Thinking about composure. Composing myself, making myself composed, having interactions that we construct as we go along, composing a discourse, being in space together. How does the world hang together? Is it always contingent- bit by bit by bit? Where is one responsible for oneself, where does…
What you say near the end — “a picture of the world, composed, not quite composed” — reminds of this passage from “On Composure” by Adam Phillips:
In Winnicott’s terms, composure can be seen as a deferral, a kind of self-holding that keeps open the possibility of finding an environment in which the composure itself could be relinquished. Composure would, by definition, seeks its own negation. It might, in other words, be part of a person’s
Can I say “a genre’s” instead of “a person’s” here?
project to create or find an environment in which composure was of no use, and in which this fact was no longer a problem.
Yes. This is so helpful. A genre where nothing quite comes together, nothing quite falls apart, a rendering of a world to inhabit that feels barely inhabitable, where one can let go of that from which one can’t fully retreat.