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Places ΙΙ                                                                           Edited 15/09/2024  

Kostas Karyotakis wrote about the sea [θάλασσα]:

“…. Without further ado I would descend from a peak, bringing handfuls of flowers. Still a child, I contemplated the rhythm of her blaze. Lying on the sand, I traveled with the passing ships. A world was being born around me. The breeze touched my hair. The day shone on my face and on the pebbles. Everything was welcome to me: the sun, the white clouds, her distant cry. But the sea [θάλασσα]:, because she knew, had begun her song, her song that binds and comforts.”

Today I’m posting a few more ink drawings of places in Greece I will most likely not get the opportunity to visit again. Meanwhile, I’m reading Lawrence Durrell’s book, The Greek Islands, published in 1978.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The first time I read anything by the Durrell family was when I was a student, way back in 1976.  An English teacher had suggested Lawrence Durrell’s Bitter Lemons and Henry Miller’s The Colossus of Maroussi. Lawrence Durrell was an English expatriate, who had lived in Greece for many years before settling in France. Bitter Lemons, first published in 1957, is a travelogue written during the ‘emergency years’ in Cyprus, when Durrell had settled in the Greek village of Bellapaix, where he had bought a house and was restoring.  Decades later, as an adult and while visiting Cyprus, I read the book again.

Durrell claims that Bitter Lemons: ‘[This] is not a political book, but simply a somewhat impressionistic study of moods and atmospheres of Cyprus during the troubled years 1953-6,” This claim has been critiqued as containing multi-layered contradictions. First how can a work that claims to be a “study of the moods and atmospheres of Cyprus during the troubled years of 1953-6” not be a political book, and also, a great part of the book directly addresses the political situation on Cyprus. And perhaps one could shake off the factual mistakes in the book and read it as a travelogue, if the book were not to become a significant literary version of events in Cyprus around the world. There have been responses to the book, both by the Greek Cypriots and the British. Durrell’s narrative of those years of conflict has been critiqued to be one-sided, which perhaps was to be expected since Durrell also worked as an employee in the Public Information Office, during the last years of the British colonial rule in Cyprus,

But let’s return to the book I’m currently reading by Lawrence Durrell, The Greek Islands. It’s not a tourist guide book. On embarking on a journey around the islands one would need to get more typical guide books, with all the major sites and the multi-layered history of the Greek islands. In relation to this complex and multilayered history of Greece, Durrell writes: “A glance at the synoptic history of the place {Corfu] will do nothing to decrease the sense of being out of one’s depth, submerged by too much data. But as time goes on, as sunny Greek mornings succeed each other, you will find everything sinking to the bottom of your mind’s harbour, there to take up shapes and dispositions which are purely Greek and have no frame or reference to history anywhere else. It is important not to care too much.”

Also, the boundaries between historical facts and mythology and the complexity of their interconnection may not always be clear.  For instance, in discussing the mythical gorgon, Medusa, he writes:  “…. a vast palimpsest of myths and tales to which real people had become attached, in which real figures had become entangled. Men became kings, and then gods even in their own lifetimes (Caesar, Alexander, for example). When Pausanias came on the scene – already terribly late in the day (the second century ad) – he was shown the tomb of the Medusa’s head in Argos and assured that she had been a real queen famous for her beauty. She had opposed Perseus and … he cut off her head to show the troops. In Apollodorus’s version, however, she upset the touchy Athena, who organized the revengeful killing out of spite – and also because she wanted the powerful, spine-chilling head for her own purposes. Perseus (Athena was almost as affectionate towards him as towards Odysseus) skinned the Medusa as well, and grafted the horrid relic of the insane mask to the shield of Athena. This is a different story. There are several other episodes among the different biographies of our Gorgon…..”

Durrell’s book is much more personal. It is more of a literary text. It delights the senses and it contains humor. It also reflects the writer’s memories of Greece, his personal preferences of places and islands, his outlook on life and political views and biases, and probably some pre-conceived mental constructs of this place and its people, and maybe, a description of a reality patronized by colonialism. The book was published in 1978, and includes descriptions of Durrell’s travels around Greece in different periods, like for instance, during World War II on his way to Egypt.  Durrell writes: “… my choice was to be as comprehensive as possible, yet at the same time completely personal. The modern tourist is richly provided with guides and works of reference, particularly about Greece. The idea was not to compete in this field, but simply to endeavour to answer two questions. What would you have been glad to know when you were on the spot? What would you feel sorry to have missed while you were there? A guide, yes, but a very personal one.”

