In a way, Art of Work started a very long time ago, before it was an actual idea (and long before it was even remotely a possibility). Art of Work has its inception in a desire to craft stories as a way of viewing the world from the confines of youth, a phase of my life during which I manifested my desire for a bohemian-like experience of the world solely within the comfortable home of my own mind. The problem with this was that not having traveled and put myself through the transformative forces of such an existence, my only ideas and perceptions of the bohemian lifestyle were those dictated by the media; in other words (and to put very plainly) I watched Moulin Rouge (a lot). Nonetheless, I considered the often cited ideals of beauty, truth and love enough to tide me over imaginatively until I was old enough to venture out into the world and seek out my own "revolutionary" path.
So what exactly did I write about? (Perhaps you're wondering, maybe not, but I'll tell you anyway): I wrote about a hotel full of strange people whose personal lives within their small rooms led to a strange community when they came out to the lobby to interact. I had so many characters at a certain point with even more storylines that I couldn't keep track of them anymore, and so I abandoned my characters to figure it out on their own. I had more pressing matters to tend to; after what was essentially a lifetime of waiting, my eighteenth birthday liberated me from the shelter of youth and I planned my first excursion into the world, I would finally venture out, to... Scotland. Despite the thrilling liberation of solo travel, I never again felt as safe to explore a world within my imagination. I stopped writing after that first leave from a prior life; I took in but stopped putting back out for a very long time afterwards. The joys of adult freedom meant the abrupt disappearance of an unspoken assurance of protection, even if just from my own ideas. A sudden physical freedom meant for me an abrupt tendency towards reticence- this shift resulted in only one inevitable outcome: I really (and I mean REALLY) screwed up my first solo experience of the world.
The "Glasgow Experience" was a necessary first experience, and will necessarily be the topic of the next post.