A YEAR AND A MONTH LATER

 

 I KNOW YOU MISSED ME 'CAUSE YOU TOLD ME SO.

I stopped writing WALKING IS TRANSPORTATION (WIT) in October, 2009 because I wanted to do other things. It really was gratifying to hear from so many people that they looked forward to reading my work; that they liked the look of WIT as much as what it and I had to say. And that they were sorry to hear I wasn't writing it anymore.

If memory serves, as it often doesn't, this is WIT's fourth incarnation. I'm retaining the title WALKING IS TRANSPORTATION as a kind of platform or backdrop, in the same way I might make a comfortable home for myself in the words, JAZZ IS (everything).

 A VERY BRIEF HISTORY

Phase 1: WIT began life as a straightforward advocacy tool for, as the name suggests, walking as a practical, efficient and inexpensive means of transportation. It became clear to me, a few months into the game, that there was only so much I could say without repeating myself and boring others.

Phase 2: Either I took a break or simply transitioned into a kind of community-observer journal focused un-self-consciously on Staten Island, with occasional forays into visual art, jazz and electoral politics.

Phase 3: For a brief and intense period, WIT became a daily journal. The subjects varied; what mattered was to produce an issue a day. An impossible standard that I stopped trying to meet in October, 2009.

As I begin WIT's third return-to-life, it seems important not to make any promises or projections. That said, what's certain is that    WIT will reflect my current interests. 

ANOTHER JOURNAL OF A SOLITUDE ? MAYBE.

I first read May Sarton's journal in the mid-70s, less because of the word 'solitude' in its title than because of its profile of a writer's retreat to the country, which I and my wife were then contemplating.

Reading it again today, as I plan to, 35 years or so later, it's the word 'solitude,' not the words 'country retreat,' that interests me. That's because, for some time now, I've been grappling with what many, perhaps most people would consider my withdrawal--if not from society, then from certain aspects of my former life.

I can't deny the accuracy of the word 'withdrawal' when applied to what I do and, just as often, don't. But lately, for the first time in about five years, it's occurring to me that perhaps the wish for solitude, for the solitary, is an impulse I don't have to resist or reform or moderate or deny. It's a wish that feels--to use a word not so much used these days--authentic; and one that, for now, I intend to fulfill.

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Comments

[Dan Icolari]

Mr. Martin,

Thanks very much for your welcoming words. Forgive the delay, please, in responding.

I hope to post somewhat more regularly now.

[[email protected]]

Welcome back

[Dan Icolari]

The image of you riding on your father's shoulder is a lovely one. You've spoken of him to me many times in the past.

Speaking of working alongside/next to/with another person, the typical working arrangement at the ad agency we both worked at, as you know, was for the writer to work with the art director, side by side. It was my personal hell--relieved, finally, when I began working in branding and corporate identity and could close the office door and be . . . alone.

I collaborate well in shoveling snow or raking leaves, but not as a writer.

[Mary Bullock]

it's occurring to me that perhaps the wish for solitude, for the solitary, is an impulse I don't have to resist or reform or moderate or deny . . or even apologize for.

I think it would greatly improve our society if more of its members, especially the young, had the opportunity and impulse to spend some time content in their own company.

As someone who produces a creative product, I've chosen to do it in solitude. I started serious production in the mid 1990's as my second marriage wound down. To this day no one has seen me work - -except for a few brief minutes at intervals when I was staffing SHOW Gallery in 2008 (an experience I found painful and will not repeat). Though some condemn it as anti-social, communication through creative output, as opposed to in person, allows the message to come through, as it is unclouded by conscious, or unconscious, prejudices.

Never underestimate the importance of that product of solitude - journals. After my father passed we found his extensive journals. Reading them is like riding around on his shoulder through his daily life, closer to him than when we lived together. And then there are the entries about me . . .

My father valued his solitude. He spent most evenings in his den with his extensive book collection. Not once did I feel he loved me any less.