Artists don't get down to work
until the pain of working is exceeded
by the pain of not working.
- Stephen DeStaebler
How I got off track
In December 2010, I was offered a job at the Fresno Art Museum. I deliberated between my plan to move to Modesto to make art full time or take a job in an art field. I asked everyone for advice and ultimately one argument held sway. Everyone was out of work and I should consider it a blessing to be handed a job in my field. How many artists actually worked in an art related field these days?
What I didn't expect was that much of my time would be spent exhaustedly organizing and managing details, it was like my left brain was in full control all the time. The job required very little creativity and was a ditch digging kind of job with tons of multitasking, and never ending frustrations. I didn't know at the time that this would wound my creativity deeper than ever before. After long days in full left brain mode, I'd come home exhausted, eat dinner, watch movies, read a book, go to bed. I watched a lot of TV. One of my coworkers hit it right on the head when he said, " I spend all day handling everyone else's artwork that when I get home I don't even want to look at my own." This is exactly how I felt. My work looked trivial compared to the impressive works we were handling and installing. And I had no emotional or mental energy to dive into my own creative projects.
But what happened was that the longer I worked and didn't make art, the more ungrounded I became. I felt frantic and lost and increasingly stressed. When I attempted to sit down and make something, I felt so out of touch it was like I was blind. It was like hunting in the woods and all I had was random tufts of fur to go on. No scent, no tracks. Meanwhile, I had started to get severe back pains and was increasingly frustrated and depressed.
Following Breadcrumbs
So, I spent a year and a half painfully out of touch. The good thing was that I was surrounded by artists who loved to chat about life as artists. Amalia Mesa Bains blew my mind when she told us that she didn't start seriously making art until she was in her thirties, and that sometimes disappearing from the art world was an opportunity to re-invent your work. Anne Scheid said something like, the longer you stay away, when you do finally get to it, it's like driving a giant semi up a very steep hill. Robert Ogata told me that living a creative life meant that you were always having to fight for the opportunities to keep making your work, it was a battle. I was given lists of authors and books. I talked to every one I worked with who was familiar with this territory. And I knew I was in for a battle.
And then Zach and I set a moving date. Portland Oregon. Why? So we could make art in a beautiful, inspiring and clean city. So we could cut ties in order to work freely, so we could push ourselves further than before. Our expectations were high.
We moved. It took a week and a half to settle in and set up my studio. I organized all my materials, knowing that organizing for efficiency was the best way for me to work. Tape, glue, orange thread, brown ink, paper napkins and old photographs? I know exactly where they are at all times. Once the studio was in place I was ready.
But nothing happened. That first week I sat in my studio and waited for things to happen. I drew from books, I free-drew, I sewed paper, I filled three pages with free-write, I made lists, I stared at the wall, I checked my email, I watched a movie, I napped with the cat.
Studio time felt wasted, nothing was happening. Nothing was firing my engines. I revisited my sketch books, no leads. I sat with it for a few days feeling stuck and directionless.
And then I ran to the library. Bird by Bird, The Creative Habit, The War of Art, The Artist's way, Art and Fear, and The Blank Canvas. I sat with each one and browsed, skimmed, read and underlined.
The Plan of Action
I knew I had to be patient, I knew I had to move slowly or else my muse or my genius or whatever you call it wouldn't feel welcome or comfortable. I knew I had to sit in the studio for hours, even if nothing happened. I knew I had to commit big time.
My first goal, exercise. Get moving. So, a little yoga, solo walks, biking around the hood, playing around with the cats, working in the garden, running up and down the stairs in our house. Getting my body warmed up felt right.
My second goal, put an end to multitasking habits and thinking. I spent an entire week being conscious of multi tasking and distracting thoughts and interruptions. I started compartmentalizing my day, chores in the morning, studio time only, break for free time, business, back to the studio. Setting up a house routine worked immensely.
Goal number three, finish projects. I was very gentle with this one because I didn't want to scare my muse with all that pressure at such a crucial moment. One finished something a week, and then two finished somethings a week, and it turned out I got a few finished somethings done each week, more than I anticipated. It felt really good. And I was generous, it didn't matter if I was glueing paper bags together or making hats for the cats, I would finish it.
Goal number four, copy something. Copying in art school is done for a reason, so I set to find one piece that inspired me each week or sometimes each day and I would copy it. It usually started out with the visual idea from someone else, but as I worked it almost always turned into my own and most importantly, it got me working in a free and forgiving way with materials, colors or forms that I was attracted to.
My last goal which was a little tricky, was to turn my critic off. I spent an entire year being critical of lights, placement, fonts, sizes, spacing, artwork, etc. And now I had to keep in mind that the critic and the art making are two different things, two different mind sets, and right now being critical would shut things down, would block things from moving freely or even moving in at all. So, Whenever I started a project and the critic said, this is wrong, or what's the point or this is ugly, I told him to shut up, stop, or go away it's none of your business, and then I would continue working until the project was complete. And this last goal, for me, was the most important one. Once I was able to push that critic out into oncoming traffic the work started to flow.
