Joining the Clover Club: Rediscovering Wonder in the Weeds

A Dialogue on Art, Content, and the Quest for Authenticity

“Peonies pontificate pointedly”— I write in my miniature composition notebook on an early evening walk as prescribed by Mary Oliver’s Poetry Handbook. I am practicing my alliterations.

This string of words amused me. The peonies do seem to have something to say this evening. They are only just about to bloom. Are they waking? Do they feel groggy? Are they plagued by ennui? Surely they must be annoyed with our leaf blowers and traffic. This is just me projecting my humanity onto everything again. I envy their agency over their perennial nature; to just know when it’s time to turn their face towards the sun, and when to go dormant.

I wouldn’t have dared call myself a poet a year ago, but fuck it. I am a poet. Poetry is simply a dialogue with nature, and I am nature. I speak that language.

In the summertime, my friend Sierra pauses at every clover patch to search for four-leaf clovers. In years past, I'd rush us toward our destination, but this year, I plan to join in the search. There are tiny miracles everywhere. As artists I don’t believe that we’re every truly “blocked.” We just forget the divine importance of dilly dallying.

I went to a writing workshop at the Carl Jung Institute of Chicago a few weeks ago. The instructor was a researcher and cultural analyst who studies the effect of technology on the human psyche. She gave a short lecture on the concept of a fractured sense of self that she’s noticing bubble up in the collective. In her work, she discusses the concept of a "fractured self," which suggests that the digital age, with its constant connectivity and overload of information, can lead to a fragmented sense of identity. This fragmentation arises as individuals present curated personas online that may not fully align with their true selves, hindering genuine self-integration and development.

Her insights delve into how this online presentation of self is often persona-driven, meaning people tend to show only what they want others to see, which can be misleading or incomplete. This can exacerbate feelings of disconnection and alienation, making it more challenging for individuals, especially the younger generation, to develop a cohesive and integrated personality. She suggests that understanding and addressing these challenges is crucial for fostering a healthier, more integrated sense of self in the digital era.

This fragmentation of the self is noticeable everywhere online—I am not exempt. To some extent this is inescapable. We do have to craft an exaggerated version of ourselves; we must focus group, curate and edit our personality to appeal to the digital market of attention. But what does this mean for true artistic expression? What does this imply for the future of the human spirit? What does this mean for art?

“I celebrate myself, and sing myself,

And what I assume you shall assume,

For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.”

-Walt Whitman

I had an exchange with someone this week on Substack notes who asserted that there was no division between art and “content.” I retorted by pointing out that art is what serves the soul, and content is what serves the economy. The writer insisted that his work in fact did serve his soul. I briefly visited his home page and every single article was focused on growing a following on substack, and the usual “growth hacking” kinds of content. I do not wish to disparage this individual. We are all free to write what we want to write, but for the love of god! This is not art, and this is not your soul speaking. Your soul is not concerned with data, metrics, or popularity. That is your ego.

I am fascinated with the medieval mind. My digital collages have included imagery from alchemical manuscripts lately. Often dismissed as the 'Dark Ages,' this era is frequently overshadowed by our contemporary rationalism. Yet, we are perhaps blind to the darkness of our own times. In stark contrast to the medieval scholar's precious few books—each produced through a long and painstaking process involving parchment production, binding, and meticulous handwriting by scribes—our age offers unfettered access to information. Now that all of history and knowledge is at our fingertips, we have lost our essential human spirit and sense of wonderment.

I fear a future where the human spirit is entirely consumed by capitalist ambitions. Over the past century, we have become deeply entangled in its web. We’ve been trained to view the world through a lens of rigid rationalism, neglecting other valuable pathways to knowledge. Art and poetry are fundamental routes for exploring the profound questions of life and death. However, by blurring the lines between art and mere content, we risk disconnecting even further from our soul, losing touch with these vital sources of meaning and depth. This trivializes our own existence and leaves us ill-equipped to make sense of the brutal realities of modern life and global violence.

This summer, I will stop and look for clovers. I will miss my train to do it. I will mosey and meander and take the long way around, knowing each step will reveal small wonders hidden in plain sight.