T(r)oy's Marbles

The first words of the introduction to this volume are a quote from author Katherine Anne Porter. She puts vocation (specifically, the artist’s vocation) into perspective with these words: “There seems to be a kind of order in the universe, in the movement of the stars and the turning of the earth and the changing of the seasons, and even in the cycle of human life. But human life itself is almost pure chaos…We don’t really know what is going to happen to us, and we don’t know why…[T]he work of the artist—the only thing he’s good for—is to take these handfuls of confusion and disparate things, things that seem to be irreconcilable, and put them together in a frame to give them some kind of shape and meaning.”

That’s vocation. That’s what you call a “life-work”.

Artistically, we refer to a person’s “life-work” as a body of material that, when viewed in its totality, adds up to more than the mere sum of its individual parts. There are a handful of artists we could explore to delve into this idea of “life-work.”

Take, for example, Stephen King. He’s more than a writer of horror, you know. He’s written short stories and screenplays (many of which people do not know he’s written because they are not of the horror genre). He’s even written a book on writing. In fact, I’m told it’s quite good. The question is: what does his “life-work” tell us?

Or take Pablo Picasso. Picasso is best known for cubism. But, in Barcelona there is a museum that shows Picasso’s pre-cubist era. Were we to view the entire body of Picasso’s work, what would it tell us?

We could do this with many “great” artists: William Shakespeare, Elvis Presley, Victor Hugo, Sigmund Freud, Martin Luther. (And, yes, I do find it strange that I put Elvis Presley in that list, in case you’re wondering!)

But with each of these, there is more to consider as concerns this issue of “life-work”. For an artist’s “life-work”, in my opinion, includes not just the pieces of art they produce but also the real-life legacy they leave behind. What do their lives actually tell us?

We could take Michael Jackson, for example. It is one thing to view his body of work as a musician. It is another to view his life-work (his legacy) from another vantage. Viewed that way, we would include the way he lived, what he was known for apart from his music.

With that in mind, consider: Muhammed Ali, Malcolm X, Madonna, Mother Teresa and Mahatma Ghandi (yes, I chose all M’s on purpose!). Each had (or has) a “life-work”. What is it? What distinguishes one from another?

This is the question of vocation and you can see it is also a question of identity. To a large extent each person listed is defined by their vocation. But, in some strange way, their vocation is driven by their identity.

Here again, Horton Foote gives us an excellent example of the interplay between identity and vocation. The fact is: Mr. Foote was born and lived almost his entire childhood and adolescence in Wharton, Texas. Like Harrison (the fictional town Mr. Foote created), Wharton is an “eastern Texas small town”, with all its blessings and curses. In exploring Harrison through his “life-work”, he’s exploring his roots, his very identity. And his exploration is such that he’s intentionally looking for patterns, putting things “together in a frame to give them some kind of shape and meaning.”

Consider these words from Mr. Wood’s introduction: “But courage is only one of many topics in these plays. Foote is more generally interested in what he calls the ‘patterns…in people,’ only one of which is their capacity for courage.”

Mr. Wood then quotes Horton Foote to illustrate this “pattern-seeking” compulsion.

“I think what has been increasingly interesting to me (And I suppose, you see, I’m in touch with six or seven generations living in Wharton. The seventh generation has now begun.) is trying to bring order out of disorder…to try to make sense out of what sometimes seems just total confusion. And if you see the patterns…in people…”

Mr. Wood then continues to comment on this, tying this theme back to Ms. Porter’s opening quote. He writes:

“The uncovering of these patterns is, as [Horton Foote] explains it, his means of bringing ‘order’ and making ‘sense.’ Like Katherine Anne Porter before him, he is using art as a ‘frame to give…shape and meaning’ to the otherwise ‘almost pure chaos’ of human life. The Texas voices, characters and stories in his work are Foote’s tools in his quest for continuity and tradition. But the goals of his search are not just particular and regional. He wants to discover the roots of courage, the peace of identity, and the healing power of myths and legends. For an artist who commits himself to the eternal struggle of order against disorder, nothing less will satisfy.”

Can you hear “vocation” in these words? Vocation is formed by identity but it is also an exploration of identity, a search for roots, patterns, meaning, order, purpose. And this life-work possesses the power to heal.

True vocation is a fire in your soul. It is what you cannot help but be and do. It is what gets you out of bed in the morning.

True vocation is what you were created for. As the philosopher Peter Kreeft says, it is the gift that God gives to each of us: “the dignity of being causes.”

And you can see that vocation is different than “career.” One can have a career in art, but that does not mean that one’s art is one’s vocation. As Konstantin Stanislavski (former director of the Moscow Art Theater) asks: do you love "yourself in the art" or "the art in yourself"? That is the difference between “career” and “vocation.”

We’ll look at that more tomorrow. For now, I just wanted to pose some “big picture” thoughts with respect to this issue and, hopefully, to demonstrate why “identity and vocation” matters.

To read the next post in the chain, click here.