An Interview with Peter Clothier

Why did you write Mind Work?

For me, writing is a daily practice. There really is no “why” to it, I just do it. It’s that dumb! It’s also a way of paying attention in a particularly focused way. So the collection of essays in Mind Work is a refinement of several years spent taking a regular look at my life and the way I live it, seen in the light of the Buddhist teachings that I follow to the best of my ability.

Why was it important to you to collect your essays in book form?

I had begun to notice a theme that was playing itself out, and thought it would be useful to isolate it in a single thread. I also picked up on an idea expressed by Thanissaro Bhikkhu in one of the sessions he leads for our local sangha, that we have not merely one, but many identities; and that all of them are fabrications. I realized that many of my essays had to do with taking apart some treasured suppositions about “who I am,” and that it might be a useful exercise to bring them together with the intention to “deconstruct” the self—to see what parts are working for me in my life, and which are deluding me or holding me back from the freedom I wish to attain.

This reminds me that when we first saw the collection at Parami Press, it had a different title.

Yes, it did. The original title was “This Is Not Me,” borrowed from my favorite Buddhist mantra: This is not me, this is not mine, this is not who I am. I still keep it at the front of the book, as an epigraph. It reminds me to take a more careful look, whenever I get too attached to some notion of who I am or what “belongs” to me. All the “me’s” I write about in the book have been important in my life, and some of them continue to provide an important service. Still, I need to remember that they are the constructions I choose to present to the world, or to adopt when others create them to define me. They are not some ultimate, solid, unchangeable “reality.” It’s very liberating to examine them and, when necessary, to know that I can let them go.

Did you have a particular reader in mind for Mind Work?

One of the most rewarding experiences for me as a writer has been the response of those who read my words and find some resonance, even solace in them. The best response of all is when readers find some piece of themselves in what I write. So, yes, I aspire to write for people like myself, people who are engaged in the quest, committed to the path of liberation from suffering for all living beings, and to living a life characterized by integrity, authenticity and compassion. And I wouldn’t want to sound smug about this. We are not always successful—I am not always successful. But I’m working at it; my essays are no more than my way of working, my “mind work.” My greatest satisfaction would be to know that I have inspired others to join me in conscious living, a task that I believe is essential these days—not only for our happiness, but for our very survival.

Why did you write Persist?

I didn't exactly "write" Persist. It would be more accurate to say that I put it together. I have been observing the art world since the early 1970s, and have been fascinated with the phenomenon of the artist (read: writer, musician, actor, dancer...) managing to persist in pursuit of the mission despite all obstacles and discouragements. Our culture tends to reward celebrity and prior financial success rather than traditional creative values like skill, dedication, depth, and so on. There are tens of thousands of creative people out there in the world, and only a handful get to taste what is held out to us as success, and I myself, as a writer, have struggled with this predicament. The essays in Persist span thirty odd years of shifting thought and observation. Many of them were published or offered as lectures along the way. A while ago, after presenting a lecture at "The Painting's Edge" in Idyllwild, California, it occurred to me that it would be of interest to look back over those years--and I discovered "the book."

Why do you think artists are having a particularly difficult time these days?

It's a particularly difficult time not just for artists. We are all caught in the same predicament, as I see it. As a society, we have come more and more to worship money and celebrity. The capitalist system has run wild, and functions these days without conscience or restraint. Corporations, with exclusive interest in the bottom line, dominate every aspect of our lives. In the creative world, it is no different. The gallery system and the art magazines--based largely, still, in the New York art world--promote values quite different from those most artists embrace.

What do you think is wrong with commercialism?

Actually, I see nothing wrong with it per se. Even artists and writers need to make a living, and I'm honestly delighted for those who do so with their creative work. My concern in Persist is for those who don't, and who need to find alternative strategies and reasons to feel comfortable with who they are, and what they feel given to do with their lives. Commercialism provides the way for some, but not for all. Those of us who do not--and cannot--rely on our chosen art to support us must find other definitions of "success." I myself have learned through what I know about the Buddhist teachings that I will be happier and more fulfilled as a human being if I learn the art of non-attachment to outcomes, cherish the process itself, and strive to break through the obstacles I set up for myself.

How can Persist help your readers?

Persist is not a how-to book. It offers only what I myself have learned from long years of experience as a writer: like so many others, I am neither rich nor famous, but I have established a consistent writing practice that serves me well along my path. One thing that has served me particularly well in this is the daily practice of meditation, in which I have discovered an excellent model for a creative practice. In meditation, a person learns to show up, sit down, get focused, and persist in bringing the mind back to the object of meditation—in my case, the breath. It's a way of teaching the mind to do those things we want it to do, rather than wander off according to its own devices. The mind is our most powerful creative tool, but unless we know how to observe and direct its actions, it can be equally destructive. Persist does not preach meditation as the only way to learn the kind of discipline a creative person needs, but as a fine model for the discipline that is needed. In addition, the book is intended to provide solace, even a kind of healing, for the many who find themselves caught in the predicament it describes; and, I hope, inspiration to persist in the work, despite all obstacles.