I’M IN HERE

Deb Lehman

Interview by L. Valena

What did you respond to?

I responded to her self-revelation. She had a picture of herself on the outside of the blinds, and when the blinds were closed, you looked into her. And when they were open, you looked out of the room on the other side of the room. Creating and making things was a source of joy for her. The fact that you would say "you could be attractive, you could be loved, you should be happy," and in red ink that was dripping. For some reason it reminded me of blood. But creating things was a source of great joy for her, and I think there was some self-doubt going on there, especially with the "you should be happy." I don't know if she was talking to people who were walking by, or talking about herself, but that's where I got the whole thing about love, joy and beauty. Those were some things that concerned her. It was a really fascinating work of art. I loved it. She seemed to want to reveal herself to people who were passing by. Usually people use blinds to hide themselves, and she was using them to expose herself.

How do those themes manifest for you? I know, for me, self-doubt is a constant thing. What's your relationship to it?

Oh yeah, I have a lot of self-doubt. But I find creating things, writing things, to be a great source of joy and beauty. Life wouldn't be nearly as good if I didn't have that kind of outlet.

Yeah, I totally agree. I don't know how people survive without a creative outlet. I think they must be made of much stronger stuff than me.

And me too! It's kind of a miracle. I've written all my life, but I went through a long period where my writing, I didn't like it. It stunk. But I've read great writers all my life. That's one of the great joys of my life. And I think that I read so many great writers, that unconsciously I was soaking it up like a sponge. It's only been maybe five or ten years now, that I've been writing and I've been a lot happier with what I've written, and I think that can be attributed to my reading to some extent.

Do you feel like that same part of your brain, the part that is soaking up the work of other writers, came into play when you were working on this project? Do you feel like you were soaking up this artwork and then responding to it?

Yes, very much so. When I first saw it I was like "Wow, this is a hard one!" And I wrote this rhyming poem. I love to rhyme. But usually I rhyme when I'm writing funny things, playful things. Sometimes heartfelt sad things, but usually it's more of a game for me. It's really fun to rhyme. But I didn't like what I wrote the first time. I thought I liked it, but the more I thought about it that night, all of the sudden, I started realizing that it seemed like because she was sending a message from her apartment, she was trying to tell people that she was in there. I know that, especially during this pandemic, sometimes I feel like I'm an anchorite.

And anchorite? What's that?

Those poor Medieval women who would put themselves in holes or in tiny little rooms, and just be by themselves and pray. I mean, I don't believe in God, but I pray, if you know what I mean, for strength. I pray to the universe, basically. But I sometimes feel— and especially that night I was feeling... I'm terrified of the vastness of nothingness. Creating things kind of abolishes that for me. There was no particular writer that inspired what I wrote, it was just the depth of my misery that night. And suddenly I thought I understood what she was trying to say. I'm not sure she was quite as miserable as I was...

Who can tell right? How can we ever know each other's misery?

When she wrote, "I like making things" that was in black ink. But when she was saying "You should, you should, you should" they were rungs of a ladder that she was trying to climb up out of her isolation. And because it was in red ink, I felt it was her own blood that she was writing with. And I sometimes feel that I’m writing with my own blood as well.

"You should be happy" is such a nasty little voice. It's so fucking insidious.

That's what really struck me. And: "you could be attractive."

Ouch! Fuck you little voice oh my god!

Yeah, I understand that too. There is a beauty in me, but there is also a monster of rage. I don't know where the rage comes from. I think it comes from fear, and I feel alone in that fear.

I loved that image you were talking about earlier, the signal with the blinds. It reminded me of kids communicating with each other across a neighborhood with a flashlight.

Yeah! I thought of Morse code when I read it, the way blinds open and shut, open and shut. A kind of SOS. I'm trying to be a dragon slayer, but it doesn't always work, especially in the isolation we’re all experiencing these days.

Well, it's hard when the dragon is coming from inside yourself. Is there anything I haven't asked you about?

The poem kind of writes itself, or comes from some mysterious place. Existence, and even I, am a mystery to me. Still, small voices come out of me that illuminate me and surprise me. The mystery is sacred to me. Its mystery that gives life beauty. We all need answers, and if science answers question after question, the mystery only seems to deepen and expand, into an ever-expanding universe.

Call Number: Y39VA | Y41PP.leI

Deb Lehman graduated with degrees in English and Theater. She has lived in Chicago, Pennsylvania, Minnesota, Kansas, Boston, Montana and the Shenandoah Valley, Virginia where she currently resides with her husband of 48 years and four cats.