Finally, I’m sure a lot of things have changed since the times the book was written and since the years Durrell lived in and explored Greece, and yet, there is a lοt of what he has recorded in this book, that is probably still here to be found and experienced.

In the beginning of the book Durrell writes about the light in Greece, something that artists and poets have written about, and anyone who has been to Greece becomes aware of.

“By biting, like a coin, the sea itself that / Gave you this glow, this light, the meaning you are seeking.” Odysseus Elytis

Durrell writes:

“In what way does Greece differ from Italy and Spain?’ will answer itself. The light! One hears the word everywhere, ‘To Phos’, and can recognize its pedigree – among other derivatives is our English word ‘phosphorescent’, which summons up at once the dancing magnesium-flare quality of the sunlight blazing on a white wall; in the depths of the light there is blackness, but it is a blackness which throbs with violet – a magnetic unwearying ultra-violet throb. This confers a sort of brilliant skin of white light on material objects, linking near and far, and bathing simple objects in a sort of celestial glow-worm hue. It is the naked eyeball of God, so to speak, and it blinds one. Even here in Corfu, whose rich, dense forestation and elegiac greenery contrasts so strangely with the brutal barrenness of the Aegean which he has yet to visit – even here there is no mistake about the light. …..He is not of course the first visitor to be electrified by Greek light, to be intoxicated by the white dancing candescence of the sun on a sea with blue sky pouring into it. He walks round the little town of Corfu that first morning with the feeling that the island is a sort of burning-glass.”

“The first impression of the country, from whatever direction one enters it, is austere. It rejects all daydreams, even historical ones. It is dry, barren, dramatic and strange, like a terribly emaciated face; but it lies bathed in a light such as the eye has never yet beheld, and in which it rejoices as though now first awakening to the gift of sight. This light is indescribably keen yet soft. It brings out the smallest details with a clarity, a gentle clarity that makes the heart beat higher and enfolds the nearer view in a transfiguring veil…”

Durrell was considered a philhellene and was knowledgeable about Greek history, mythology and the language. In the book he makes several references to the language.

“The language given to me, Greek / the house, poor, on the sandy beaches of Homer. My only concern is my language on the sandy beaches of Homer…” Odysseus Elytis

He writes: “The language too is crisp and melodious, full of pebble-like dentals, which give it a lapidary feel. In the clang and clatter of the embarkation [when a traveler arrives]he hears words he almost understands. A sailor shouts to another ‘Domani, domani. avrio!’ It is like the Rosetta Stone yielding up its secrets. For ‘avrio’ must mean ‘tomorrow’! A beautiful word!”

“If you can learn the Greek alphabet, start by spelling out the shop-signs which are among the most picturesque decorations in the surrounding scene. It is interesting how many words are of ancient provenance (Bibliopoleion, Artopoleion – Bookshop and Breadshop – for example); words which must have been familiar to Plato or Socrates, and which must have been scribbled up everywhere in the ancient agora of Athens. But in the spoken tongue, the demotic, bread has become psomi. It is curious that if you learn modern Greek with a teacher, he will kick off with the ancient Attic grammar. It is the first memorable lesson in the perenniality of the old Greek tongue. In contrast, you could not teach a Greek English if you started him off with Chaucer. The Attic grammar is that from which Socrates must have learned his letters. Is there, then, something indestructible about Greek?”

“Among the most venerable words still extant you will come across words like ‘man’ – anthropos means ‘he who looks upwards’. In common use also are earth (gee), sky (ouranos) and sea (thalassa). Then, somewhat paradoxically, many of the commonest modern words, though they appear to have no ancient Greek roots, prove on examination to derive from perfectly legitimate ancient Greek sources. Water, for example, (nero) has the same root as Nereid – even the freshwater nymph of that name still haunts the springs in remote places. Ask any peasant.  Bread also (psomi) comes from the ancient Greek word opson, anything eaten with bread.”

Two of the drawings posted today have been inspired by two islands of the Cyclades in the Aegean Sea, Paros and Naxos.

