I don’t know how other artists deal with failure. Failure, paradoxically, motivates me to work harder. As a self-taught artist, I am one of those stubborn people who believes that with time, I will find a solution or eventually discover something new and better. Intuitively, I try one thing and another, pushing the process even if I have to destroy all the work that was done before. Reckless, perhaps, but that is my process.
This paradigm has worked well, until I took on Oedipus Rex by Sophocles. For five months, on-and-off, I have been working on an adaptation. It is not my first Greek play. Over the last eight years, I have completed four Greek plays by Aeschylus. Extracting the essence of the story, I went back and forth between the text and the illustrations until they created a synergy. The process wasn’t easy but I had no reason to believe Oedipus would be any more difficult than those earlier plays.
Naivety is one of my strengths. Even though I am susceptible to stress, I often naively take-on difficult projects. I enjoy new challenges. With Oedipus Rex, however, naivety was rash foolishness. I took on this challenge without understanding the inherent difficulties and risks that it entailed.
Risks, you ask? My sleep was interrupted frequently as my mind obsessively poured over possible solutions to the Oedipus creative quandary. When finally morning arrived, I eagerly went to work in my studio trying my new ideas. Day after day, the ideas fell short of my expectations.
The pile of Oedipus-related drawings, collages, and prints kept growing, but I was no closer to what I thought the play required. Even my expectations kept changing. Eventually, the daily toil led me to doubt my own creative abilities.
I was becoming increasingly frustrated until I discovered the source of my difficulties: the structure of the play itself. King Oedipus, while attempting to cleanse Thebes of a deadly plague, gradually learns that he is the cause of the spiritual and moral pollution that grips his kingdom. Ignorant of his deeds but aware of the curse that haunts his life, Oedipus unknowingly has killed his father and married his mother.
The dramatic tension of the play is created by Oedipus’ gradual awareness of his fate. As such, most of the action takes place in Oedipus’ mind, and is reflected in his reactions to the horrible revelations he learns about himself. Surprise, anger, pride, distrust, shame, horror, denial, powerlessness, resignation, love, hate, sadness, hope and fear are some of the feelings Oedipus experiences. These are states of mind. The action, therefore, overwhelmingly consists of descriptive words that reflect these thoughts and feelings.
At first, I tried drawing the few events themselves, like the murder of Oedipus’ father. The drawings told the story, but they did not illuminate the play’s deeper psychological meanings.
Then I tried to interpret the play through a series of related abstractions, forms gradually took on a shape as they moved from darkness to light. Abstractions, I thought, could be used to reflect Oedipus’ realizations. Nothing worked. Nothing successfully reflected Oedipus’ process of self-discovery.
As the days and months went on, I began dreading my time in the studio. I was reminded of the eight months I spent teaching Macbeth, a weekly slog through murder and madness.
Finally, after careful consideration, I decided to stop and desist my Oedipus torture. I safely put away, in the recesses of my bookcase, the many translations and critiques I had collected. My pile of Oedipus Rex drawings went safely into my flat files.
Free at last? Not really. Just not waking up every night or working on Oedipus Rex every day. I am giving my mind a needed rest.
Is this the end of the story? Maybe. While I take a vacation, I hope my mind will, unbeknownst to me, continue mulling over my Oedipus Rex problems. A solution may be around the corner or may never be found, but those are the risks an artist must learn to live with.
Disappointed? Yes. Defeated? No. Ready to quit? Yes— temporarily.
