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In retrospect
Jan. 25th, 2012 03:04 pmI've just recieved the news that celebrated author and somewhat controversial artistic director Stig Sæterbakken passed away last night. He was also one of my two main tutors in creative writing at the Academy. He was an invaluable part of one of the richest experiences of my life.
Thinking back... Truth to tell, I used to find him intimidating. Most of us (including me) had only just finished our primary education and were straight out of our childhood homes, and at that point Sæterbakken was one of the more abrasive people I'd ever met. We had differing opinions on literature, we'd disagree and argue, I'd be frustrated at his demands of me as a writer. If you'd compare our tutors to the "good cop; bad cop" scenario, he'd be the bad one.
It's one of those things that sadly only becomes clear in retrospect: He taught me some vital lessons. As exasperating as it was, he had me defending my choices, my work; he forced me to scrutinize every comma and word; I had to learn how to better express why I thought this or that; and also, maddening as it was, to learn to admit when I was wrong.
Of course, the picture I paint of him isn't the whole truth - he wasn't just some stern schoolteacher; he brimmed with literary knowledge, he had a great mischievious and dark sense of humour, and he probably adored language more than anyone else I've ever met - he'd delight in certain words and phrases, and in sharing them with us.
A memory: We were critiquing one of my short stories in class and he told me, "This line you wrote, this sentence, is wonderful." and knowing him, I'd never been more certain in my life I wasn't recieving some empty praise, I knew I'd finally made something that was good all by itself. He was stern, but always fair, always honest. And I'll always cherish that memory.
So here's to the importance of resistance and abrasiveness in the development of... well, everything, and to the man who made me realize that. Rest in peace.
Thinking back... Truth to tell, I used to find him intimidating. Most of us (including me) had only just finished our primary education and were straight out of our childhood homes, and at that point Sæterbakken was one of the more abrasive people I'd ever met. We had differing opinions on literature, we'd disagree and argue, I'd be frustrated at his demands of me as a writer. If you'd compare our tutors to the "good cop; bad cop" scenario, he'd be the bad one.
It's one of those things that sadly only becomes clear in retrospect: He taught me some vital lessons. As exasperating as it was, he had me defending my choices, my work; he forced me to scrutinize every comma and word; I had to learn how to better express why I thought this or that; and also, maddening as it was, to learn to admit when I was wrong.
Of course, the picture I paint of him isn't the whole truth - he wasn't just some stern schoolteacher; he brimmed with literary knowledge, he had a great mischievious and dark sense of humour, and he probably adored language more than anyone else I've ever met - he'd delight in certain words and phrases, and in sharing them with us.
A memory: We were critiquing one of my short stories in class and he told me, "This line you wrote, this sentence, is wonderful." and knowing him, I'd never been more certain in my life I wasn't recieving some empty praise, I knew I'd finally made something that was good all by itself. He was stern, but always fair, always honest. And I'll always cherish that memory.
So here's to the importance of resistance and abrasiveness in the development of... well, everything, and to the man who made me realize that. Rest in peace.
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