My first experience with Valerie Witte’s new poetry collection, A Rupture in the Interiors (Airlie Press, 2023), was through performance. Last November, at the “Liminal Women” reading at the Medicine for Nightmares bookstore in San Francisco’s Mission district, I stood alongside Valerie and read italicized lines of poetry, which alternate with plain text throughout the book. We had not practiced, but because we’ve collaborated many times over the years, we trusted each other to jump headfirst into an unrehearsed performance.
As I stood in front of the crowd, reading Valerie’s lines, something beautiful happened. Call it being in the zone or being in the pocket, but I had the sensation of being swept into the text itself; I felt the timeless, unselfconscious joy of making art in real time. I was encountering a new text not as a passive reader, quietly consuming the words alone, but as an active part of it, lending my voice to the task of turning printed words into sound within a communal space.
The experience resonated deeply; so when I re-read the book later at home, I came to the text with this unique experience embedded in my mind. The following interview with Valerie, conducted via Google Doc, unfolded slowly and deeply, adding layer after layer to my understanding of the rich text that is A Rupture in the Interiors. I hope that readers will be inspired to explore this book, which is at once exceptionally complex and instantly inviting.
Della Watson: In your new poetry collection, facts about silk and silk-making are woven together with the anthropology of skin, as well as with your personal experiences with skin, hair, and fabric. Let’s tease these apart a bit. Based on your research, what’s a fact about silk that haunts you or sticks with you?
Valerie Witte: When you think about silk production at its most basic level—the fact that silkworms are cultivated to produce this beautiful and incredibly versatile fabric—it’s kind of wild. I am not exactly a big fan of insects, so while I think that’s fascinating, it’s also not something I want to think about too much! But it gets worse . . . silkworms are not the only creatures who produce silk.
According to Mary Schoeser in her book Silk, thousands of insect and arachnid species produce silk, including some with properties far superior to traditional silk. There are species of spider, for example, that produce up to seven kinds of silk. One type, called dragline silk—used by spiders as a lifeline to escape predators—can withstand greater stress, in proportion to its density, than any other material. It is more elastic than Kevlar and stronger than steel. In theory, this kind of silk could be used for many different things, from parachutes to artificial tendons and ligaments. But spiders are nearly impossible to domesticate; one source I read said that since they are cannibals they would simply eat each other, which would surely hamper the whole silk production process, hence using them to produce silk at any meaningful volume isn’t really a viable option.
Wow, amazing. I’m also really curious about the science and history of skin. What should we know about the body’s biggest organ?
As part of the process of writing the book, I read Skin: A Natural History, by anthropology professor Nina Jablonski. I found the book fascinating and had it in hand well before the idea of writing my book came to me. The project gave me a great excuse to dive in. As the book explains, while our skin has long been considered the human body’s largest organ, this fact is technically debatable. The mucosal lining of the intestine is larger in surface area and the skeleton is heavier—but it is certainly one of the body’s largest organs. And as the author notes, it is the one we enjoy the most. 🙂
The book offers so many other interesting facts as well as theories about skin—and effectively presents it as a marvel of evolution.
Another area that sparked my interest was around the different types of damages that can occur with skin. Historically, burns are particularly difficult to treat; this is likely because this type of injury was uncommon in our evolutionary past, though recent medical advances have made this more possible. On a personal note, I appreciated the section that discusses acne; the author notes that dealing with this as an adult can be just as traumatic as during adolescence because as one ages, the skin takes longer to heal. And at any age, even though this is not a life-threatening disease, because one’s self-image is so correlated with the appearance of their skin, this condition can still lead to damaging psychological effects.
For some, poetry is the best vehicle for exploring trauma. Do you want to explain any of the book’s personal stories in plain words, or have you said what you need to say in the text?
The traumas explored in the book relate to two elements of my life, both of which are common occurrences for many people and that are also rather embarrassing and unpleasant to talk about. First, around the age of ten, I developed acne and spent my adolescence—and many years beyond—managing this condition. The book examines the trauma that this reality brought on while acknowledging that this issue is literally a superficial one—the harm done is on the surface, and yet, as Jablonski notes in Skin, the experience can be emotionally painful, well into adulthood. For around thirty-five years, the condition of my skin is something I have thought about and dealt with almost every day, so it inevitably has affected my perception of myself and likely how others see me, too. In particularly bad periods, I have even had well-meaning people ask what is wrong with my skin, out of genuine concern, clearly not realizing the cause. The fact that I still remember these specific encounters is telling. (On a positive note, I now have a terrific aesthetician and feel that, now into my mid-forties, my skin is finally behaving somewhat normally, which I do not take for granted!)
