The Paper Garden

I have just uncovered that greatest of all delights, a book that runs so close to my vein that I look forward to going to bed at night so I can dip into it.  The book is The Paper Garden:  An Artist {Begins Her Life’s Work} At 72 by Molly Peacock. Perhaps it was my recent birthday that drew me to the book–one of the dreadful decade birthdays where it’s impossible not to glance back at goals unreached.  Anyway, the book turned up on my Amazon recommendations and given the title, I ran to the library.

The Paper Garden defies category, for while it presents a biographical portrait of the 18th century paper-cut artist Mary Granville Pendarves Delany (1700-1788), it also contains memoir-like passages of the author’s journey of discovery and her reasons for attraction to the amazing flower collages which are reproduced (gorgeously, I might add) in the 2010 Bloomsbury Press publication.  Inspiration abounds to pursue whatever artistic passion consumes one, age notwithstanding, but what I find most riveting are poet Molly Peacock’s observations on making art.  (My novel, Shadow Dancing, (http://www.nancypinard.com/2.html) explored that subject, so it is dear and close, a subject I’ve tried to break down for my creative writing students into the bite-size pieces required when one embarks on eating any elephant.)

Listen to what Peacock says after noting how Mary Granville left unerased pencil marks on her cut-outs, as if unaware that anyone would ever view her work, let alone inspect her craft:

“Great technique means that you have to abandon perfectionism.  Perfectionism either stops you cold or slows you down too much.  Yet paradoxically, it’s proficiency that allows a person to make any art at all; you must have technical skill to accomplish anything, but you also must have passions, which, in an odd way, is technique forgotten.  The joy of technique is the bulging bag of tricks it gives you to solve your dilemmas.  Craft gives you the tools for reparation.  And teachers give you craft, for a good teacher urges you beyond your childish perfectionism.  From there you proceed into the practice that eventually becomes expertise.”   (Peacock, p. 28-29)

I’m thinking about this in terms of my own work–Isn’t the “childish perfectionism” what often causes me to be blocked?– the need for risk-taking in early drafts, before the slow, eventual process of plying and applying craft to remedy the problems.  I’m also thinking about Albert Einstein’s process and the question of the contribution made by Mileva Maric.

When I look at what the biographers report about how each of them managed their studies–Einstein able to dismiss the demands of academia and digest the newest thought (not being taught) at the Polytech in Zurich.  Maric, by contrast, was much more the disciplined partaker of academic demands–what normally is associated with being an A student.  She never missed class, did her reading and homework, took notes, attended labs, followed directions.  While Einstein got into trouble for “coloring outside the lines,” inventing his own protocol for lab experiments such that in Introductory Physics Lab he was flunked by Herr Professor Pernet, he was also teaching himself what worked and what didn’t.  He had disdain for repeating experiments and collecting data that had already been collected by someone else, saying “Nothing new comes of thinking about a problem the same way it was created.” In fact, he encouraged Maric to use data collected by others–a fact which annoyed Herr Professor Weber, as if Einstein was somehow advocating cheating.

Their particular, individual orientations toward problem-solving would seem to support the thesis that Einstein was in fact the person responsible for the theoretical leaps required to change the world’s thought.  Their son, Hans Albert, reported that his mother stayed up late at night, checking Albert’s work, re-working the math.  Where she scored a 9 to Albert’s 10 in theoretical physics, one might also imagine her usefulness as a sounding board for new ideas–that person who can see the notion, but possibly also the cracks.   Should she get credit for that?  Doesn’t it take both minds?

It would seem so , since the locus of Albert’s work was accomplished during their marriage.  Input from Michelle Besso, Marcel Grossman, and others continued after the marriage ended, but the revolutionary thought did not.

What conclusion do you draw?

About Nancy Pinard

Professionally-speaking, Nancy Pinard is an author-educator who spends her days writing, teaching, reading, and researching for her writing and teaching. She is the author of two published novels, Shadow Dancing and Butterfly Soup, and numerous short stories. She has taught the craft of fiction writing in many venues including Sinclair Community College, University of Dayton Life-Long Learning Institute, Antioch Writers' Workshop, Mad Anthony Writers' Workshop, and Molasses Pond Writers' Workshop. Personally, her faith is what sustains, inspires, and motivates her to continue to explore meaning through literature. "You are right in demanding that an artist approach his work consciously, but you are confusing two concepts: the solution of a problem and the correct formulation of a problem. Only the second is required of the artist." — Anton Chekov to Alexei Suvorin, October 27, 1888
This entry was posted in Darwin, Einstein, making art, Mileva Maric, Molly Peacock, reading, Shadow Dancing, The Paper Garden, writing. Bookmark the permalink.

3 Responses to The Paper Garden

  1. Lynne Hugo says:

    Molly Peacock’s book can also encourage us all to rethink those “dreaded birthdays.” Instead of a review of unreached goals, why not a summary of what has been accomplished and a time to think forward and plan for the next decade? We could give ourselves a more hopeful, confident marker event–studies show that articulated goals and plans are more likely to be reached, an added bonus.

  2. “Their son, Hans Albert, reported that his mother stayed up late at night, checking Albert’s work, re-working the math.”

    I know of no statements of Hans Albert’s in which he writes this. If it is supposed to pertain to the three celebrated 1905 papers it could hardly be direct reporting, as he was born in 1904.

    “Where she scored a 9 to Albert’s 10 in theoretical physics, one might also imagine her usefulness as a sounding board for new ideas–that person who can see the notion, but possibly also the cracks. Should she get credit for that? Doesn’t it take both minds?”

    Leaving aside that on no occasion did Mileva score the equivalent of 9 in theoretical physics, what have her (moderate) student grades to do with Einstein’s great achievements several years later?

    “… the locus of Albert’s work was accomplished during their marriage. Input from Michelle Besso, Marcel Grossman, and others continued after the marriage ended, but the revolutionary thought did not. What conclusion do you draw?”

    The marriage between Einstein and Maric was effectively over in 1914 when they separated, and had broken down at least two years earlier than that. The theory of General Relativity, described by Max Born as “the greatest feat of human thinking about nature, the most amazing combination of philosophical penetration, physical intuition, and mathematical skill”, was completed in 1915-1916, so it is not the case that Einstein’s revolutionary thoughts ceased after their marriage breakdown. In any case, there is no evidence that Mileva had any input into Einstein’s wide-ranging work in physics, only unsubstantiated surmise.

  3. Clarification on grades:

    I have just seen where you got the score of 9 for Mileva and 10 for Einstein for theoretical physics – the final diploma exam grades for 1900. Apologies for not recalling that straight off. Given the grading systems in the US/UK, I misinterpreted you to mean that 10 was the top grade, and Mileva had achieved 9 out of 10, and Einstein the maximum grade. In fact, as the German version (with English footnotes) of the Einstein Collected Papers reports (vol. 1, p. 247, n. 2), for the two physics candidates the grades for the physics topics, theoretical and practical physics, were originally recorded on the usual Swiss scale 1-6. with 1 as the lowest grade. For Einstein and Mileva the weighting of physics topics, plus theory of functions, was such that these grade scores were doubled for the purpose of obtaining an overall grade average, so their actual grades for theoretical physics on the original scale 1-6 were 4.5 for Mileva and 5 for Einstein, i.e. equivalent to 9 and 10 respectively on a scale 1-12.

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