Mary Gauthier

If the early evening gloom is getting to you, (yes, it’s getting to me), we can take comfort in the fact that the days are about to start getting longer. The winter solstice–which marks the beginning of winter and the shortest day of the year in the Northern Hemisphere — came last night at 11:30 CST.

Yesterday was the shortest day of the year. Today the days begin to lengthen, and for me that means my walks on the red trail at Warner Park will slowly start getting pushed back. This gives me more time during the day at my writing desk which is a good thing, as I am in the process of writing new songs and feel rushed to get out to the trail in the early afternoon to beat the encroaching darkness. Right now I have to be out there by 3 to walk the 5 mile trail, because it’s been getting dark at 4:30pm.

I love hiking the hills at Warner Park here in Nashville, and I especially like hiking them in the winter, because I don’t have to worry about snakes. I have an irrational, primal fear of snakes, and I have run into timber rattlers several times in the park, and every time I do, it scares the bejesus out of me. They come out in the spring, and they’re out all summer, but in the winter, NO SNAKES.

I like it, this walking in the cold, no snakes anywhere.

The timber rattler is a beautiful animal, but I can’t get past my crazy fear (and healthy respect) for it’s majesty. I got very, very close to one in March….here’s a video taken from my iPhone….

Click on this picture for my video of the timber rattler rattling...

Warner Park in the winter time.

I am a daily walker (snakes or no snakes). Somewhere a long time ago I read that writers walk, and I find it particularly helpful to walk the hills when I am writing. Its part of my creative process, the songs marinate as I climb the hills in silence and listen to the leaves under my feet and hear the occasional train rolling down the tracks in the distance. Problems in the songs somehow sort themselves out without me having to fix them, rhymes reveal themselves, and melodies write themselves as my legs move my body through the woods.  There is something bigger than myself at work in these moments, and while the information bubbles up into my conscious mind through my subconscious mind, I don’t think it originates there. I am just the vessel, the recipient of the story. In other words, the songs come through me, not from me. There’s something else at work in those hills, and don’t want to name it because any name I could give it would diminish the experience. Lets just say there’s a power greater than myself working on me. My job is to show up, be patient, trust my gut, and allow for that power I can’t name to do it’s work. Creativity is a magical thing, it flows though humans in the most simple and complex ways, and we are allowed to literally co-create the universe when we embrace our creative powers. The key word here for me is co-create. Of course I can force songs and push them into shape with my will, but if I do, I lose something vital, I lose the spirit of the original inspiration. I lose the magic. Forced songs sound like forced songs, they sound crafty…and I don’t want to write crafty songs. I want to write well crafted songs, of course, but there’s much more to it than that. I want to be an artist. I want to move people, and be useful in the greater scheme of things. Crafty songs have their place, but craft without art, without that magical divine spark, does not interest me.

This idea is articulated beautifully by one of my favorite writers Jame Lee Burke. James wrote a piece for the NY Times  in 2002 about it in a series called Writers On Writing. Here’s a nice quote from James from that article, read the whole thing if you get a chance, it’s time well spent if you have an interest in these things:

I’m inspired.

My friend Gretchen Peters has inspired me. With her wonderful blog on Huffington Post, and her fantastic new CD Hello Cruel World, she’s got me thinking about art….in a good way. Really thinking.

In her blog, Gretchen writes, “As a songwriter, singer and musician, I explore the emotional terrain of everyday life on a regular basis. I am interested in shining a light into some dark corners, even compelled to do it, to take the secrets that we all keep and bring them into the light, give them a name, treat them with compassion and humility, but, above all, to tell the truth. Art has the power to transport us into other people’s lives, and thus, ultimately, into our own hearts. The act of empathizing with another, no matter how different, breaks down the walls built by secret-keeping and fear, and forever binds us together in our humanity.  So many people prefer you to assume a role that makes them comfortable. But life is not about making other people comfortable. This idea seeped into the songs that were coming out of me — the old adage, “Comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable.” I wanted to say what seemed unsayable. That life is tough, heartbreaking, unfair — and short. And that there is unspeakable beauty to be found.”

I couldn’t agree more.

I’m home now, in Nashville, sitting at my writing desk, contemplating these ideas while I try to write some songs.  And I’m wondering, whats left for me to say? And I realize that writing and performing my most recent project The Foundling has changed me. There’s plenty for me to say, because I have changed. I am not the same person that I was three years ago when I decided to take on the most confusing and complex part of my own story by writing songs about it.

I love this quote by the great  playwright, three time Pulitzer Prize winner, and fellow adoptee Edward Allbee . (Who’s Afraid of Virginia Wolf)

“All serious art is being destroyed by commerce. Most people don’t want art to be disturbing. They want it to be escapist. I don’t think art should be escapist. thats a waste of time.”

Sometimes, the greatest thing an artist can do is be disturbing. To disturb the comfortable, and comfort the disturbed is to answer to a higher calling. It takes courage, self awareness, confidence and audacity to go against the grain, to shake things up, to stand alone and speak truth to power.

The writing of The Foundling was a key that opened a dark room inside my head, threw the lights on, and ran some of the monsters out. I feel lighter, less anxious, and more at peace now. Somehow, by revealing the hardest thing I’ve ever had to face, it’s lightened my load. The songs of The Foundling have made many people uncomfortable. They’ve made ME uncomfortable at times. They’re not for the faint hearted. They are heavy, and the story does not end well. But, is that REALLY true? Because here I sit, feeling a sense of peace and serenity thats flows like a river deep inside me. I’ve never felt better in my life. I feel connected to people, to myself and to a power greater than myself. There’s a great gift in being an artist, and for me that gift is being the recipient of what Gretchen was describing in her blog, being returned to my own heart through the sharing the truth of my humanity with others. Sometimes people tell me things like “That song you wrote was a life raft for me when I was going through x,y,z….” I always smile and nod and say  sweetheart, we’re floating on the same little boat. It goes both ways; thats the nature of art.  If it’s the kind of work that has a deep moving effect on a listener, you can be assured that is has had the same effect on the artist. The artist saves his/her own life by the work he/she does. Thats certainly been my experience. I write, I learn, I grow, and I move on. The work helps me to move on, to not stay stuck. I learn the lessons by writing about my experiences — making art from these experiences frees me to move on. My work gives me a powerful reason to get up in the morning. I am dedicated to it, and I love it. Ten years into being a professional songwriter, my passion for it continues. Writing helps me understand who and what I am, and it helps me understand the human condition and my place as a member of the human race, afflicted and gifted by the human condition just like everyone else. I’ve travelled the word now for  a decade, and I am certain of one thing, we are all made of the same stuff. The human heart does not vary all that much, we humans are all much more alike than different, despite what the politicians and corporate media types try to tell us.

As a songwriter, I have no desire to do anything other than try to describe whats going on around me and inside me. I look out and see so much worth loving, so much worth singing about, writing about, worth trying to gently capture like a butterfly in my little song net. There is plenty left for me to say. Sometimes the greatest songs in the world are simple love songs, honest and true, without irony or cynicism. I think it’s high time I write a few songs like that.

I’m working on it now.