On the flipside of the hormonal/aging coin, I noticed in my mid-twenties that my hair was thinning. I have since spent many years seeking treatments for androgenetic alopecia (age-related hair loss), but nothing ever really works. I have tried acupuncture, microneedling, supplements, various shampoos and conditioners, serums, etc. I am currently taking two oral medications, which probably aren’t working either. Honestly, the number and type of treatments I have tried border on the absurd, and I thought this was a topic worth exploring in writing. Hair loss is another surface-level condition that likely has no real impact on my health . . . and yet, the long-term effects are real. This has led me to feel depressed at times and to question my attractiveness and femininity, and to feel that I’d lost my youth even at a young age. We live in a society in which a woman’s hair is a measure of her value as a woman. Every time I am involved in a conversation about a woman’s hair—which is often—I can’t help but think of my own deficiency in this area. It is draining.
So, in the book, I am trying to address these traumas and make something out of them by examining them in a new way. Through the inclusion of silk, I am able to bring another natural—and beautiful—element into the discussion. In a way, the book functions as a form of therapy; it is a way to shed light on these conditions that are generally not discussed in “polite society.” For example, in the book, I include dialogue I once overheard on a train in San Francisco: someone was discussing how she felt life was boring, she felt she was boring, but it was just her hair. She dyed it and then she felt much better. “Hair is everything.” I noted that observation. Hair, of course, is unnecessary for humans; many people are bald and they do fine! But in our culture, sometimes it can feel as if “hair is everything.”
Thank you for sharing. I think you’re correct in saying that both of these things are common, and both are not discussed or adequately acknowledged in our culture. The traumas are very real. It can be helpful for people to know they aren’t alone. For your readers who relate to one or both of these challenges, is there any advice you’d give?
For skin issues, if you can find a good aesthetician, especially one who specializes in medical issues or who has a holistic approach, that is a great option. I have worked with two wonderful practitioners over the years; they have very different approaches but both have been really helpful. One challenge is that these types of services can be very expensive. I don’t like to think about how much money I have spent on treatments over the years. With my current practitioner, I consider these sessions highly therapeutic (both physically and mentally) and hope to be able to continue with them, even if it’s not very often. I know that when I stop doing treatments, such as during the pandemic, the condition of my skin deteriorates. In terms of hair loss, I’ve never really found an adequate treatment or solution. I guess my advice is keep your hair short and wear lots of cute hats! And just try not to worry about it too much.
Since you mention the expense of treatments, what are your thoughts on the beauty industry and the commodification of beauty?
It’s complicated. Because I’ve found an excellent aesthetician, I enjoy getting facials and exploring different skincare routines. A lot of the products I use are food-based, and they’re kind of delectable! But that positive perspective has a lot to do with the particular skincare professional I am working with; she has a holistic approach and is very education-oriented, so she’s always educating herself and her clients and trying to look for solutions to make people feel better. On the other hand, women in our culture face a lot of pressure to be physically appealing and to meet impossible beauty standards. Like many women, I have internalized these pressures, and I have spent countless hours thinking about my failure to meet these standards, as well as a lot of money on treatments and products to try to achieve a desired result, and usually failing. I’m not sure that’s the fault of the beauty industry per se. There is some value in making people feel good about themselves, and it’s a business like any other. Yet, in an ideal world, society wouldn’t place a surplus tax on the simple act of existing as a woman.
I’m intrigued by this phrase from your book: “Had she tired of light / therapy.” Do I dare ask what this is about or should we preserve the mystery?
LED light therapy is a treatment for a variety of skin conditions, and different wavelengths correspond to different colors, which penetrate skin at different depths. For example, blue light therapy can help treat acne: the bacteria that can cause acne emits a photosensitizer, which makes the bacteria sensitive to blue wavelengths of light. Shining blue light onto skin can thus kill the bacteria, resulting in clearer skin. Red light therapy also has potential as a treatment for various conditions, including androgenetic alopecia, though the efficacy of this treatment requires further study. It’s thought to work by acting on the body’s mitochondria, helping to repair skin and boost new cell growth.