In one extract about the Cyclades Durrell comments:

“The Cyclades is one corner of the map where the word “seduction” applies with more appositeness than anywhere else on earth. Yet so many of them could with justice be called just sterile rocks; but in the heart of the Grecian sea, where the gods have scattered them, these humble rocks glimmer like precious stones.’………..  And the presence of so many famous islands so near to you, softly girdling the confines of the seen world, has a cradling effect – your imagination feels rocked and cherished by the present and the past alike. The very names of the islands are like a melody.”

About Hydra he says:

“With the sun, the island opens like a dark rose, and you forget any of these small annoyances which can dog a traveller in these waters. Just lying on deck and watching the rigging sway softly against the pure white light will make you glad that you have lived long enough to realize the experience of Hydra. “

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PART THREE

Narrative Therapy

and

Art

“Therapists can undermine the idea that they have privileged access to the truth by consistently encouraging persons to assist them in the quest for understanding.” Michael White

“I believe, with Michel Foucault (1980), that a domain of knowledge is a domain of power, and that a domain of power is a domain of knowledge.” Michael White

This third part on narrative therapy is a continuation of the previous two posts, and it focuses on a few more ideas and papers in Michael White’s book, Narrative Therapy Classics.

I’m also posting some new ink drawings from a series with the title Τόποι / Places.

As I mentioned in the previous posts, the book is rich in themes, principles of narrative therapy, political analysis, questions and sample conversations, and is probably a book one needs to read more than once. In today’s piece I will attempt to briefly present some ideas and interventions related to loss and grief, trauma and subordinate storyline development, surface spiritualities, ethics and transparency in therapeutic contexts.

On loss and grief

In relation to experiences of loss and grief White discusses the value of utilizing both the “saying hullo” metaphor and the “saying goodbye” metaphor, when working with loss and grief. He writes that many people that have consulted him over problems related to grief have found the ‘saying hullo’ metaphor, and the questions derived from this metaphor, to be helpful. He claims that he has consistently found that, through the incorporation of the lost relationship, those problems that are often defined by the field, as ‘pathological mourning’ or ‘delayed grief ’are resolved and people arrive at a new relationship with their self.

White clarifies that he’s not taking a position against the utilisation of the saying goodbye metaphor because he believes there is a lot to say goodbye to. People often need to say goodbye to what was, to a material reality and to hopes, dreams and expectations.  However, he believes that the process of grief is both a ‘saying goodbye and a ‘saying hullo’ phenomenon.  He also argues that every experience of loss is unique, as are the requirements for its processing. Therefore, metaphors can be helpful to the extent that they don’t subject people to normative specifications, and to the extent that the expression of, this uniqueness is recognized and facilitated.

White also notes that at times it has been assumed that this work, which is oriented to the ‘saying hullo again’ metaphor, is informed by a notion of a spirituality that is immanent or ascendant, and that it is associated with forces that are of another dimension; however, this is not what he has intended to propose and these notions have not shaped the development of this particular work. He explains that work that is oriented by the ‘saying hullo again’ metaphor assists persons “in the development of skills in the resurrection and expression of significant experiences of their relationships. These are experiences that these persons have lived through – that are part of their stock of lived-experience”.

Additionally, White discusses how this metaphor provides possibilities for action in the form of re-membering practices, which inform a ‘special type of recollection.’ He quotes Myerhoff (1982), who claims that the term ‘Re-membering’ may involve the calling of attention to the re-aggregation of  the figures who belong to one’s life story, one’s  own prior selves, as well as significant others who are part of one’s story. In this sense, “Re-membering is a purposive, significant unification, quite different from the passive, continuous fragmentary flickerings of images and feelings that accompany other activities in the normal flow of consciousness “(Myerhoff cited in White). This notion of re-membering and the club metaphor, suggest possibilities for people to engage in a revision of the membership of their club of life. This process, White suggests, “provides persons with the opportunity to have a greater say about the status of particular memberships of their club of life. Through re-membering practices, persons can suspend or elevate, revoke or privilege, and downgrade or upgrade specific memberships of their lives.”

On children, trauma and subordinate storyline development   

In his paper on children, trauma and subordinate storyline development White emphasizes the importance of subordinate storyline development when working with children, who have been subject to trauma and neglect, because it provides an alternative territory of identity for children to stand in as they begin to give voice to their experiences. He writes that it gives children a significant degree of immunity from the potential for re-traumatisation in response to therapeutic initiatives to assist them to speak of their experiences of trauma and its consequences.

