I was going to write this post as a memorial of Lynn Shelton, who died unexpectedly at 54 on May 2020. In the process of writing it, though, I realized that it was impossible to write about her while taking me out of the picture, because I knew her as she related to me and interacted with me. Processing the shock and grief of hearing the news of her death took me back to my very early adulthood, during the time Lynn and I met in her classes at The Art Institute of Seattle. This was when she was only making her first feature film. So I knew her not as the filmmaker the world at large knew her to be, the role she played for the last 15 years or so of her life. I knew her as a teacher and a mentor. A rarely, if at all, mentioned part of her life history was her years teaching at The Art Institute of Seattle, and I don’t know why the media hardly ever mentioned this. Because as a teacher, she had the same gift of caring about others that she brought to directing movies, and I am sure I was only one of the many students whose lives were touched by her attention.
I was around 19 when we met in one of her classes. She became the teacher I worked most closely with, one to whom I came to bounce off my developing thoughts about art, design, career paths and life choices. She knew my hopes, ambitions, disillusionments. She saw my good qualities that I didn’t see for myself, and believed in me and was very supportive of my aspirations, never even once giving a hint that I was too idealistically naive and green. She took time introducing me and recommending my work to others, pointing out opportunities, and doing what she could to get me a break in Seattle’s art scene. She was welcoming. I would send her emails about my confusions and struggles for discerning a path to follow, and she would write back saying, “You sound tortured and sad. We need to have a conversation. Call me.” All these she did amidst the busyness of caring for her hearing-impaired son, teaching, and exploring herself to find her own artistic expression. This was during the time she was working on her first feature film, We Go Way Back. Still, she let me come to her to discuss my interest at the time, the opening scenes of movies. When she found out that, having explored the territory on my own all the way to California, I returned to Seattle arriving at the same conclusion about it as she had–––that “opening” titles containing the names of principle figures of the movie should be at the end of the film, not at the beginning–––she was even more excited to have me see that film, where she did just that. Alas, I couldn’t be there for the screening, because I was called home due to my dad’s illness and subsequent death. I was 21 then, and expressing her sympathies, she wrote to me, “You are too young to loose a parent.” Her son is now 21 when he also lost a loving parent. My deepest sympathies to Milo.
In response to yet another email of mine mulling over thoughts about what it meant to make art and to live authentically, she wrote me a guide to living a creative life:
March 5, 2005
Ike:
I enjoyed your thoughtful email very much.
I definitely think that you need to do what you outline in the second
to last paragraph, i.e., “do what you believe in” and let others
think what they like. The trick of course is to do this and also be
able to take and use criticism to make your work better. This is
particularly difficult for a developing artist/designer who is still
finding her footing and her voice. But it can be attained.
So, in short, I believe that you need to:
1) realize that every artist/designer has their own philosophy of
art/design and approach to work;
2) develop your own philosophy of art/design;
3) passionately create work however you believe it should be created
(for instance, in your case, with total intentionality);
4) be prepared for the fact that you will not be pleasing everyone
with your work (something that I still wrestle with–––I’m such a
people pleaser!!);
5) and you also need to be able to separate out the useless criticism
from the really valuable criticism.
The last step is the hardest. One thing that helps with it is to be
very specific about who you show your work to while you are working
on it…. Start to cultivate a small handful of friends/colleagues who
“get” what you are trying to do and will help you get there.
Does that make sense? I hope it helps somewhat.
cheers,
Lynn
Point #1 was her trying to save me from what could develop as artistic bigotry :-). Being young with limited life experience, I had a tendency to dismiss outright those works created with different philosophy. I’m still not accepting of all artworks and creative endeavors, and I don’t think it’s necessary to be able to accept all, but now I do see that people are on different stages in life and have different things they consider important. My search for a creative path now took me to a different place than hers. I don’t know her status in the film community she operated in, because my artistic interests now lie elsewhere, and our working worlds no longer intersected. But to me she remained a mentor in the journey of finding my own way to artistically express. So I kept her updated with various milestones in my life, and was always happy to hear her consistent happiness in hearing from me. I think we can get a feel for someone’s spirit by the language he or she uses. Lynn was the kind who would write, “DEFINITELY get in touch with me if you come visit Seattle. Please! It would be a joy to see you. Pure joy.” Pure joy. The pure and simple joy of seeing a friend, breathing and alive. Me, I’m not sure I’m aware enough of that privilege. I’m not often in touch with joy, pure or impure, in order to be able to say to someone what Lynn said to me.
Now this duckling has to learn to walk in a world without her creative mother. I did protest, “Wait! No, I’m not ready yet! I still need her!” I still want the security of knowing that she’s out there somewhere working on her projects, and I’m here doing my thing, and knowing we can get back together sharing our experiences in our common journey of finding our way back to our own self through creativity. I still want to let her know what I’m up to and hear from her. Now I can’t do that.
A friend told me, “Honor her existence and influence by being the person she supported and loved.”
Lynn, rest in peace. May your guide help those desiring to live an authentic, creative life. Let your sudden passing be a memento mori for us, leading to the art of dying well.