"What It Is" by Lynda Barry is part journal, scrapbook, sketchpad, self-help book, memoir, and writing exercise book, so I find it rather limiting to think of it as solely a journal. However, I suppose this book asks us to look at how we define the boundaries of a journal in the first place. "What It Is" is not a journal in the traditional sense. It is a journal that has been compiled with an audience in mind and with well-crafted pages in which the image often corresponds with the words, such as the narrative pages of Barry’s story about her artistic inhibition and her later freedom. I find the correspondence between Barry’s images and words in these narrative sections interesting as a few people have pointed out that they appreciated these sections the most. This is an important aspect of Barry’s project because it shows the power of image-word correspondence, and perhaps how images and words can compliment and reinforce one another.
The image-word correspondence is not quite as obvious on the other pages of "What It Is", but I found them fascinating nonetheless. I liked how they forced my brain to work harder than I do when just reading text as I was trying to find associations between the images and the words. I enjoyed this type of reading because it refuses linearity. My eye wandered around the page, completely stimulated, looking for order and understanding, yet I didn’t find it frustrating. Rather, I found it inspiring because it felt somewhat more organic, personal, and intuitive. In the end, I didn’t find it necessary to make sense of it; rather I enjoyed processing the image-word layers of each page.
I have had a similar experience with Sabrina Ward Harrison’s books. There is something about the organized chaos of her work, and her mentor SARK’s work, that I find completely inspiring and comforting. Perhaps it is because the collage and handwritten element of it makes it seem more “alive” as Barry might argue. Handwriting itself is an image that works to give form to a larger image and there is something about the individuality of Barry, Harrison, and SARK’s work that feels more personable, and because of that, more alive. Perhaps this is why journaling, particularly handwritten journaling, can be so therapeutic and why reading others’ journals is so interesting; we feel like we are being let into a private universe that is made public via our reading of it.
"What It Is" borders the line between a public and private document in that we are given pages that are purposefully rendered, such as the narrative sequences, yet we are also given pages at the end from Barry’s “actual” journal, which she kept while making the book. These pages are rougher and seemingly more spontaneous. Thus, by including these initial journal pages, Barry points to a layering here of initial artistic inspiration later molded by craft and thoughtful editing. I again found this comforting and inspiring because it calls attention to the journal as a place for beginnings, a place to be ugly, spontaneous, associative, nonsensical, sentimental, and a little crazy. As a writing teacher once told me, you have to let yourself be stupid in the composing process and to trust where your writing, or I would argue any artistic medium, is taking you. Otherwise, you may think yourself out of something fabulous.
I think this is what Barry is trying to get at when she instructs the reader to keep moving their pen or brush whenever they are blocked and can’t keep writing, drawing, or painting. Why not just enjoy the movement of your pen, pencil, or paintbrush and see what happens? This is scary because it requires a letting go of sorts and a trusting of the self that thinking does not allow. That’s why I love what Barry says on one of her initial journal pages at the end of the book. She says, “The thinking part of you / is not the doing part of you / or the experiencing part of you / The thinking part of you can / tell you that a decision has / been made but it’s not the / part of you which decides things / This is why thinking is not / the same as creating though / The thinking part of us seems / completely unaware of this” (207).
Although one might argue that Barry’s book is illogical or seemingly random, I think that it accomplishes far more than the typical journal. It forces us to question the difference of forms made by images and words, and it allows us to see what can be accomplished by combining them. Furthermore, Barry’s journal inspired me to continue really looking at things, even the most mundane old letters, stamps, and postcards for inspiration in order to shape how I see the world and what I find to be beautiful, ugly, upsetting, and exciting. I suppose in this way, I have already been keeping a journal similar to Barry’s, yet not quite as structured.
For example, over the summer, I received a lot of mail at my job, and I never saw so much interesting postage! I began to tear off the upper right hand corner of every envelope I received, and I collected them in my journal. I’m not quite sure why I initially did this, but I thought each stamp was so strange and unique, and it just made me happy to look at them in between my words as I flipped through the pages. These stamps were able to give form to a certain aspect of my summer that I didn’t think could be expressed any better in words, and in fact, I thought was better left alone. Perhaps this is why Barry’s seemingly random use of artifacts from others’ lives and its manipulation of those artifacts in order to make a page more interesting and beautiful is what I appreciate about it the most.