He clarifies that in his own work with people who have been subjected to trauma and to a range of abuses, including political torture, and for people struggling with the consequences of a range of social calamities, including disease epidemics, he has not sought to attenuate their expressions of trauma and its consequences, nor has he been timid “in opening space for people to speak of what they have not had the opportunity to speak of, to put words to what has been unmentionable.” However, he emphasizes safety and notes that he has taken care to do what is within his understandings and skills to establish contexts in which “people can give full voice to their experiences of trauma in ways that enable them to wrest their lives from the prospective longer term consequences of this trauma” without being re-traumatised in the context of assisting them to address what they have been through.

White explains that the generation of subordinate storyline development is found in children’s responses to the trauma they have been subject to, because no child is a passive recipient of trauma, regardless of the nature of this trauma.  Children, he writes, take action to minimise their exposure to trauma and to decrease their vulnerability to it by finding ways to modify the effects of this trauma on their lives; however, often their responses to the traumas are unacknowledged and unnoticed, or they are punished and diminished within the trauma context.

White writes: “These responses to trauma and its consequences are founded upon what children give value to, upon what they hold precious in their lives.”  And these responses reflect knowledge and skills in:

“a. the preservation of life in life-threatening contexts,  b. finding support in hostile environments,  c. establishing domains of safety in unsafe places,  d. holding onto possibilities for life in circumstances that are  discouraging of this,  e. developing nurturing responses to others in situations that are degrading of such responses,  f. finding connection and a sense of affiliation with others in settings  that are isolating,  g. refusing to visit trauma g. refusing to visit trauma on the lives of others in milieus that are  encouraging of this reproduction of trauma,  h. healing from the consequences of trauma under conditions that are unfavourable to this, i. achieving degrees of self-acceptance in atmospheres that are sponsoring of self-rejection,  j. and more.”

White discusses how direct observation of the spontaneous interaction of children who have been subject to trauma often provides clues about points of entry for subordinate storyline development.  He provides various examples of his work with young people that had been through a lot and demonstrates how he assisted them in developing a subordinate storyline, which afforded alternative and relatively secure territories of identity for them to occupy.

In one instance, he initiated his work with three boys [who had migrated from  their countries of origin as refugees and had been referred to him on  account of concerns about their being withdrawn, and about the extent to which they had continued to maintain silence in regard  to the very significant trauma that they had been subject to over an  extended period ahead of their migration] by consulting them about whether they’d like to talk about what they held precious, and what they intended for their lives, along with what capacities, knowledges and skills had helped them get through the trauma they’d experienced.

In another instance, while working with three siblings who had suffered abuse and neglect he witnessed the older brother engaging in the care-taking of his younger sisters in several ways, This observation, he writes, provided a foundation for a therapeutic inquiry in  which, amongst other things, he encouraged all three children to:

“name these care-taking skills; describe the know-how that was expressed in these skills;  define the contribution of these skills to the younger children’s life; speculate about what the possession of these skills might make possible for the older brother  in the future of his own life; reflect on what these skills might say about what is most important  to him; trace the history of the development of these skills in his life,  and finally, identify figures of his history who might have valued and  appreciated these skills, and who might be implicated in his  development of these skills.”

It turned out that his teacher from his third grade was a figure who was implicated in the development of his care-taking skills, and she was invited to some of their meetings, as an outsider witness. His teacher played a significant part in the rich development of a subordinate storyline of the young boy’s life, in the acknowledgement of the trauma that he and his sisters had been subject to, and in the restoration and further development of his sense of personal agency.  Later White began to enquire about whether these skills had had a part to play in providing a foundation for these children to get through the hard times they’d experienced. He writes: At this point, all three children became quite animated in giving accounts of how they had used these skills to survive the abuse and neglect that had been visited upon them.”

Surface spiritualities and transparency

I will continue with a brief references to another topic discussed in the last chapter –interview. When asked about spirituality, White replied that in the histories of the world’s cultures there have been many different notions of spirituality, but spirituality, in this western culture, has mostly been cast as  immanent and ascendant or both. Ascendant forms of spirituality are achieved on planes that are imagined at an altitude above everyday life. Immanent forms of spirituality are achieved not by locating oneself at some altitude above one’s life, but by ‘being truly and wholly who one really is’, ‘by being in touch with one’s true nature’ by being faithful to the god of self.  He comments that “Much of popular psychology is premised on a version of this notion of an immanent spirituality – to worship a self through being at one with one’s ‘nature.’ Both immanent and ascendant forms of spirituality are achieved by being in touch with or having an experience of a soul or the divine that is deep within oneself and that is manifest through one’s relationship with a god who is ascendant.

