Space Exploration: Sarah J. Sloat
Astronauts perform some strange superstitions before they shoot off into orbit to explore the vast expanses of space. NASA commanders play cards with the tech crew the night before a launch, continuing until the commander loses a hand. Russian cosmonauts pee on the right rear tire of their transfer bus on the way to a launch. These are strange quirks, but they are crucial for these space-explorers to feel comfortable before and during a mission.
Writers also have rituals that must be performed in order to shake off bad vibes and get into a zone where they feel comfortable putting words on a page. When we read a great book, we only see the final product, and not the obsessive care put into the work environment that allowed for its creation. In SPACE EXPLORATION, our goal is to demystify writers’ environments and explore the ways in which they’ve been created and curated, and how they affect the mental spaces of the authors who inhabit them.
We asked writers to tell us about their necessary spaces; the physical spaces as well as the desired headspace to write. We asked about their rituals— special meals that have to be eaten pre-writing sesh, only writing in purple ink, lucky pieces of clothing that may have once inspired a particularly powerful passage. We asked them to engage our senses and tell us which aspects of process must be deliberate and what is arbitrary. These are the spaces they shared with us.
This feature was written by Sarah J. Sloat, whose book Hotel Almighty was published by Sarabande Books in 2020.
Because my job is in one city and my family in another, I am usually traveling back and forth between Barcelona and Frankfurt. The pandemic brought this wearying commute to an end, and for the last year I’ve been in Germany. Although I wish it were over, the coronavirus has simplified my life as a visual poet — no more throwing an assortment of materials into a suitcase and carting it elsewhere, often to realize later that I’ve left behind what I needed most.
I started doing visual poetry about five or six years ago, which coaxed a second workspace to sprout up in my room in Germany. In addition to a writing desk there’s now a larger, second desk for collage and assembling. They form an L-shape though they stand two yards apart. I try to keep the path linking them free of books and debris since my days are an ever-looping trip between them.
The writing desk is dominated by a computer that serves all kinds of purposes in addition to writing — reading, corresponding, tweeting, procrastinating, shopping, banking, booking airline tickets (once upon a time). I sometimes park my hulking manual typewriter at this desk if I need something typed up old-style. Besides the computer, there’s -
1. A small lamp
2. A pale blue bolt of telex paper I found on the street
3. A magnifying glass
4. A pile of papers that I haven’t looked at in years but for some reason needs to be left right where it is
5. A Mesa Verde mug for pens that once belonged to a well-known artist and somehow found its way to me
6. My journal
7. A writing notebook
8. A stack of books that should be elsewhere. At the moment: Robert Glück’s “Margery Kempe,” which I’m reading, Tracy K. Smith’s “Wade in the Water,” which I’m also reading, “Two Serious Ladies” by Jane Bowles, which I’m pawing for erasure poems, and “The Waste Books” by Georg Christoph Lichtenberg, an idol of mine.
I usually start any writing/collaging session at the writing desk. I prioritize here. It’s a beat-up, deep old desk that has served different lords and ladies in various rooms in the house before landing with me.
The collage desk usually looks like a locomotive barrelled through. The heart of this space is a cutting mat, surrounded by shallow boxes and tea saucers of clippings, glues, old photos, embroidery thread and postcards. I’ve taped a poem by Ethel Rackin to the wall called “The Night Sky.” With no computer it is easier to concentrate. The obstacle to focus here is the clutter as well as the competition of ideas, how each color or image can lead to another idea that I either surrender to or postpone or forget. I experiment with a lot of pieces at once and although I also destroy work in frustration, I rarely throw things away. It’s a small victory to put a gutted magazine in the trash.
In terms of rituals, nothing fancy. I like lyric-less music and have two playlists I turn to for working, one called “Background flowers” and another called “Die & go to heaven.” I also like a drink, whether coffee, tea, or wine in the evening. More than anything though, I like a closed door.
Sarah J. Sloat splits her time between Frankfurt and Barcelona, where she works as a news editor. Her book of visual poetry, Hotel Almighty, was recently published by Sarabande Books. You can keep up with her at sarahjsloat.com.