The Artist’s Bookshelf: Reading Recommendations for Creative Patients

CREATIVE MINDS: Psychotherapeutic Approaches and Insights

“Art is everywhere, except it has to pass through a creative mind.”

-Louise Nevelson

In my 30+ years of treating creative patients, I have found myself recommending certain books that might help normalize their experiences as artists. Regardless of genre or medium, most every artist, past and present, has struggled with similar creative and/or personal issues which they must navigate while pursuing their goals. So here is my own personal bibliography for artists of all stripes.

Some of these books are well-known, particularly those for writers, and I can certainly recommend them without reservation: Writing Down the Bones and Wild Mind by Natalie Goldberg, Anne Lamont’s Bird By Bird, Julia Cameron’s The Artist’s Way. And for the mythological underpinnings of narrative, Joseph Campbell’s justly famous Hero With a Thousand Faces.

For screenwriting patients, both would-be and veteran, I am a big fan of Willian Goldman’s book about writing for the movies, Adventures in the Screen Trade. (Once, in my own days as a Hollywood screenwriter, I mentioned this book glowingly to a studio executive I knew, who exclaimed, “I hate that book!”—a ringing endorsement if I have ever heard one.)

However, now I would like to suggest books, personal favorites of mine, that I believe speak more powerfully and tellingly to the inner lives of artists of all stripes. Not only are they wonderfully soul-satisfying and pertinent, but they address the core of the creative experience. And regardless of their stated and presumed reader, the issues explored in these books are germane for anyone living the artist’s life.

In Praise of What Persists, edited by Stephen Berg. A collection of essays by a variety of artists detailing the personal experiences that influenced their work. For example, author Raymond Carver’s fascinating yet bitter complaint that he only began writing short stories because the burden of having children and working 2 jobs to support his family denied him the time and energy to be a novelist. Certainly, something that any creative person juggling family obligations with artistic ambitions can relate to.

Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, the unlikely best-seller by Robert Pirsig that should grace every artist’s bookshelf. It is a candid, wide-ranging, occasionally thrilling book on the dynamic—and often crazy-making—process of striving for quality, however you define it.

The Illusion of Technique by William Barrett. A book I am always pressing on friends and colleagues, as well as suggesting to creative patients in all fields. It is a ringing defense of creativity as a spontaneous act, birthed in the artist’s particular psyche and in the context of that artist’s particular experiences, as opposed to buying into the false sense of security promised by a reliance on rigid structures and techniques. To stay true to one’s creative vision in the face of a brutal marketplace dominated by trends and so-called certainties about what people want to see is not easy, and I find Barrett’s support for the irreducible in the artistic process persuasive and reassuring.

When the Shooting Stops by Ralph Rosenblum and Robert Karen, which details the former’s experience as an editor on some of the most well-known modern movies. These include The Pawnbroker, Goodbye, Columbus, and 6 Woody Allen films. The difficult decision-making that occurs in the film editor’s room, including which scenes to cut and which to retain, which performances enhance the film and which do not, is a trenchant series of life lessons for any artist striving to mold his or her project into its best possible form. Rosenblum’s task often mirrors what William Faulkner advised when he ruefully advocated to artists that, “You must kill your precious darlings”—meaning that the creative process demands discarding that which you might love about it but that doesn’t serve the finished product. This book is a primer on the difficulties and necessities of making those hard choices.

Life Work by Donald Hall. A beautifully written book by the much-honored poet and man of letters, exploring his obsession with—and consolation from—a life devoted to his craft.

Mastery by George Leonard, a bracing support of the value of practice, the consistent doing of a thing. It is a strong rebuttal to a goal-oriented approach to creativity—and to life.

The Courage to Create by Rollo May. The title says it all.

On Moral Fiction by John Gardner. Though ostensibly a book for writers, I have had creative patients from a variety of fields stirred and inspired by its themes. Gardner’s book is densely written, frankly pedantic, and inevitably self-righteous—and those are the things I like about it. It is a rigorous call to arms on behalf of artists taking what they do—and its effects on society—seriously.

The Journals of Eugene Delacroix. I know what you are thinking: “What do the personal journals of a French painter, written a couple hundred years ago, have to say to the modern artist?” You would be surprised. Delacroix’s honest, vulnerable self-appraisal, his struggle to balance the pragmatic demands of life with his artistic goals, his emotional swings from elation to despair and back again, are both fascinating in their own right and a timeless reflection of the dilemmas faced by all creative people.

And, finally, a small gem that has spawned a dozen imitators (particularly of variations on its title). I am referring to Zen in the Art of Archery by Eugen Herrigel. Written with simplicity and humility, it is the one book I would advise reading—and suggesting to your creative patients. In my view, for artists—for everyone—this is the book. Why? I could list many reasons but mostly the reader learns about the importance of…breathing. As I stress when recommending it to my creative patients.

I admit, this particular homework suggestion gets some pushback from them, along the lines of “What do I care about archery?” and “I don’t need to learn about zen, I need a better agent!” and, inevitably, “I already know how to breathe.”

To which I usually respond, “Trust me on this. Go read this book. Slowly. Savor it. Hopefully, at a level outside your conscious awareness, it’ll go to work on you.”

Since I am rarely this directive (or didactic), most patients grudgingly acquiesce and give the book a try. And, likewise, most that do report being glad they did.

And while there are many other worthy books I could recommend, for both creative patients and the clinicians treating them, I will stick to my list. An eclectic group, true, but nevertheless compelling, supportive companions on the artist’s journey.

Mr Palumbo is a licensed psychotherapist and author in Los Angeles. His email address for correspondence is [email protected].