guy clark

"As a white guy from a blue collar small town, I think about the two possible artistic paths: the Townes Van Zandt path and the Guy Clark path. The Townes Van Zandt path is the more Romantic one, I think. To be a visionary tortured artist, adored by those who don’t misunderstand or ignore you. To wrestle with the ephemeral and prophetic. To die young and leave behind a brilliant body of work. Doing this, it seems, also means relying on nothing but your own talent. And if you’re a genius like Townes Van Zandt, it also means to burn up in that genius. Not just burn up, but burn up solitarily. Alone. When I was a drunken poet in Arkansas in my 20s, that was the path I wanted: to take my shot at being a Townes Van Zandt or Frank Stanford. But for the last 10+ years, I’ve been trying to take the Guy Clark path. To be less tortured visionary than inspired craftsman. To write about this world, but to do so with such precision and openness that other worlds seem to lurk in perpetual possibility. Part of this transition was simply falling in love and realizing that I had something more than art to live for. But part of it was also seeing Heartworn Highways. Specifically the scenes at Guy and Susannah Clark’s house at Christmastime, everyone drinking and playing songs and communing together. A light went of for me: that’s what I want. To be a great artist, but to also be good company. I realized I didn’t actually want the short brilliant, tortured artist’s life. I actually wanted the long career, the long marriage, the long friendships, the open house. RIP Guy Clark. I wish I could’ve met you. But I feel like I’ve known you and learned from you for a long time."

- Tony Tost