White comments that these and other contemporary notions of spirituality are of a non material nature and intangible, and are split apart from the material world, and manifest themselves on planes that are imagined above or below the surface of  life as it is lived.  He adds that even though he finds some of these notions beautiful and is interested in exploring the proposals for life or the ethics that are associated with these notions of spirituality, in his work he is more interested in what might be called the material versions of  spirituality, what he calls the spiritualities of the surface.

He claims that this notion of spirituality, which has to do with material existence and the tangible, makes it possible for us to see and to appreciate the visible in people’s lives. This notion of spirituality, he explains, can be read in the shape of people’s identity projects, in the steps that people take in the knowing formation of the self. It is a spirituality that has to do with relating to one’s material options in a way that one becomes more conscious of one’s own knowing, and it concerns one’s personal ethics. He believes it is a transformative spirituality in that it assists us to explore options for living one’s life in ways that are other in regard to the received modes of being. It has to do with the questioning of the taken-for-granted, and it is about prioritising the struggle with the moral and ethical questions relating to all of this.

When asked how people decide which of the available options or possibilities to privilege because to become one who one has not yet been could go in an infinite number of directions, White among other things says this is to be an exploration with people about the real effects of specific ways of being in their relationships with others and on the shape of their lives generally. It raises options for people to explore the possibilities for disengaging from modern “practices of self evaluation that have them locating their lives on the continuums of growth and development, of health and normality, of dependence and independence, and so on. These options can also constitute a refusal to engage in those modern acts of self-government that have us living out our lives under the canopy of the bell-shaped curve. “

I would’ve liked to make some reference to other topics discussed in the book like power dynamics and biases in therapeutic [and other] contexts, ethics and transparency, but this article is already quite lengthy. Therefore, I will end here with a short relevant extract from the book:

“The therapist can call into question the idea that s/he possesses an objective and unbiased account of reality, and undermine the possibility that persons will be subject to the imposition of ideas, by encouraging persons to interview her/him about the interview. In response to this, the therapist is able to deconstruct and thus embody her/his responses (including questions, comments, thoughts, and opinions) by situating these in the context of his/her personal experiences, imagination, and intentional states. This can be described as a condition of “transparency” in the therapeutic system, and it contributes to a context in which persons are more able to decide, for themselves, how they might take these therapist responses.“

Τόποι – Places

“Oh the places you’ll go.”  Dr. Seuss

 “We are surrounded by places. We walk over and through them. We live in places, relate to others in them, die in them. Nothing we do is unplaced. How could it be otherwise? How could we fail to recognize this primal fact?” From The Fate of Place: A Philosophical History by Edward S. Casey

“Travel isn’t always pretty. It isn’t always comfortable. Sometimes it hurts, it even breaks your heart. But that’s okay. The journey changes you; it should change you. It leaves marks on your memory, on your consciousness, on your heart, and on your body. You take something with you. Hopefully, you leave something good behind.” Anthony Bourdain

“So much of who we are, is where we have been.” William Langewiesche

Human figures and portraits play a central role in most of the artwork I make, so, for a change, and while preparing to do some painting again I’ve been making images of places I’ve lived or been to. The images are inspired by photos, my own and others’, and rough sketches of places from past trips, which I found among the pages of old travel diaries and guides.

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PART TWO                                                      The artwork has been uploaded

Narrative Therapy

“What’s your story about? It’s all in the telling. Stories are compasses and architecture; we navigate by them, we build our sanctuaries and our prisons out of them, and to be without a story is to be lost in the vastness of a world that spreads in all directions like arctic tundra or sea ice… We tell ourselves stories that save us and stories that are the quicksand in which we thrash and the well in which we drown… Not a few stories are sinking ships, and many of us go down with these ships even when the lifeboats are bobbing all around us… We think we tell stories, but stories often tell us, tell us to love or to hate, to see or to be blind. Often, too often, stories straddle us, ride us, whip us onward, tell us what to do, and we do it without questioning, The task of learning to be free requires learning to hear them, to question them, to pause and hear silence, to name them and then to become the storyteller” Rebecca Solnit

