Latest news with #TaniaRalli

Boston Globe

Cambridge writer Peter Mendelsund isn't afraid to make you feel bad

Advertisement His new book, (The characters partake in Get Starting Point A guide through the most important stories of the morning, delivered Monday through Friday. Enter Email Sign Up Mendelsund will discuss both new releases in conversation with WBUR editor Tania Ralli at Advertisement Q. " Exhibitionist" — which is subtitled '1 Journal, 1 Depression, 100 Paintings' — is a unique book. How did you land on that structure? A. I had the opportunity to publish a hundred paintings as an art monograph, but I was tired of purely visual books. I was captioning it, and felt like, 'Oh this is so dull.' I started looking at the journals because I was working on the paintings at the same time I was writing my diary. Right around that moment, I had a conversation with my recently deceased mother in which she said, 'I hate memoirs; they're so exhibitionist.' As soon as I heard that word, I was like, these two things can be married, right? Because [the journal] is this deeply personal, personal book about guilt and shame, and to put it out into the world does feel so exhibitionist. She just said that word, and everything opened up. The thing I'm most proud of in this publication moment is the serendipity of this form. Q. Toward the end of your journal, you wonder if seeing all of the paintings in a show would help you understand what it was you were doing as an artist. Did you arrive at an understanding? A. None whatsoever. The whole thing is mysterious to me. I have no idea how any of it happened. The amazing thing is that whenever this book is talked about, the narrative is that art saved me or the recuperative power of art therapy. Advertisement I believe in that. It's extremely valuable. But in this case, that's not what happened. Art didn't save me. Art was something that just came out of me during this period. It kept my hands busy. When you're depressed, you have to be reminded to put food in you or get out of bed. It lubricated my joints. Quite literally. Also metaphorically, but it just meant that I could be distracted and my body would just do the things that bodies — undepressed bodies — do during the day. In the end, what saved me is a diagnosis, proper medication, a lot of therapy, and the love of my family and friends. Painting is just an interesting byproduct, like sweat or tears. Cambridge-based Peter Mendelsund's "Exhibitionist," a collection of journal entries and original art created during the Covid-19 pandemic. Provided Q. You mention having the idea for 'Weepers' in a journal entry in 'Exhibitionist.' Do you think of these books as being in conversation with each other? A. They speak to one another in so many ways. On the most obvious level, they're sad books. There's some sense of hope at the end of both, but these are both books that are contending with deep sorrow, family trauma, and national tragedies of various kinds. I don't think it's a stretch to think we're living through an age where the primary emotions are either anger or tremendous numbness, just a total lack of compassion. It seemed like there was never a better time for this idea of there being people who help other people feel things. Q. The most skilled weeper in 'Weepers,' the 'Kid,' arrives mysteriously and is almost too powerful — he gets people too in touch with their emotions. But, while central to the plot, there's very little about him in the book. How did you approach that? Advertisement A. One of the things about a miracle is that it's inexplicable. And this is a book about a miracle. So it needed to be inexplicable. I wanted him to be flat. I wanted him to be a cipher. And it just seemed absolutely crucial to me. There were moments where I tried to write more into his story, and it just didn't work. It made the miraculous less plausible. If you want origin stories, that's what the Marvel Cinematic Universe is for. People perform miracles, and it's explained exactly who they are and where they got their powers. I can totally understand how, as a reader, it would be frustrating not to know. Even writing it, it's frustrating for me not to know. But I don't really mind that. I like the challenge. I don't want to answer questions. I want to raise them. Q. The setting of 'Weepers'— a rural desert town in the Southwestern US —simultaneously feels very strange and very familiar. How did you think about it? A . It's a parable, but I could picture this place very clearly in my mind. Whether it's Arizona or Texas or New Mexico, I could see the environment. You have to be able to transpose whatever's happening into any milieu — that's what makes it an allegory — so I didn't want to be too specific. Anybody who's got their head screwed on right is mourning for the country, mourning for the planet. The machismo is also important. I wanted a place where it's not just consumptive atelier-living bohemians who are feeling sad. The weepers come from all walks of life and have all different kinds of temperaments. They're up against this traditional sense of normative American manhood. It seemed like the border was an appropriate place. Advertisement Interview was edited and condensed. Peter Mendelsund , Tuesday, 7 p.m. Porter Square Books, Cambridge Edition. 1815 Massachusetts Ave., Cambridge, . Bradley Babendir is a fiction writer and critic based in Somerville.