Nick Zegarac

                                                                  

Magna on Magna Feature interview with Nick Zegarac,a freelance writer/editor and graphics artist. He holds a Masters in Communications and an Honors B.A in Creative Lit from the University of Windsor. He’s been a contributing editor for Black Moss Press and has had two screenplays under consideration in Hollywood. He’s also a regular contributing writer for various online publications, including Mediascreen.com, Subtletea and Banks of the Little Miami. At present he's searching for an agent to represent him. Contact him via email at movieman@sympatico.ca .

Nick's other blogs can be accessed here and here.

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Magnapoets: George Prince said, "Another word for creativity is courage". Do you agree?

Nick Zegarac: Absolutely! It takes a lot of guts to put your art ‘out there’, whether it’s a song, a poem, a sculpture, a performance, and pensively wait for either the tomatoes or the accolades to be hurled.

In my opinion, no artist is ever a coward. He might be a bad artist, but there’s a certain percentage allotted for gumption and that first spark of get-up-and-go that made him decide whatever he had to offer in the first place was worth all that effort and energy.

As a critic sitting in judgment on artistic work, I suppose that if you have no spine, then you can say something to the artist whom you perceive has failed in his endeavor, that the work is “interesting” or “different.”

But please, do the poor sap a favor. Tell him plainly, that his work just didn’t appeal to you in the way that the artist had hoped it would. True, some critics are no talent hacks with pimpled bottoms, who think they wield an autonomous amount of clout and integrity and therefore wish to discredit any genuine talent, simply on the basis that they themselves have none. Those little buggers exist in the real world of publishing a lot more than one may wish to acknowledge. But there are also critics for whom every artist represents a genuine opportunity for embracement and encouragement. You can always tell the difference between these polar opposites.

I’ve never taken negative criticism as personal backlash. No one who is really serious about improving their craft ever should. But I also have a low threshold for clueless spiteful peons who clearly think it would be fun to devour, dismantle and decimate your drive, ambition and desire to succeed. Life is too short to invest in the proper care and feeding of individuals who don’t give a damn about you. 

Having stated this, I think all artists also have to be a bit sadomasochistic. You have to really enjoy the pain of professional rejection, ‘get off’ on the fact that you’ve managed to incite another person into turning you down, and revel that your work – though not embraced – nevertheless elicited some form of vehement reply.

Has a comment ever stung? Sure. My favorite: “Dear Mr. Zegarac. Your work doesn’t sound like anything we would even remotely consider…sincerely (whom shall remain nameless).” Did it ultimately improve my work? For the most part…definitely!   

Magnapoets:  Are you happiest creating, or having created?

Nick Zegarac: Both derive a certain level of sensory reaction in pleasure. By my thinking, creating is more exciting – to have that innate recognition of the moment when you’re suddenly on a roll and there’s nothing to touch you – no distraction, no end to that brisk jaunt that leaves your heart pounding and your mind slightly dizzy. And you feel the burning sensation in your fingertips as they frantically tap out the substance that becomes concrete thought – by that, I mean the moment when your eyes first behold in literal terms what was only seconds before a cerebral exercise desperate to escape into the ‘real’ world. And you push on, until or before the faucet of inspiration gets turned off once more and you’re left with only a few drips of thought to console until the next great flood of interest washes over you whole. Now that’s real romance – isn’t it?

There is pleasure in the ‘having created’ phase too – but it’s different. It’s rather glorious and tragic at the same moment. Glorious, because if you’ve done your craft well, you can go back to a particular piece and recognize how good it was and still is – you can almost separate yourself from the accomplishment and say “Damn! That’s rather profound. I didn’t know I had it in me.”

But it’s also a sad realization, you see; because you recognize that however grand or motivated you were when it was originally written, that the moment of conception is no more. It is something filed away for posterity, reflection and future generations to discover.

When you create art, it is yours. Having created it, it then belongs to the world. Rather like the errant child who comes of age and is no longer reliant on your guidance or support – you politely kiss it on the forehead and say a quiet little prayer that both the world of the immediate present, and all the years yet to come will not be terribly unkind in their judgment.

Magnapoets: Has your art been a struggle? Should art be a struggle?

Nick Zegarac: Yes, and yes. Nothing in my life – and that includes my art - has come easily to me. I’m not so sure I would have had it otherwise, though perhaps on this matter I would not have any choice or say in the matter. 

Strife, you see, is a great leveler. It is a chronic reminder promoting true humility. Whenever you start to think of yourself as ‘the best in the world’ you can reflect on how difficult and long the journey was to get to this point and how easily and quickly everything can slip away. That’s humbling and anchoring at the same time.

I know that there are those people out there who will testify to the complete opposite – that they were blessed with a seemingly uncomplicated and linear life’s course that brought with it much fulfillment and encouragement along the way and that that made all the difference to them. I’m just not one of those people. Bless them, but I was never a part of that ‘in’ crowd.

If I had to give an accurate assessment of my own circumstance (a foolhardy endeavor indeed, since you can never be entirely objective about yourself), I would have to say that life in general has not been kind. It’s not been terribly unkind either – in spots.

So what? I believe the late Linda Reeves was a tad more clairvoyant on this score when she told a reporter, “Life is not fair…and you better get used to it!”

But in assessing ‘struggle’ itself – as an impetus – then, I believe the late Orson Welles said it best in The Third Man (1949).

“In Italy, for thirty years under the Borgias, they had warfare, terror, murder, bloodshed. They produced Michelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci, and, the Renaissance. In Switzerland, they had brotherly love, 5000 years of democracy and peace, and what did they produce? The cuckoo clock!”

Magnapoets:  Do you believe that artists and creators are ever aptly appreciated in their lifetimes?