“In the layers and substrata of the past, there are not only personal moments, but also hidden truths. Facing the past takes courage. It is a conversation with yourself, with the environment and the relationships that have formed around you. This ongoing conversation reveals not only your path, but also how you influence and reshape the world around you. The continuous discovery and reconstruction of the past deepens the dialogue with the world and with oneself.” Alexis Stamatis

As I mentioned in the previous post I will be writing about Narrative Therapy in relation to two books, one by Michael White and one by David Denborough. White was the co-founder of narrative therapy and Dulwich Centre. With David Epston he developed narrative therapy, a non-pathologising,  respectful, empowering, and collaborative approach to counseling and community work , which recognizes that people do not only have problems, but they also have skills and expertise that can support change in their lives. It centres people as the experts in their own lives and views problems as separate from people, assuming that people have skills, competencies, beliefs, values, commitments and abilities that can assist them to reduce the influence of problems in their lives. In today’s piece I will draw on Narrative Therapy Classics, a compilation of papers and interviews through which we become acquainted with Michael White’s work, political analysis and various principles of narrative therapy, as well as, samples of his work with people, and a variety of questions one might use to facilitate the process of change and re-authoring of a person’s story and life.

I have also included three pieces of this more recent series of drawing-collages.

Apart from the themes that I will touch upon today, the book contains a chapter on loss and grief, which presents the incorporation of the lost relationship in the resolution of grief and the process of re-membering. It also includes a discussion about children, trauma and subordinate storyline development, where subordinate storyline development provides an alternative territory of identity for children (and adults) to stand in as they begin to give voice to their experiences of trauma. There is also a paper on the importance of fostering collaboration between parents and children, and also, between child protection services and families. There’s also a very interesting chapter on narrative practices that facilitate the unpacking of identity conclusions. Finally, there’s an interview where White discusses ethics, personal accountability and spiritualities of the surface. He makes references to feminist ethics, bottom-up accountability, and ways of honouring the ‘sacraments of daily existence.’

As the book is so rich in material, I will inevitably refer to a few themes and basic principles in today’s piece. A lot of stories are also included that help us comprehend principles and practices. White writes that the stories [in the book] about therapy portray a number of interventions and practices, which he believes relate to what could be referred to as a deconstructive method. He suggests that “according to his rather loose definition” deconstruction has to do with procedures that “subvert taken-for-granted realities and practices; those so-called “truths” that are split off from the conditions and the context of their production, those disembodied ways of speaking that hide their biases and prejudices, and those familiar practices of self and of relationship that are subjugating of persons’ lives. Many of the methods of deconstruction render strange these familiar and everyday taken-for granted realities and practices by objectifying them.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It is proposed that our lives are also shaped by the meaning that we ascribe to our experience, by our situation in social structures, and by the language and cultural practices of self and of relationship that these lives are recruited into. White explains that this constitutionalist perspective disagrees with the dominant structuralist perspective that supports that behaviour reflects the structure of the mind and the functionalist perspective that suggests that behaviour serves a purpose.

It is through the narratives / stories that we have about our own lives and the lives of others that we are able to make sense of our experience. White claims that these stories determine both the meaning that persons give to their experience, and which aspects of experience people select out for expression. And to the extent that our actions are prefigured on meaning-making, these stories also determine real effects in terms of the shaping of persons’ lives. This narrative metaphor proposes that “persons live their lives by stories – that these stories are shaping of life, and that they have real, not imagined, effects – and that these stories provide the structure of life.”

He explains that through the objectification of our familiar world, we can become more aware of the extent to which certain “modes of life and thought” shape our existence and we might then be able to choose to live by other “modes of life and thought.”  White also considers deconstruction in other senses. For instance, the deconstruction of : practices of self and self-narrative, and relationship that are dominantly cultural; the dominant cultural knowledges that people live by; and the deconstruction of modern practices of power and discourse.

For the deconstruction of the narratives and stories that persons live by, he and Epston have suggested the objectification of the problems for which persons seek help. This objectification engages persons in externalizing conversations in relation to what they find problematic, rather than internalizing conversations. Externalisation is the process of separating people from the problem, allowing them to get some distance from their issue and to see how it might be hindering, helping or protecting them. These externalizing conversations assist persons to unravel, across time, the constitution of their self and of their relationships, and they encourage people to identify the private stories and the cultural knowledges that they live by, that guide their lives and that speak to them of their identity.

