The Fundamental Note

W. W. Norton published my first book, You May Plow Here: The Narrative of Sara Brooks. The Fundamental Note published my second book, Dancing Girl: Themes and Improvisations in a Greek Village Setting. I first came across the term “fundamental note” in the late 80s. A book club where I had been guest author with You May Plow Here had invited me to join their group. I don’t remember the title of the book we read or the name of the author or the details of the story—it was about a British woman adventurer who drove her car all the way to the Near East around the time of the First World War. Something like that. I don’t recall the context in which the words were used. I just remember the term: the fundamental note. I liked the sound of it.

And the meaning. In music: the root of a chord, the generator of a series of harmonies. The perfect name for the imprint that would publish stories about the women in the Greek village I had come to call home—and my life with them. Differences notwithstanding, I came to understand that the women of Elika and I have in common feelings that need to be expressed. We have in common a spirit that wants to be set free. We share this yearning: to sing the fundamental note that vibrates within.

Knowing this, it seems appropriate that The Fundamental Note has now published my third book, Dances in Two Worlds: A Writer-Artist’s Backstory. The essays and the paintings I made during the past 20 years document obstacles I have faced, questions I have asked, actions I have taken. The process of writing and painting transformed how I experience my past—what had often felt like a hindrance has become a positive force. The past has become my ally. And the yearning has given way to gratitude. The fundamental note—sung over and over again—in technicolor.

A Sustaining Activity

This is the painting I mentioned in my previous post. Why make them wait to see it, I asked myself. So here it is. To me the piece looks like a finger-painting a kindergartener might have made, but I was 44, and I applied tempera paint with a brush. Naive though it is, the hallmarks of my work to this day are revealed in this scribble: bright colors and bold lines. In Dances in Two Worlds, I describe the circumstances of my upbringing that primed me to paint. And I write about the forces that inhibited me from doing so. Significantly, two generations of women behind me—my mother and my grandmother—had communicated "the validity of creative self-expression as a sideline but never as a sustaining activity." When I finally did give myself permission to paint...those vibrant colors and the dynamic lines! I sometimes think there is only one explanation—three generations of women are making themselves heard with every brushstroke I make.

Dances in Two Worlds: Origins

Dances in Two Worlds—a book by Thordis Simonsen

Dances in Two Worlds—a sculpture by Michael Mrowka

You might wonder what this 2-sided found-object wooden totem has to do with the book by the same name. The sculpture came first, the book came later. The book was named after the totem, which I describe in the title story, where I also explain why the piece appealed to me and why I took her home twenty years ago. I thought you would like to see her. I met the artist, Michael Mrowka, in a Jungian painting group where I began to paint in 1988. (My very first piece is included in the book.) Of course, when I purchased the sculpture named Dances in Two Worlds (to celebrate the publication of Dancing Girl), I had no idea the next book I had in mind would be named for her. And even though I was commuting between Denver and the Greek village, Elika, at the time, and I had already begun to paint as well as write, I had no idea that my life itself had become a dance in two worlds.

Genuine Encounters: Welcome

Welcome to "Genuine Encounters—in travel and the arts."

I first came across the term "genuine encounter" in Ramona Gault's review of my second book, Dancing Girl: Themes and Improvisations in a Greek Village Setting. The book contains warm, spirited accounts by and about the people of Elika and my relationship to them. "Some of [the stories] made me cry for their purity," Gault wrote. "Some made me laugh out loud. [Dancing Girl] is a genuine encounter." (Northwest Ethnic News, May 1992.) Whether I report on my forthcoming book, Dances in Two Worlds: A Writer-Artist's Backstory (June 2011), or I take you into my printmaking studio, or I send news from Greece, I hope that each post will in some way be a genuine encounter for the reader and writer alike. Please let me know how I am doing!