The way this line is constructed, it can be interpreted in different ways: maybe the figure is tired of worrying about sunlight damaging her skin/scalp, or maybe she is tired of researching and trying different therapies for various ailments. In truth I have not tried light therapy for any of my skin/hair issues—though I have wondered if I should.
I also love this phrase: “Just a gradual / trauma, nothing to get worked up over.” Wow. Is this one of the overheard/found lines? How did this line originate?
I have sometimes asked myself, is it legitimate to refer to these as “traumas” if they are, in many ways, so minor? Yet these experiences are scientifically, as well as emotionally, traumatizing. I don’t think anyone has ever tried to minimize or dismiss my concerns about these issues, and I have seen many practitioners over the years who genuinely tried to help. But thus far, at least in terms of hair loss, no one has really been able to. (And again, as if to reinforce what I’ve just said, there are certainly far worse and more consequential ailments.)
This book has both a lightness and a heaviness. Trauma woven into the lightness of silk. As a person, I know you to be multifaceted as well: a deep thinker with quite a bubbly personality. Socially, it’s always fun to have a conversation with you. Are your “poet voice” and “party voice” different?
Ha ha, I’ve never thought of myself as bubbly but I’ll take it! I think my “poet voice” is more intellectual than my “party voice.” In my writing, I am often trying to balance the intellectual and the emotional. I typically draw language from source texts, some of which are rather heady or technical (CS textbooks, encyclopedias of ghosts and demons, research articles, etc.); and I am also trying to avoid being overly sentimental. I’m poring over every word and phrase, which is not possible in everyday conversation. I also laugh a lot in person; that probably doesn’t really come through that much in my poetry! Also my poet voice is probably a weirder persona than who I am in real life. In my work, I actively look for ways to break convention and create moments of wonder and surprise, and this sometimes involves elements of the supernatural, sci fi, or surrealism, which aren’t things I engage in regularly in my “real” life.
By the way, although silk is lightweight, silk fiber is technically stronger than steel. So I think your drawing attention to the lightness and heaviness, the simultaneous existence of contrasts and contradictions within the book as well as in one’s persona, is apt.
How does your “day job” in the publishing industry inform your work as a poet?
I’ve been working in book publishing for over twenty years, currently as an acquisitions editor at a nonprofit education association. While I’m primarily responsible for signing book projects, I also manage and edit select titles.
From a content perspective, working as an editor has trained me to think a lot about book structure, and I’m comfortable analyzing the way a book and all its components are put together. That aspect of book development comes somewhat naturally to me and has likely been strengthened through my professional work. Also, in the past I’ve incorporated some of the topics from my publishing work into my poetry (e.g., when I worked at a computer science textbook publisher, I wrote a series of poems that included, and reinterpreted, a variety of CS terms).
More recently, my professional publishing work has been most relevant to my poetry work in less direct ways. I manage the cover design process of the books we publish, and I oversee interior design for the books I manage. And I’m deeply involved in the marketing of the books as well. So that experience often comes into play whether I am working as a member of a small poetry press or just involved in the publishing process of my own book.
You spend a lot of time with words. What else is a major part of your life?
Yes, lately I’ve been feeling kind of overwhelmed about this, as if I am processing language ALL THE TIME, whether reading, editing—or even listening to podcasts, writing emails, or Slacking with colleagues. Maybe this is not uncommon these days, as we all, as a society, are so immersed in media. When not engaging in text-based activities, I love getting out in nature—hiking through a forest or going to the Oregon (or California!) coast. Nature is the best outlet I have for escaping the seemingly constant onslaught of words, except those in my head. I also love movies and music and would love to attend more live theater. I want to like playing games more than I do.
Della Watson is an avid collector of collaborations. She is the co-founder the Bay Area Correspondence School (BACS), an epistolary arts network, and the co-author of Everything Reused in the Sea: The Crow and Benjamin Letters (Mission Cleaners Books). Her work has also been featured in the chapbook the longer you stay here (Aggregate Space/Featherboard), the anthology Remembering the Days that Breathed Pink (Quaci Press), and in numerous journals, performances, and galleries. She currently divides her time between California and South Carolina.
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