not see where the threads have been resown or cut open…then how will we be able to contain the darkness and pain of our patients? The regression that occurs during the psychoanalytic frame can mirror the early dyad between parental figure and child…the same bond that Frankenstein and his monster share (this two- hander can even be seen in certain artist/audience interactions). But it is in this “frame” that the analyst and patient can create a new lived experience, good or bad or something in between, remains to be seen. In order to do this kind of work, it is essential that the analyst accept all the horror their patient has experienced. Only by working through this horror can we create new experiences beyond…

in simpler terms:

“the only way out is through.”

You cannot escape, you cannot get rid of any of it. Accept all parts to put yourself back together.

There will always be fear and uncertainty in life due to the unpredictable elements of environment, trauma and circumstance constantly shaping, cutting, molding, sewing and integrating us into the unique individuals that we are and are (hopefully) evolving into— this means constant revision, working through difficult feelings and exploring deeper levels of self-awareness. This path requires grit, fortitude and adaptability, as no one has ever created anything meaningful without a little strife, sweat, patience and tears. The journey of the creator is not for the fainthearted…as Victor Frankenstein learned the hard way. It is for those who are prepared to face the monster inside, for only then can we see how horror and destruction has continually added to our own creation as well as the creations we have yet to inevitably bring into existence; to breathe life into oneself is to breathe life into the greater good of civilization.

The creator’s monsters become the creation. Madness turned to masterpiece.

Only when you can understand your own creation, will you be able to find meaning in the act of creation outside of the self.

We are shaped and terrorized by things outside of our control, yet contained in a sense of self and purpose to continually produce, grow and change. There will always be horror, but that should never stop one from pushing on, in bravery or fear, it matters not, only that you continue with purpose.

Take heed, dear reader, as you are no longer the same monster you were before reading this post only a few minutes ago.

What will you create next? Yourself?

Keep Creating,

A creative act is a spark of life. So when life is at a standstill, how do we continue to create?

This question has harassed me ad nauseam since the beginning of this pandemic. I remember, during those early days of fear and uncertainty, being particularly filled with dread by a meme that was circulated online amongst fellow artists. It said something to the effect of, “Shakespeare had written King Lear during a plague.” It presented what seemed to me a daunting challenge: would I use this newfound time and space to create my masterpiece? It was tinged with just enough social media snark-guilt that I felt that if I did not write my own Lear by the end of this “gift” of a time, I would most certainly be a failure.

Six months into this seemingly endless crisis, I have done absolutely nothing creative. I have not taken one idea and actually put pen to paper. I haven’t even tried. My pages, where short films and screenplays should be facing edits and re-writes are filled with cobwebs. Sure, I have tooled around on my guitar here and there but fine-tuning my bar chord’s really does nothing for me in the long run.

I have been utterly paralyzed.

I incessantly wrestle with the why? I have more than enough time these days to allow my obsessive brain to feed on questions like these. Why am I incapable of creating during this time? Why has every shred of artistic discipline I’ve ever had left me? It’s a vicious cycle of guilt and anxiety. The more I ignore what I should be doing, the more I don’t want to deal with the guilt of not doing it. And so on and so on it goes. I often see a ghost of myself in the early morning hours of a restless night, which are at this point a regular for me. The ghost looks like me, in just February of this year. It stands before me, a better more confident self. Suddenly, February me starts violently screaming at me in bed, “This is how you spend these precious hours of your life? You’re lazy. You’re weak. You should be doing more. Writing more. Working more.”

As time has gone by, I’ve begun to realize that who we were in the non-plague times, our very identities were all relative to a society that no longer exists.

And that is what has led me to the recent realization that the act of creation in-and-of itself reminds me of everything we’ve lost. I can’t create without remembering a time I could do so freely. Every project I started pre-plague had potential. Anything was possible. Now we all must reckon with an undeniable fact: None of us lives in a world of potential any longer.

Art should reflect the moment. We all know the age-old adage that art often serves as a mirror to society.

I have no idea how to wrestle with this moment.

I watch about 10-12 hours of news a day. It plays in the background as a constant reminder, a little voice in my head that no matter what I do I can’t fix or escape this new reality. I am not in control. But I don’t want to dig into it. I don’t even know what to make of it. Maybe it’s because I can’t make any sense of it. Maybe because it doesn’t make sense. Maybe I can’t control a narrative that helps me understand what is happening. Art needs a reference point. All art is inherently in reference to the society it exists in. Comedy is in relation to firm social norms. Ideas of love and tragedy exist in relation to a fundamental understanding and illumination of the world around us.

And yet, we are in the midst of the most uncertain period of time in a generation. There’s no baseline to refer to. No foundation to reflect on.

In moments of sporadic and fleeting inspiration I ask myself, what do I have to say about all of this? What insight do I even have to offer? Or do I even have a right to try?

How can I create when there are so many people dying, so many getting sick, so many important social justice issues, so many lost jobs, so much workplace abuse, so much gender disparity, so much wrongful prejudice against sexuality, so many dying from abuses in parts far across the world, so much hypocrisy pervading our lives on a daily, hourly, minute to minute basis?

How can it not consume every waking minute of my day? How is the loss of my own livelihood, potentially my entire career not supposed to consume me? How do I forget the fear I have for my loved one’s who may be vulnerable to this virus? The spiral never ends.

It occupies my mind. Almost every waking hour.

Right now, I tend towards things that help to soothe. Things that give me comfort. I try as best I can to find ways to forget the woes, even for a moment. It doesn’t work. And I know deep down that these tendencies are antithetical to creation itself. As artists, we must dig deep, rip scabs off of wounds, tear open our guts and take a hard look at what is there. As dark and ugly as it may be. As long as it is in pursuit of the truth.

But here I am, six months in, unable to create. Because doing so would force me to actually face all of these truths. It would take it from the intellectual, the way I can cope with all of this mess and bring it to the full-blown emotional. A place I am afraid to go.

I don’t know that I have it in me. And I’m not sure if I should.

Stay Safe,

Robbie

Robbie Tann is a professional actor, writer, director & college professor. He has worked extensively in television, film and theatre for nearly a decade.

G&E In Motion does not necessarily agree with the opinions of our guest bloggers. That would be boring and counterproductive. We have simply found the author’s thoughts to be interesting, intelligent, unique, insightful, and/or important. We may not agree on the words but we surely agree on their right to express them and proudly present this platform as a means to do so.

The Horror of Creation