{"id":139432,"date":"2019-09-11T11:00:45","date_gmt":"2019-09-11T15:00:45","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/?p=139432"},"modified":"2019-09-11T17:47:18","modified_gmt":"2019-09-11T21:47:18","slug":"artworks-in-the-room-where-i-write","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2019\/09\/11\/artworks-in-the-room-where-i-write\/","title":{"rendered":"Artworks in the Room Where I Write"},"content":{"rendered":"

Diane Williams\u2019s story \u201cGarden Magic<\/a>\u201d\u00a0appears in our Fall 2019 issue. We asked her to give us a tour of the objects in her office. <\/em><\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The artworks in the room where I write inhabit my fiction everywhere, and those of them that are not explicitly conjured nevertheless recommend themselves to me daily.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

If I look to the right, while sitting in my chair, I follow the travels of Ebenezer Wright\u2019s jerry-rigged adventurer with whom I readily identify.<\/p>\n

He is a vintage toy clown, riding a scooter, coasting on a roadway\u2014wholly dependent, it seems, on a wing butterfly screw.<\/p>\n

His destination is a formidable one and he is so eager\u2014he\u2019s on tiptoe. For if he keeps faith with the gray-shaded, curving pathway that he began the journey on, he\u2019ll soon arrive at the Great Sphinx\u2014situated only inches above him. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I may never get to Egypt. I\u2019d very much like to go there, but I am a timid traveler and, therefore, thankful for \u201cThe Great Sphinx, Pyramids of Gizeh\u201d by David Roberts, July 17, 1838\u2014a Met Museum print I bought in 1992.<\/p>\n

Wright created the photographic tableau \u201cBack to \u2018Gunba\u2019\u201d by resting the tin figure atop an oil painting by Judith Leighton, his partner, a beloved Blue Hill, Maine, artist and gallery owner who recently died.<\/p>\n

We visit Blue Hill every summer to stay a week with our good friends Christine Schutt and David Kersey, and to get the chance, too, to luxuriate in Kersey\u2019s transcendently beautiful and ambitious garden. We have found many artworks in Blue Hill and its environs, and along the nine-hour route each way.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Beneath the Wright artwork is a gift from Hamza Walker, who was well aware of my preoccupation with Sigmund Freud. Gary Cannone\u2019s collage (\u201cFreud\u2019s Library,\u201d 1992) features a black-and-white photograph, a detail of Freud\u2019s consulting room\u2014a selection of his books on shelves. Bordering this is the artist\u2019s color photograph of a stack of the modern library editions of the same titles.<\/p>\n

Not pictured, but close at hand, is my own collection of Freud\u2019s writings, jam-packed on a long shelf and mostly in paperback.<\/p>\n

A drawing of the sphinx and one of the great temple of Aboosemble were present in Freud\u2019s consulting room. I also possess a drawing of this temple by Roberts (another Met Museum print) that hangs on the northern wall.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Below the Roberts sphinx, we\u2019ve suspended the once-modest ceramic planter, which I broke by accident, that used to inconspicuously protect a potted violet on our windowsill.<\/p>\n

Nowadays, the crashed planter is center stage and I think it is ecstatic.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

My partner Wolfgang Neumann\u2019s sculptures startle, comfort, and reinvigorate me, and they can be seen where we live, high and low, and in every direction.<\/p>\n

Mind you, my clumsiness did not help to deliver a myriad of these stunners to the world. In the service of Wolfgang\u2019s work, we assiduously scout flea markets and thrift shops to locate damaged or neglected ceramic treasures.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

On the Korean chest, from her pedestal, a mythical bird-woman (an antique kinnaris<\/em>) presides. I have read that she is famous for dance, song, and poetry. Apparently, she is also demonic.<\/p>\n

Once, with Wolfgang at my side, while I was repositioning framed family photographs set out by her, she suddenly rose, did a somersault, and then aimed the cruel point of her headdress directly at the top of Wolfgang\u2019s bare foot. His wound took several months to heal properly.<\/p>\n

Please understand, she was not originally meant to be anywhere near us. I had initially purchased her as a gift for my mother and when I gave it to her, my mother said, \u201cWell, why do I need this <\/em>when I have that<\/em>?\u201d and she gestured toward her colossal bronze Lord Vishnu on the stair landing.<\/p>\n

Her swift dismissal of my gift was, of course, painful, and I decided to hold on to the goddess. Back at home, I was shocked to see that she is endowed with the same facial profile as my mother.<\/p>\n

So yes, this deity is aggressive, and she devises a surprise entrance in the midst of a climactic scene in my novella, The Stupefaction<\/em>.<\/p>\n

She is one of many rarities I am privileged to have secured from the shop of Therese Gibrat, who was busy closing it down when I met her. I bought more than several objects from Therese out of her home.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Therese soon became a good friend. Behind her French-accented English, I detected a Yiddish accent. She reminded me of my grandmother, who was also Jewish, who loved to speak French to me, and who had been a Romanian \u00e9migr\u00e9.<\/p>\n

I later learned that Therese was a Polish Jewish refugee. She escaped on foot through the woods with her young son.<\/p>\n

