A Goosebump on the Arms of The Greats: An Open Letter
Ruminations ❧ Letter 4
This month’s Rumination takes the form of an open letter and is addressed to , eternal student and author of , a newsletter for professional overthinkers (like ourselves).
(You can now read Robin’s response to this letter here.)
Comments and return letters are, of course, welcome! This is a holding place for our collective ruminations on literature and writing, after all, and I look forward to your responses xx
Dearest Robin,
We’ve not met in person, but I couldn’t pass on the opportunity to begin an open conversation with a fellow Australian writer. I’ve enjoyed your work from the sidelines for some time now (read: love watching your youtube videos and reading your newsletter) and blame you eeeever so slightly for my ever-growing TBR list.
I write to you today from the warmest corner of my frostbitten home. The air above my tea swirls, the window shields the winter rain, and my mind drifts elsewhere.
To us, elsewhere is far less elusive; recent expeditions abroad play in our minds on a loop, the hippocampus whirring in fanciful delight as it projects a kaleidoscopic movie of our favourite moments. This is how it has been for me, at least.
If I close my eyes, I can feel the glaze of Italian summer soften across the bridge of my nose, the rocking of uneven cobblestone beneath my wayward feet, and the ridges of some quiet architectural beauty beneath my fingertips. To the everyday Australian, these experiences are nothing short of magic.
But there is always a caveat, isn’t there?
Eager as I was to immerse myself in the history I so love, I couldn’t completely ignore the feeling of inadequacy biting at my ankles as I delved deeper into the rich artistic world Italy had to offer.
As I stared into the eyes of Botticelli’s Venus, tears welled in my own; as I climbed the precariously tilting dome of the Vatican, my heart slipped sidewise into my stomach; as I wandered round the streets of Florence, the legacy of Dante Alighieri loomed in my mind with a certain reverence.
I spent many moments equal parts awestruck and humbled.
Perhaps this is a shortcoming of my own - that is, to feel wonder and translate it to incompetence. I have a tendency to self-sabotage and my creativity tends to bear the brunt of it, though I do wonder if I am alone in this feeling. Did Paris challenge your creative identity, too?
It is difficult, as a budding writer, not to feel that almost everything you create is rubbish. A piece of writing is never. truly. finished. And never really ‘new’, either. I think it’s the plight of many writers to feel the looming omnipotence of every book ever written staring down at their frantically scrawled new ideas.
Though in saying that, it is also every writer’s greatest gift. Modern art speaks to the evolution of that which already exists and I couldn’t think of anything more incredible. What is my writing without the influence of Edgar Allan Poe? Blake’s Songs of Innocence and Experience? Grimm’s Fairy Tales? Shakespeare, Tartt, Funke, Sappho? Not to mention work by writers our age, alive and growing with us, right here, right now?
I often feel like a goosebump on the arms of The Greats, but modern writing and artistic appreciation are what keep them alive.
You and I both delve deeply into the minds and processes of those been and gone, so much so that we have crossed oceans to experience their magnum opera with our own eyes. The richness of travel and the close proximity it affords us to history is irreplaceable, but so are our individual contributions to an ongoing act of creative translation that spans millennia and continues to coalesce the old and new.
We are both home now, and both changed. Sure, a European Summer would leave anyone feeling elated, but I think you might agree that our holidays have left us with much to reflect on. Who knows, the way we integrate our experiences abroad into our writing - or even our lives - may well be contemplated by the budding writers of the future.
What do we want to tell them about the past? And, more importantly, what do we want to tell them about the present?
Now, in terms of jet lag: good luck, my friend!
Yours in creative translation,
Caitlin Ellis x