You're not like the others
On a residency another artist told me that it'd taken a therapist to explain to their significant other how important having a creative practise was for their sanity.
As a result they moved to part-time work and are now winning prizes for innovative art.
Semester begins again next week and I'll be sent to practice teaching in a school during May
Yesterday I noticed the uni had given me three days to complete the checklist, which seemed strange since that deadline is ahead of the course starting and many students wouldn't be looking at emails yet.
One of the items on that list was information on the clothing that would be appropriate for a student attending a school, which surprised me to learn that denim is discouraged.
Most teachers I see dress in a smart casual way, except for special days like excursions when I feel prudish for pondering whether their pants aren't underwear.
In a thoughtful and generous talk, Marco Sebastiano Alessi offered more than practical advice on writing poetry — he shared a philosophy of creative practice shaped by fourteen years of experimentation, collaboration, and attentive listening.
The project began with a simple moment of curiosity: reading a book of poetry while listening to music.
From that quiet overlap grew Naviar’s Haiku Challenge, now more than a decade old.
What started as an idea has evolved into an international online community, exhibitions, and public events — a reminder that creative ecosystems often emerge from small, personal impulses.
A Practice of Staying Cool
Alessi’s advice to writers was grounded and refreshingly honest. Creativity, he suggested, thrives not on pressure but on steadiness.
First, block time for yourself. Poetry requires space — not only physical time but mental permission. Protecting that space signals that writing matters.
At the same time, be receptive. Ideas rarely arrive on command. They surface while walking, listening, waiting. The task is twofold: to remain open to them and to develop a reliable way of capturing them for later. A notebook, a voice memo, a fragment saved in a phone — these small habits make inspiration practical.
He emphasized refining one’s process. Writing improves through repetition and reflection. Notice what works. Notice what doesn’t. Adjust. Over time, process becomes personal craft.
Community also plays a vital role. Sharing work with like-minded people creates encouragement and dialogue. Poetry may be written alone, but it does not have to exist in isolation.
Equally important is rest. Taking breaks is not laziness but incubation. When we step away, another mental process continues quietly in the background. Returning with fresh eyes often reveals what effort alone could not.
Perhaps most crucially, Alessi encouraged writers to do it for themselves. Second-guessing what others might want leads to self-consciousness and dilution. Authenticity carries further than calculation.
Learning from others — even borrowing techniques — is part of growth. Influence is not imitation; it is conversation across time and style. Over time, writing should become part of who you are, not something external you occasionally perform.
And if the process becomes stressful? Pause and ask why. Stress can signal misalignment — with expectations, with habits, or with purpose.
What Makes a Haiku Sing
When turning specifically to haiku submissions for Naviar Records, Alessi described what draws attention.
A strong first line matters. In such a compressed form, the opening must immediately ground the reader — offering an image, a tone, or a moment that feels alive.
Juxtaposition is central. “The fact there is a gap between concepts is where the reader is drawn,” he explained. Haiku often places two elements side by side — image and image, perception and observation — and meaning emerges in the space between them. That gap invites participation.
A successful haiku feels like a snapshot of life: self-contained, yet open. It offers enough detail to anchor the reader, but enough restraint to allow interpretation.
Above all, simplicity. Not simplicity as lack, but as refinement. The language should feel economical and elegant. Each word must justify its presence. The aesthetic lies in precision — in saying exactly enough, and no more.
The Long View
What emerged from the talk was not a formula but a mindset. To “stay cool” is to approach writing with steadiness, curiosity, and self-trust. Build habits. Stay open. Share. Rest. Refine.
From a fleeting moment of poetry and music grew an enduring creative community. The lesson is reassuring: small, sincere acts of attention can expand far beyond their beginnings — especially when nurtured with patience and care.
The workshops are supported by Western Riverina Arts and Create NSW through financial assistance from the NSW Government
Lisa Germany opened the session by reflecting on her own beginnings
When she first developed a serious interest in haiku, she sought guidance from a mentor, Sean O'Connor, whose work she had encountered in various online journals. His presence in the haiku community reassured her that this was a living, evolving art form — and one that rewards careful study.
What is haiku?
Lisa began with the word itself. *Haiku* combines *hai* (short) and *ku* (verse). Yet its brevity is not merely about length. She offered a definition that anchored the rest of the workshop:
One moment, please
There is a common tendency to think of haiku as seventeen “sounds.”
While this idea derives from Japanese poetic structure, those sounds are not exactly syllables in English. Rather than fixating on syllable count, Lisa encouraged participants to think in terms of "three utterances" — three breaths or natural phrases that shape the experience.
Show, don't tell
Haiku often draws from the natural world. But nature in haiku is not decorative; it is observed.
A strong haiku shows rather than tells. It presents images instead of abstract concepts. It offers feeling rather than commentary, perception rather than explanation. The poem should move in a clear and direct path, allowing the reader to enter the moment without obstruction.
In this sense, haiku resists cleverness. It asks for clarity.
Why haiku?
Why practice such a spare form? Because haiku gets you outside basically.
It invites connection with the natural world and anchors you in the present moment. It sharpens the powers of observation. It poses a creative challenge within tight constraints. And despite its brevity, it is timeless.
Walking into a poem
A ginko is a haiku walk — an intentional walk taken for the purpose of observation and writing.
Lisa offered practical guidance for how to ginko:
She draws on nature journaling prompts to deepen perception:
The key is specificity. Capture images, not generalities. Instead of “a bird,” what kind? Instead of “a cold day,” what reveals the cold?
Start with the essentials: what, where, and when.
Seasonal availability
Traditional haiku includes a seasonal reference, but season is always context-specific. Lisa illustrated this with the striking difference between a spring breeze in Australia and a spring breeze in Greenland. The same phrase evokes entirely different sensory realities depending on place.
Haiku is rooted in lived environment. Its seasons are not abstract markers but embodied experiences:
Crafting a moment
When shaping a haiku, begin by asking: *What is the moment?* Then present it as it came to you.
Keep the language clear and direct. Avoid ornamentation. Favor nouns and verbs over adjectives and adverbs. Let the images carry the weight.
And when revising, Lisa’s advice was firm:
Fight for the best word
Editing is not about embellishment but precision. Each word must earn its place. In such a brief form, there is no room for excess.
One of the distinguishing moment's in Lisa's thoughtfully-researched presentation was the demonstration of how a draft had developed from the camping trip to revisiting the photographs and editing a related haiku.
In the cool light of Sisimiut, her lessons were not only about poetry. It was about attention — about stepping outside, noticing, and honoring a fleeting instant. Haiku, as Lisa Germany teaches it, is less a technical exercise and more a disciplined act of presence: one moment, keenly perceived.
The workshops are supported by Western Riverina Arts and Create NSW through financial assistance from the NSW Government
Great work by Eastrern Riverina Arts in organising a loan of Fiona Hall's magnificent Paradisus Terrestris (1989-90)
This group of intricate sculptures will be loaned from the National Gallery of Australia for two years thanks to the Sharing the National Collection program.
I'm looking forward to looking at them again soon!
My son is the number one fan for Dr John and has an assignment to write a piece of music, so I suggested that he change the lyrics to one of his songs to comment on how kids won't crap at school:
Oh my
L33T0N High
taught me to crap
in my own time
Their bathroom stalls
don't have doors
unless you like gaping with kids vaping
then you'll never cross that tiled floor
I wouldn't be in the shit if I could have shit
said I wouldn't be in the shit if I could have shit
I wouldn't have backed out to back it out
if I could have shit
so I wouldn't be in the shit if I could have shit