Nick Zegarac: Some are – but oh, so few. Most are maligned through and by private jealousies, public scrutiny and a fickle public resentment of the many great ideas that come from one potent spark of great thought.

Inventor Nikola Tesla comes to mind here – a man ever so much more the brilliant futurist scientist than either Edison or Marconi (both using Tesla’s patents to advance their own inventions); a fellow who thought in grand terms and prolifically saw the future decades before the rest of science was even able to quantify its infancy into tangible equations; a man who died near penniless and whose laboratories were torched by rivals and whose investors were easily swayed to back someone else’s ‘quickie’ inventions that caught an immediate fancy, but were lesser than what Tesla first envisioned as tomorrow’s far reaching beacon of light.

You see, the trouble with fame isn’t fame itself – it’s how those in charge of helping to manufacture that fame choose to then deconstruct it away from those made famous. There’s a sort of ebb and flow to our fascination with artists and creators, isn’t there? We begin with their discovery – that moment when someone is plucked from obscurity and is then suddenly catapulted to a place of reverence away from mere mortals. The love affair is ‘on.’ But it doesn’t last, and that’s a pity. In the end, public obscurity wins out and the immortal is expected to reform back into the flesh and blood creation from whence he/she came.

If the person being made famous is also a smart cookie, he/she can sock away a hefty nest egg during those heady days of adoration, so that when the party is over there are no financial regrets that cannot be remedied, or at least, sustained. Sadly, most artists are not also savvy businessmen. They get lost in that adoration. Some damn near drown in it. They perceive it as an imperishable commodity with no end in sight. When the end does come, they are as blind children cast out of the womb before the umbilical cord has been severed – prematurely aborted and never again to have the luxury of such a finely charmed birth.

If history is kind, then their work lives on. It is revisited, copied, enjoyed and celebrated, studied and perennially revered for what it is - a moment of truth that may or may not have been as easily recognized or sited during the artist’s lifetime. The bottom line then is not for the artist’s glory. He/she should not seek importance during one lifetime. That investment comes long after the person behind the work no longer exists.   

Magnapoets:  What award would mean the most to you today?

Nick Zegarac: Awards are a commodity. I suppose they have their merit, because by someone’s or some group’s definition and eager vote of enthusiasm for your craft, you have been reflected as their best choice of the day, week, year, etc. For myself, however, I am not particularly hung up on awards. Some of the greatest authors of the 20^th century never won a Pulitzer. Some of the very finest actors and actresses of this same period failed to take home the coveted Oscar. What does that say about the level of their craft in their chosen professions? Absolutely nothing!

More importantly, what does it say about public tastes? Well, objectively, it says that audiences are very fickle about their mass consumption of art in any of its many facets. I am reminded herein of Bette Davis in All About Eve (1950) who says of the public, “they’re nobody’s fans! Nobody’s audience. They never see a play or movie. They’re never indoors long enough!”

Consider this; that yesterday’s casual glance often becomes today’s deified relic – worthy of preservation, restoration and renewed interest long neglected or denied. Consider the film Citizen Kane as a prime example here; public flop when originally released – now regarded as a watershed American motion picture experience of creative originality.

Has the art itself changed? No. Well, then, what has? Taste and reflection. I’m fond of being glib when I say that ‘there’s no accounting for taste…especially if you have none!’ However, what taste readily becomes distilled into is nothing more than popular opinion and that, quite frankly, changes as readily as my under shorts and socks.

Awards therefore, in my opinion, are no accurate barometer of greatness – merely indivisible proof that you have won a popularity contest. Whether you won it on public taste or through a heavily entrenched personal campaign to side-swipe public opinion in your favor is really a moot point. The fact is, you won by default.

If a work of art is great – hell, even if it’s merely good – it will weather the storm of public mediocrity and criticism long after the artist is nothing more than a few specks of dust tucked six feet under or into the wall slot of a mausoleum. The true artist should therefore not invest too heavily in who wins what and how many times the nomination is passed over. Such deliberations can only lead in two directions; the former to vanity’s door; the latter to premature self doubt, pity and loss of respect for one’s own talent.

What I find commonly distasteful today, and perhaps to some extent it was always the case, is that certain authors, artists, actors, etc., are so narrowly focused on winning whatever piece of sculpted metal and glass and plastic is set before them on the podium that, quite easily, they forget artistry is not a horse race.

In the final analysis, the most gracious thing one can do when being nominated for some vane glory in one’s respective field of knowledge and expertise is to nod politely, take off one’s hat and smile winningly. The same rings true if you are actually fortunate enough to walk away with the evening’s prize. Hmmm…perhaps ‘fortunate’ is the wrong word.

Anyway, these are my thoughts.

Comments

[Don Iannone]

Aurora and Nick...Thanks for asking the really tough questions and answering them honestly. So much wisdom in your words.

I have always been impressed with the undone nature of poetry, and for that matter all art. A poem is never done or perfect, and I think it is a tragic mistake to superimpose an air of perfection on whatever work we do. When we do, we fail to enjoy its beauty, and we miss the whole point of creating. In that regard, I pass along a quote by Paul Valéry that always resonated with me: "An artist never really finishes his work; he merely abandons it."

[Robert]

Thought-provoking questions, thoughtful answers.

[Carol]

I really enjoyed reading your thoughts, Nick. Well said.

[David Herrle]

Rockin' spiel, Nick, with many insights. Dig the Tesla example!

[Joseph Armstead]

An intelligent and easily accessible, easy to relate to, informative conversation! Worth more than one read...!

[Bryan]

Fascinating interview, Nick.

[Aurora]

Nick, you're always fun to interview: I never know quite where it's going to go. :) However, I always know the end result will be fantastic. Thanks for agreeing to this feature.