Editor's Note
Seeking the Spark
I’ve got Frank Lloyd Wright on the brain. While I was half way through T.C. Boyle’s novel The Women, based on the wives of Frank Lloyd Wright, my wife and I happened to stay at a Wisconsin resort with cabins designed by one of Wright’s followers. We completed our immersion into FLW by watching Ken Burns’ documentary of the architect’s life. Radical yet lyrical, Wright’s creations such as Tokyo’s Imperial Hotel and Manhattan’s Guggenheim Museum exploded convention and turned architectural heads.
Tumultuous and erratic, Wright’s life was a roller coaster of torrid love affairs, failed marriages, and professional doldrums preceding artistic triumph. Through acclaim and acrimony, the one constant in FLW’s life was his creative spark, which stayed aglow to the last of his 92 years. For most mornings of his life, Wright went straight from bed to drafting table, pouring the fire of his ideas onto the page through the lead of his pencil. In one legendary flood of genius, Wright drew the sketches for his most famous house, Falling Water, in the three hours it took the house’s purchaser to travel from Milwaukee to Wright’s studios at Taliesin.
For most, creative ideas aren’t endless streams that come unbidden each morning or disgorge in three-hour torrents. Many artists wait days, weeks, or years for the breakthrough. Some retire each day to their nook, like John Updike did, surrounded by his books and a Cape Cod vista. Some, like my former Bennington instructor, writer Bob Shacochis, flee to the isolation of the New Mexico mountains. Apart from human interaction and alone with their thoughts, they wait for the internal muse to speak.
For some artists, the muse needs help, a gentle shove to rouse the juices and get the creativity stirring. Some watch the sunset while they paint. Others listen to Bach while they write. Still others sit for hours in the Louvre while they compose. Small flames in the tinderbox of creativity, muses are ethereal-but-real forces in the artistic process.
Physicians who write, paint, perform, or photograph frequently don’t have the luxury of time to flee to the mountains or sit for hours in front of great paintings. They must find their inspiration on the job, in the bustle of the operating room, through the crisis at the bedside, or in the hush of the exam room. In these venues, muses can be hidden out of sight or earshot unless watched or listened for. But if we pay attention, our patients’ predicaments and stories are kindling enough for endless artistic fire. And this month’s Minnesota Medicine is proof again that Minnesota physicians and medical students are paying attention and finding their muse.
Growing up in River Forest, Illinois, I walked to school past Frank Lloyd Wright homes, dramatic houses with arched entries and horizontal lines that made them seem modern 60 years after their construction. Wright houses are full of surprises, hidden recesses, outsized fireplaces, and camouflaged front doors. In the middle of the house that served as Wright’s studio for years, a fully-grown elm stretched its branches toward the sky, rising as a symbol of a matchless, soaring creative vision.
Charles R. Meyer, M.D., editor in chief, can be reached at cmeyer1@fairview.org