Externalizing conversations are initiated by encouraging persons to provide an account of the effects of the problem on their emotional states, familial and peer relationships, social and work spheres, and lives in general, “with a special emphasis on how it has affected their “view” of themselves and of their relationships.” People are then invited to map the influence that these views have on their lives and interactions with others. This is often followed by some investigation of how people have been recruited into these views.  White writes and demonstrates in vignettes that as persons become engaged in these externalizing conversations, they experience a separation from these stories, and in the space established by this separation, they are free to explore alternative and preferred knowledges of who they might be and into which they might enter their lives.

He writes: “As persons separate from the dominant or “totalizing” stories  that are constitutive of their lives, it becomes more possible for them  to orient themselves to aspects of their experience that contradict these  knowledges. Such contradictions are ever present, and, as well, they are many and varied……” To facilitate this process which White  called “re-authoring”, the therapist can ask a variety of questions, including those that might be referred to as a) landscape of action questions, which encourage persons to situate unique outcomes in sequences of events that unfold across time according to particular plots, and b) landscape of consciousness questions, which encourage persons to reflect on and to determine the meaning of those developments that occur in the landscape of action.

The therapist can also encourage the participation of other people, like members of the community and family members, who have participated historically in the negotiation and distribution of the dominant story of the person’s life, in the generation or resurrection of alternative and preferred stories and landscapes of action.

This work requires some understanding of various forms and instruments of power. In his analysis White refers to Michel Foucault, as well as others. .He writes that a good part of Foucault’s work is devoted to the analysis of the “practices of power” through which the modern “subject” is constituted (Foucault, 1978, 1979).  He also points out that Foucault traced the history of the “art of the government of persons” from the seventeenth century, and detailed many of the practices of self and practices of relationship that people are incited to enter their lives into. These practices that persons shape their lives, according to dominant specifications for being, can be considered techniques of social control.  This form of constitutive power permeates and fabricates persons’ lives at the deepest levels, “including their gestures, desires, bodies, habits etc. – and he likened these practices to a form of “dressage” (Foucault, 1979).

White refers to the importance of understanding the operations of power at the micro-level and at the periphery of society [e.g. in schools, clinics, prisons, families etc.]. He refers to Foucault, who supported that it was at these local sites that the practices of power were perfected and that the workings of power were most evident.  It is because of this that power can have its global effects. Foucault believed that this modern system of power was decentred and “taken up”, rather than centralized and exercised from the top down.  Therefore, efforts to change power relations in a society must address these practices of power at the local level, “at the level of the every-day, taken-for-granted social practices.”

The mechanisms and structures of this system of power recruit individuals into collaborating in the subjugation of their own lives and in the objectification of their own bodies. They become “willing” participants in the disciplining or policing of their own lives. This collaboration is often not a conscious phenomenon, since the workings of this power are disguised or masked because it operates in relation to certain norms that are assigned a “truth” status. White writes that this power is exercised in relation to certain knowledges that construct  particular truths, “and is designed to bring about particular and “correct” outcomes, like a life considered to be “fulfilled”, “liberated “, “rational”,  “differentiated”, “individuated”, “self-possessed”, “self-contained,”,and  so on. The descriptions for these “desired” ways of being are in fact illusionary.” He points out that this analysis of power suggests that many of the aspects of our individual modes of behaviour that are assumed to be an expression of free will or are assumed to be transgressive are not what they might at first appear, and thus, many people find it difficult to entertain these ideas.

In therapy, the objectification of these familiar and taken-for-granted practices of power contributes significantly to their deconstruction.  As mentioned above, this is achieved by engaging persons in externalizing conversations about these practices, which allows for the unmasking of practices of power and the countering of their influence in their lives and relationships.  White writes that in these conversations special emphasis is given to what these practices have dictated to people about theft relationship with their own self and others. Through these externalizing conversations persons are among other things able to acknowledge the extent to which they have been recruited into the policing of their own lives, as well as, the nature of their participation in the policing of the lives of others.  He adds that as he has worked with people in the deconstruction of particular modes of life and thought by reviewing with them the effects of the situation of their lives in those fields of power that take the form of social structures, they are able to challenge these effects, as well as those structures that are considered to be inequitable.

What I have discussed and referred to so far can be understood more easily through briefly presenting some of the vignettes in the book. White provides the stories of Amy and Robert to clarify the processes of deconstruction of practices of self and of relationship that are dominantly cultural; of self-narrative and dominant cultural knowledges that people live by; and of modern practices of power.

