MaAggie Nelson was born in California in 1973, studied with writer Annie Dillard in Connecticut, and currently lives and teaches with artist Annie Dillard in Los Angeles. Harry Dodge She is the author of a number of works of poetry and prose that explore issues of desire, sexuality and family in a fragmented, genre-blurring style. Her books include: The Art of Cruelty: Reckoning, Red partabout the murder of Aunt Jane, and ArgonautsA best-selling book that won the National Book Critics Circle Award. BluesHer latest collection, “Blue Sky,” a series of personal meditations on the theme of blue, was recently performed at the Royal Court Theatre in London. Like LoveThe magazine features interviews and essays with writers and artists going back to 2006, with Wayne Koestenbaum, Kara Walker, Jacqueline Rose and Björk among those who wrote to Nelson, “When I read your masterpiece, Argonauts, I was really full of hope.”
In one passage about poets in this book, Alice Notley10 years ago you described your energy as “heightened desperation.” Does that still ring true?
I don’t identify with this phrase as much as I used to (though I think it still applies to Francis Bacon and many other artists I love). Despair is present in me of course, but I don’t see it as my primary emotion. What’s important to me is to see both hope and despair as moods that come and go, and that underneath there’s something bigger and more mysterious that doesn’t change depending on how we feel.
I really liked your essay on Prince that you wrote after he died. Can you tell me a bit about it?
Many of the works Like Love Some of them were commissioned by galleries and museums, others by artists, but the piece about Prince I wrote for myself on an airplane shortly after he died. Prince meant a lot to me, and he still does. Purple Rain It was published just around the time of my father’s untimely death. [from a heart attack]and my sister and I in our teenage years. Purple Rain “I experimented over and over in my basement, trying to identify with Prince and Wendy and Lisa. For a long time, Prince epitomized my sexual experience. He shaped my sexual development in ways that I then (and still now) consider very positive in a world where there are so many less-than-good options. When he passed away, I was heartbroken. This piece was born out of a need to pay him some kind of tribute, even if only in a small way.”
You write a lot about your life, and I was struck by your observation (in conversation with artist Moira Davie) that your work does not fit easily into a matrix of shame, exposure, and reveal. – It’s not a matter of how you look at things…
When you write an autobiography, you find that many people approach the genre with a conceal-reveal or shame-unshame dualism. Perhaps because they think there is something exhibitionist or lewd at the heart of this endeavor. I’m not saying that these terms don’t apply at all, but for me I don’t feel that they are the driving force of my art, nor are they at the core of my emotional life. For some people, the very idea of talking or writing about oneself in public generates anxiety, but given that it has been one of my innate ways of expression since I was a teenager, I don’t find it that unsettling. Very often I find myself in a position where I’m dealing with the insecurities of not feeling like myself and the judgment of others, and that can be strange and a little tiring. But at the same time, it can be a sign that the writing has taken a risk, which is necessary. But revelation is only one form of risk. There are other risks, like trying new aesthetic forms or dealing with shaky, complex ideas.
The poet and writer Eileen Myles features heavily in the book, and the final section is a really interesting Zoom conversation with them. How important have they been to your work?
Eileen means a lot to me, which is why she features in so many of my essays. Like LoveThe inspiration and friendships I’ve had from other writers and artists, as seen in this book, mean everything to me. It keeps me going, makes me happy to be in the present, and gives me new ideas to try. Eileen has taught me something about almost everything that matters: how to live a life dedicated to art, how a writing career is a spiritual expression, the value of equanimity, how to predict rather than please an audience, how to grow old while remaining courageous, ignorant, and curious, how trees can be there for you. And that’s just the beginning.
Where do you write and what is your writing routine?
I don’t have a set place or routine for writing; it’s more of a “whatever it takes” situation. I have a room in my house that I call my “office,” but, like many people, I like to work at my kitchen table when no one else is home.
What are you working on now?
I have a small book Patemata, or the story of my mouth It’s due to be released next year. It’s a strange story I wrote with Pandemic Studios about dreams. I’m really looking forward to it.
What books or authors do you always reread?
Roland Barthes seems to me to be a very impressive author.
What are you planning to read next?
Roberto Bolaño’s “2666” joined late. Virginie Depanto also Dear Idiot? Move forward.
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What else do you do?
This question is a bit broad! But in terms of how I allocate my time, I split it between raising my kids, teaching, traveling, exercising, having fun with friends, listening to music, thinking, suffering, and trying to be useful.
