Collaboration and Creativity in Marriage

One of those times of intense inspiration. I’m reading the book, “The Cello Suites” by Eric Siblin—who tells a personal story of searching for the suites and their history—the political and musical history of Bach’s cello suites. I also dug out an old DVD of Yo-Yo Ma and Mark Morrison collaborating on the third suite and listening to them I was moved again by the critical factor of ego and no ego. (This is a beautiful film of Ma and Morrison working at one of my favorite and most sacred places: Jacob’s Pillow)

Clearly Yo-Yo Ma had to find an artist of his caliber with whom to create these collaborations. Watching him with Morrison I could see that it had to be between to artists who had the same amount of skill, expertise, gift and ego to make the collaboration work. If one had more or less then they would have buried the other or dominated the creative work.

Maybe this is also true in marriage? Each partner has to have confidence in themselves, a belief in their own creativity, health, passion, ability, intelligence and the ego strength to both hold their ground and cede the ground as needed. Collaboration may be a better word than partnership. Partnership suggests each puts something aside—dies down a little—in order to make the concern work—but collaboration requires strength and humility—the ability to suggest, insist and to step aside and be taught without loss of face or ego.

The Marriage Artist

I was talking to my friend Stephanie yesterday about John and our plans to get married in August. “Why get married?” she asked me. The question, asked by others too, has nagged at me. Why get married when we have both been married before; when we won’t have kids; when we don’t know what might happen to his health or to our lives?

Perhaps the implied question: Why are you getting married again? Both of us married before –four past marriages between us--so why again? We talked about the cultural issues, the social status, the fact that marriage carries an additional satisfaction knowing that there are some who have bet against our relationship.

But there is something else: I like being married. As I’ve described it to friends, I like the container of marriage. I have always envisioned marriage as a container in which two people concoct something chemical, physical, emotional and spiritual. Some of the creations live a long time and some don’t. Some have stunningly beautiful chemical reactions, some make stinky messes, but all are living things.

Yesterday talking to Stephanie—as we pushed and pulled at this idea --I realized another part of this. Marriage is a creative act—and yes, in a way that living together is not—the materials are more expensive, there is an audience and there is no net. The very legality adds a risk factor. Seeing marriage as a work of art and myself as a marriage artist came closest to making sense of why I am willing to do this hard, imperfect and often uncomfortable thing over and over. Perhaps it is a kind of performance art created in front of a live audience. Or an installation –bizarrely conceptual and wildly improvisational.

It is also why the question, “Are you happy?” seems irrelevant to me. Friends-- wondering about this marriage –have asked me, “Are you happy?” But that’s not the question that I ask myself. I’m not always happy. What artist is? But am I interested? engaged? challenged? stretched? learning? surprised? perplexed and ultimately deeply changed? Yes to all of the above.

All of these years trying to find my medium, here it is at my finger tips. Marriage as medium. The marriage artist.

Starry Starry Night

I went to the Van Gogh exhibit at the Museum of Modern Art. His most famous painting, “Starry Night” was in a room by itself. Sadly, it is impossible to look at Van Gogh painting with out hearing Don McLean on the internal sound track in my head. The song just came. I fought it, then I let it be. There is a cultural collision: painter and song writer; a song about a painter and when we see the painting we hear the song.

Van Gogh said, “When I feel the need for religion I go outside to paint the stars.”

I realized, standing in that gallery, that when I feel the need for faith and consolation I go to art museums. I always find comfort, quiet and reassurance. I am held together by the power of art. If there is not a God then art will save me. But how could there be art if there is not something bigger and even more creative.