I know I need some more time, but being so pro-active and giving myself the time to ease in and noodle around was so important. The bearings are greased and in motion and I feel like I've reclaimed my life.
What I didn't expect was that much of my time would be spent exhaustedly organizing and managing details, it was like my left brain was in full control all the time. The job required very little creativity and was a ditch digging kind of job with tons of multitasking, and never ending frustrations. I didn't know at the time that this would wound my creativity deeper than ever before. After long days in full left brain mode, I'd come home exhausted, eat dinner, watch movies, read a book, go to bed. I watched a lot of TV. One of my coworkers hit it right on the head when he said, " I spend all day handling everyone else's artwork that when I get home I don't even want to look at my own." This is exactly how I felt. My work looked trivial compared to the impressive works we were handling and installing. And I had no emotional or mental energy to dive into my own creative projects.
But what happened was that the longer I worked and didn't make art, the more ungrounded I became. I felt frantic and lost and increasingly stressed. When I attempted to sit down and make something, I felt so out of touch it was like I was blind. It was like hunting in the woods and all I had was random tufts of fur to go on. No scent, no tracks. Meanwhile, I had started to get severe back pains and was increasingly frustrated and depressed.
Following Breadcrumbs
So, I spent a year and a half painfully out of touch. The good thing was that I was surrounded by artists who loved to chat about life as artists. Amalia Mesa Bains blew my mind when she told us that she didn't start seriously making art until she was in her thirties, and that sometimes disappearing from the art world was an opportunity to re-invent your work. Anne Scheid said something like, the longer you stay away, when you do finally get to it, it's like driving a giant semi up a very steep hill. Robert Ogata told me that living a creative life meant that you were always having to fight for the opportunities to keep making your work, it was a battle. I was given lists of authors and books. I talked to every one I worked with who was familiar with this territory. And I knew I was in for a battle.
And then Zach and I set a moving date. Portland Oregon. Why? So we could make art in a beautiful, inspiring and clean city. So we could cut ties in order to work freely, so we could push ourselves further than before. Our expectations were high.
We moved. It took a week and a half to settle in and set up my studio. I organized all my materials, knowing that organizing for efficiency was the best way for me to work. Tape, glue, orange thread, brown ink, paper napkins and old photographs? I know exactly where they are at all times. Once the studio was in place I was ready.
But nothing happened. That first week I sat in my studio and waited for things to happen. I drew from books, I free-drew, I sewed paper, I filled three pages with free-write, I made lists, I stared at the wall, I checked my email, I watched a movie, I napped with the cat.
Studio time felt wasted, nothing was happening. Nothing was firing my engines. I revisited my sketch books, no leads. I sat with it for a few days feeling stuck and directionless.
And then I ran to the library. Bird by Bird, The Creative Habit, The War of Art, The Artist's way, Art and Fear, and The Blank Canvas. I sat with each one and browsed, skimmed, read and underlined.
The Plan of Action
I knew I had to be patient, I knew I had to move slowly or else my muse or my genius or whatever you call it wouldn't feel welcome or comfortable. I knew I had to sit in the studio for hours, even if nothing happened. I knew I had to commit big time.
My first goal, exercise. Get moving. So, a little yoga, solo walks, biking around the hood, playing around with the cats, working in the garden, running up and down the stairs in our house. Getting my body warmed up felt right.
My second goal, put an end to multitasking habits and thinking. I spent an entire week being conscious of multi tasking and distracting thoughts and interruptions. I started compartmentalizing my day, chores in the morning, studio time only, break for free time, business, back to the studio. Setting up a house routine worked immensely.
Goal number three, finish projects. I was very gentle with this one because I didn't want to scare my muse with all that pressure at such a crucial moment. One finished something a week, and then two finished somethings a week, and it turned out I got a few finished somethings done each week, more than I anticipated. It felt really good. And I was generous, it didn't matter if I was glueing paper bags together or making hats for the cats, I would finish it.
Goal number four, copy something. Copying in art school is done for a reason, so I set to find one piece that inspired me each week or sometimes each day and I would copy it. It usually started out with the visual idea from someone else, but as I worked it almost always turned into my own and most importantly, it got me working in a free and forgiving way with materials, colors or forms that I was attracted to.
My last goal which was a little tricky, was to turn my critic off. I spent an entire year being critical of lights, placement, fonts, sizes, spacing, artwork, etc. And now I had to keep in mind that the critic and the art making are two different things, two different mind sets, and right now being critical would shut things down, would block things from moving freely or even moving in at all. So, Whenever I started a project and the critic said, this is wrong, or what's the point or this is ugly, I told him to shut up, stop, or go away it's none of your business, and then I would continue working until the project was complete. And this last goal, for me, was the most important one. Once I was able to push that critic out into oncoming traffic the work started to flow.
I know I need some more time, but being so pro-active and giving myself the time to ease in and noodle around was so important. The bearings are greased and in motion and I feel like I've reclaimed my life.
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