Amy, for instance, had embraced certain “technologies of the self ” as a form of self-control, and as essential to the transformation of her life into “an acceptable shape – one which spoke to  her of fulfillment.” She had construed her activities of the subjugation of her own life as liberating activities. White writes that upon engaging Amy in an externalizing conversation about anorexia nervosa through the exploration of its real effects in her life, she began to see “the various practices of self-government – of  the disciplines of the body – and the specifications for self that were embodied in anorexia nervosa. Anorexia was no longer her saviour. The ruse was exposed, and the practices of power were unmasked. Instead of continuing to embrace these practices of the self, Amy experienced alienation in relation to them. Anorexia nervosa no longer spoke to her of her identity.”

As a result she was able to explore alternative and preferred practices of self and of relationship.  She was then encouraged  to identify people who might provide an appropriate audience to this different version of who  she might be, persons who might be willing to participate in the acknowledgement of  and the authentication of this version of identity. At this point, I should mention that White also discusses that there might be pushback in one’s environment when they decide to show up differently. For instance, in another sample he writes: “I was quick to share my prediction that it was unlikely that Elizabeth’s efforts to “reclaim her life” would be greeted at first with great enthusiasm by her children.”

Robert, on the other hand, had entered therapy for his abusive behaviour towards his family.  The unexamined and unquestioned knowledges, practices  or “technologies of power,” structures and conditions that provided  the context for his abusive behaviour were all part of a taken-for-granted  mode of life and thought that he had considered to be reflective of  the natural order of things. We observe  in the vignette how through engaging in externalizing conversations  about these knowledges, practices, structures and conditions, and through  mapping the real effects of these upon his own life and upon the  lives of his family, he experienced a separation from this mode of life and thought . White writes: “…this no longer spoke to him of the “nature” of men’s ways of being with women and children.   He writes that over time, Robert traded a neglectful and strategic life for one that he, and others, considered to be caring, open and direct.

In brief, White writes that during our early contact, discussion centred on Robert’s responsibility for perpetrating the abuse, the identification of the real short-term and possible long-term traumatic effects of this on the life of his family, and on determining what he might do to take responsibility to mend what  might be mended.  Following this work, Robert was asked whether he would be prepared to speculate about the conditions and the character of men’s abusive behaviour. They focused on questions like:

If a man desired to dominate or make someone their captive, particularly a woman or a child, what sort of attitudes would be necessary in order to justify this, and what sort of strategies and techniques of power would make this feasible?

During this speculation, particular knowledges about men’s ways of being that are subjugating of others were articulated, techniques and strategies that men might rely upon to institute this subjugation were identified, and various social structures and conditions that support abusive behaviour were discussed. Robert was then asked to consider which of the above were relevant to his life. They then discussed the historical processes through which Robert had been recruited into the life space that was fabricated of these attitudes, techniques and structures and he was invited to take a position on these attitudes, strategies and structures.

White writes: “As our work progressed, the identification of these unique  outcomes provided a point of entry for an “archeology” of alternative  and preferred knowledges of men’s ways of being, knowledges that Robert began to enter his life into….. Robert recalled an uncle who was quite unlike other men in his family; this was a man who was certainly compassionate and non-abusive.”

I will end this piece by mentioning how the therapeutic practices briefly described above, and which White refers to as “deconstructive” assist in establishing a sense of agency. This sense of agency, he writes, is derived from the experience of escaping “passengerhood” in life, and from the sense of being able to play an active role in the shaping of one’s own life.  It is derived through being able to influence developments in one’s life according to one’s purposes.  This sense of personal agency is established through the development of some awareness of the degree to which certain modes of life and thought shape our existence, and also, through the experience of some choice in relation to the modes of life and thought that we might live by.  He explains that the practices that he refers to as deconstructive “assist persons to separate from those modes of life and thought that they judge to be impoverishing their own lives and of the lives of others. And they provoke in therapists, and in the persons who seek therapy, a curiosity in regard to those alternative versions of who these persons might be.  This is not just any curiosity. It is a curiosity about how things might  be otherwise, a curiosity about that which falls outside of the totalizing  stories that persons have about their lives, and outside of those dominant  practices of self and of relationship.”

Finally, I’d like to mention that I will return to the book in the next post because there are some more ideas that I think are of value and interest.