Most of us have heard, in one form or another, from artists we know or in books we’ve read, that in order to make our art we must present ourselves to it regularly, whether we feel inspired or not. We must step up to the easel, the loom, the computer, the clay, consistently–regardless of what may be going on in our lives–and begin. And we must do it on some sort of expected “schedule,” a time we can plan on, that we work around, that we set aside and honor. We must be committed.
While I’ve wanted to deny it, I’ve found this to be almost painfully true. I wanted, with all my heart, to believe I could write the blog full time and just get to the easel whenever I could fit it in. You all know where that got me: three years of almost no painting (see previous post Clearing As a Creative Act).
But for me, personally, I’ve also discovered that it takes more than a commitment to time at the easel. It requires the freedom of space, tons and tons of all kinds of space–physical, mental and emotional–in order for me to have anything to put on the canvas in the first place and to be settled enough to hear what’s inside waiting to be expressed.
This is an area that can get tricky: balancing the need to plan, commit, and schedule our art making with the aforementioned need for a lot of freedom and space. Ah, the dichotomies of life, right?
I know what’s true for me isn’t necessarily so for another. But I think, just like the idea of presenting ourselves to our art in order to get anything done, there is a possible universal truth in the idea that our art needs room to breathe.
I certainly need room to breathe. And I have found that when I allow this time for myself, I also give my art room and, when I do, remarkable things can happen.
When I give myself the kind of “extra” time to wake slowly, without an alarm, lying in a bed dressed in soft, thick flannel sheets that were dried in the sun the day before…
… the time to say a special good morning to each of seven waiting animals… to walk my land as the lark sings brightly, both announcing the day and fixing his territory somewhere around my fields… or to sit still in the deep, unbroken silence of a windless morning with absolutely nothing pressing… the time to do my morning chores leisurely, to pay them a sort of homage in their doing… to have a slow cup of tea and a quiet breakfast… an afternoon walk into the canyon, coming upon a very old fence I’d not seen before, made in the ancient way of using branches of trees tangled in amongst the wire…
… or to stop on my way to the post office to feed the little buckskin mare at the base of my road Pink Lady apples until she’s nodding her head and drooling…
… having a day (or days) stretch before me with nothing that absolutely has to be done… to fall asleep in a patch of dappled sun… watching the birds come back after winter and trying to identify them…
… having cake and tea in the middle of the day…
… hanging out the laundry rather than tossing it in the dryer…
… to be in my home without the phone ringing, without emails pressing… the time to watch Ken Burns’s brilliant piece on the Dust Bowl…
… when I take this kind of gentle time, new art has the room to find me…
… to express itself through me…
… because I am still and silent and listening…
… because I have made myself available in the quiet ways my art seems to require…
But I have also found that I must fight for this time. There are so many demands in our daily lives, from people, paperwork, chores, errands… in fact the “responsible” reasons NOT to give ourselves space can be overwhelming, seductive even, and they can overtake. It requires a very strong commitment, teamed with desire, and an understanding of what we need, to be an artist…
… along with living full out, of course, immersing ourselves in the messy soup of life…
… making mistakes, learning our lessons, affecting the kinds of change that requires courage and strength and growth…
… which brings me to my dear little Skye (see previous post Clearing as a Creative Act: What We Don’t Control). Seemingly, she and I are somehow linked in this journey of self-discovery and growth. She has found her way into being an in/out dog. It was my dream for her and she is SO happy.
Perhaps she is here to show me what fear does to us and the wondrous possibilities life can offer when we find our own interior strength, when we climb out and claim the lives we were meant to live.
And I am watching. I am listening. I am learning.
Love to you all,
Jeane
I love this post. Write less often. Give yourself more space. More silences; more days on end with nothing and no one scheduled. Don’t fight to get the undistracted time – claim it, take it, own it, like the oxygen mask on the airplane. Please nurture yourself, your soul and creativity in this way because no one can do what you do. No one can see what you see, how you see it. And no one can think or write like you think and write. We need you to be full on oxygenated You. And then periodically you send us these post cards, tell us what you’re seeing, show us the air that you are breathing, and that way our eyes become a little clearer, what we hear becomes a little truer, what we breath becomes a little truer as well. Oxygenate yourself and send us postcards from time to time. And thank you. As ever, your friend in the Northwest. xo
Delia–I can’t find the words to tell you how utterly meaningful yours were to me. My eyes filled with tears as I received your acceptance of what it is I must do (I’ve been feeling a bit guilty about not posting on the blog very much). THANK YOU! And your wisdom about claiming the “undistracted” time is something I needed to hear. Thank you again. Your belief and enjoyment in what I’m doing goes a very long way to keep me going. So with your understanding to shore me up, I will continue to send these “postcards.” Love to you, Jeane
http://youtu.be/JoZ6P6ihzCU
You give so much and people get so much from your work. It is time to learn to receive as much as you give. It’s time we all learn that. Keep turning up the volume on You, deary. A friend sent this YouTube as a great example of an artist learning to receive from her audience. an inspiration. Peace & delight to you, Delia
Wow. Tears again. Thank you, thank you.
I second what Delia said! You live inside your art as the photos show us. Peace Jeane. Lovejoy
Thank you dear friend.
Thanks for sharing your beautiful post, Jeanne. Peace & Light, Julie
“…..Go into the fields
consider the orderliness of the world. Notice
something you have never noticed before,
like the tambourine sound of the snow-cricket
whose pale green body is no longer than your thumb
A lifetime isn’t long enough for the beauty of this world
and the responsibilities of your life.”
–Mary Oliver –
Thank YOU Julie. I love Mary Oliver and had not seen this poem before. She seems to describe my life.
Jeane, I so hear this. I permanently signed off *all* social media a short time ago. I found too few gems to keep sifting through the daily chaff of arm-waving and predictability. More time now to just Be and let the work bubble up out of that, more space to paint indoors with acrylics and outdoors with plants, to allow the eye to settle on objects at my feet or in the trees to use in mixed media. The post-modern pace of life has become so frenetic that it’s a challenge simply to be oneself. For me, one solution is to unplug. So…good for you! Look forward to seeing more of your work.
Best wishes,
Farishtah (in Chamisal) aka Mountain Woman Arts
I’ve been outside creating from what is under my feet as well, not putting the earth’s treasures into my work these days, but creating a sort of rock garden sitting area out under some old junipers. It is this “extra” time that is allowing me to do it and it is absolutely affecting my work. Am trying to get a post written about it today. Let’s both continue to sort out and sift through what serves us and let go of the things that don’t.
🙂 Yes.
this is wonderful. it is helping me sort my feelings and explains exactly why I can’t do my art even though I have strong desires to. I almost did it tonight again and immediately got distracted! My world doesn’t have too much quiet. You are absolutely right that you need to fight for that time to do your Art, and to feel and think…. and have some solitude. I will begin again tomorrow. … oh! I love how you described awakening… exactly how I love to awaken! Never have an alarm set!! My husband calls me when I need to be up, or my daughter calls me … along with my granddaughter. Much more beautiful way to awaken!! When I awaken totally on my own… I may just lay there a few more hours… so their voices can be a help.. I do want to get up …. not sleep the whole day away!!
As you know, I’m just returning from a couple of weeks in the NW and finding quiet time and space has been a bit more complicated. But I am clearing out yet again and intend to find that serenity once again SOON. I miss painting!