She found refuge in France and married Marcel Gibrat, who, when they moved to New York, was hired to restore antiquities at the Met.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Within a tramp-art frame, on the floor, aslant against the Korean chest, a dog stands on its hind legs begging. A cat waits also, tail up, as a young girl holds a loaf of bread under her chin that she is about to carve with her long, sharp bread knife. This illustration is in repeat on vintage cloth\u2014and is a curiosity I purchased from Janet West\u2019s booth at the Chelsea open-air flea market.<\/p>\n

Why does the girl choose such an unorthodox and dangerous violinist\u2019s pose to slice her bread? This query served to set in motion \u201cThe Poet\u201d in Fine, Fine, Fine, Fine, Fine<\/em>.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Close by, over the doorknob, hangs an old-fashioned ostrich feather duster. Yes, I know\u2014it\u2019s a very odd gift to be given to me by a friend. Now it\u2019s dressed in an embroidered velvet jerkin that I sewed years ago to clothe a teddy bear for one of my sons. The whole affair is topped off by a straw gardening hat, too large for me and also too uncomfortable to wear, but too pretty to give away. This duster, even before it proved itself to be numinous, took a leading role in \u201cThe Strong Petals of Quiet\u201d in The Stupefaction<\/em>.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The framed print to the right of the closet door is a crayon and charcoal portrait of a woman by Odilon Redon (\u201cArmor\u201d). She is smothered, it looks like, inside of a thorny helmet and mask. She won\u2019t speak!<\/em> Don\u2019t speak!<\/em> is what I hear when I look at her, and she never leaves off frightening me.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

My son Jake\u2019s \u201cRobot\u201d\u2014fashioned when he was in grade school\u2014is astride Odilon\u2019s mute and stifled apparition.<\/p>\n

Jake\u2019s ultracompetent invention can rescue anyone who may end up helpless in extremis. And Jake has offered clear directions for his robot\u2019s use on the collage\u2019s reverse side.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I love my \u201cKilimanjaro\u201d\u2014a trial color proof by the printmaker Letterio Calapai. Late in life he made his prints in a storefront studio in Glencoe, Illinois\u2014a small northern suburb of Chicago where I used to live. And it was quite fortuitous to meet up with this very kind and wholly dedicated artist, then in his eighties, and to me he looked happy<\/em>! When my oldest son was a toddler we\u2019d visit him together often and watch him work.<\/p>\n

\u201cKilmanjaro,\u201d he said, was his masterpiece, and I was as much impressed by his pride as I was by his painstaking process.<\/p>\n

One day he asked me what I thought of the color of his Kilimanjaro\u2019s sky\u2014his first trial color print.<\/p>\n

I remember feeling surprised that it might be possible for me to have an opinion about this. Why wouldn\u2019t I approve of the color he had chosen for his sky? Of course, I did. I was honored to be asked the question and entirely flummoxed.<\/p>\n

When my first book, This Is About the Body, the Mind, the Soul, the World, Time, and Fate<\/em>, was published, Letterio read it, admired it, and he embraced me. I have never forgotten his generous salute\u2014I barely received comment from other friends and family in that village, in that era.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The red-legged, upside-down, exhausted, winged god was painted by my son Alec when he was a child and there is no need to explain why the god regularly gets my attention.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The other Roberts print I own is below Cybele Troyan\u2019s portrait in oil, which I came upon in her studio. I also saw the model for the artwork\u2014the supersize rag doll that Cybele had made\u2014although, only its lower half was visible. In a corner, the doll was slumped headfirst. I wonder now: did she even have a head?<\/p>\n

I discovered Troyan\u2019s work through her mother, my friend and colleague, the fiction writer Sheila Kohler.<\/p>\n

This raucous painting, which I often meditate on, launched \u201cGirl with a Pencil\u201d in Fine, Fine, Fine, Fine, Fine<\/em>.<\/p>\n

Both artworks\u2014the Troyan and the Roberts\u2014foreground gargantuan legs. Perhaps I fit these images together for this reason. I can\u2019t recall.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The gargoyle-like plague doctor\u2019s mask still causes recoil, but may also perpetually provide me necessary permission to deliver darker impulses to the page.<\/p>\n

I found the mask at Drottningholm Palace in Sweden, at the shop attached to its opera house, when we were on a visitor tour. The eighteenth-century palace theater is one of the earliest opera houses in existence and it is in operation to this day, with its original stage machinery intact.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The tormented pair of papier-m\u00e2ch\u00e9 figures look to me as if they\u2019re yelping. The artist and clairvoyant Melissa Townsend fashioned these sculptures in the hopes that they\u2019d help me manage my romantic distress. I was meant to put them together in pleasing postures or to keep them separate, but usually they were supine or prone on some surface, listless and ignored, dangerously behaving very much like clutter.<\/p>\n

So Wolfgang, when I met him, disengaged them thoroughly, and then leashed them satisfactorily and completely beyond my reach and my control.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Diane Williams is a fiction writer, and founder and editor of <\/em>NOON. Her collected stories were published last fall be Soho Press. Her story \u201cGarden Magic\u201d appears in our Fall 2019 issue.\u00a0<\/a><\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

We asked Diane Williams to give us a tour of her office. <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1841,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[419],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-139432","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-arts-culture"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\nArtworks in the Room Where I Write by Diane Williams<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"September 11, 2019 \u2013 We asked Diane Williams to give us a tour of her office.\" \/>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2019\/09\/11\/artworks-in-the-room-where-i-write\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" 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