Whatever you’re doing, do less.
For the last four hours, I’ve been sitting at my computer, trying to find things to do to feel like I’m getting ahead on the business side of artist life. New prints? Greeting cards? Should I paint this? Paint that? Does my site need a refresh?
And yet, with my wheels spinning, my mind grappling for something productive to do, I can feel the rhythm in my chest whisper, “stop.”
It’s been a busy summer. The busiest of my 34 years in existence. I’m really not exaggerating. I’ve been on a regular cadence, of “create, frame, photograph, pack up, event, pack down, repeat.” The opportunities the universe has dropped into my lap have been abundant. My cup overfloweth. I am beyond grateful. The only problem is, when I have free-time, I find myself searching for things to “do.” It’s like I’ve kept my momentum at a strong sprint and I’m having trouble stopping. Walking feels weird.
Since mid-summer, I’ve actually had very little time to paint. And until two days ago, I hadn’t in weeks. As I was reading my Kindle on my porch, I felt my little corner studio staring at me pecking, “how can you call yourself an artist if you haven’t painted in so long?” So I picked myself up, tapped open my iPad and looked for a photo I recently took while we were up in Ely, camping over the Harvest Moon Festival weekend. I filled my trusty old jar with water, pulled out my favorite brushes, gave my palette a spritz of water, plunked myself onto my stool, and started to paint.
The whole process was maddening. My colors were muddy, I apparently forgot how to paint water, my trees looked like blobs, the sun in my sunset was overworked. The whole thing was out of proportion and not in a cool, uniquely-executed Salvador Dalí way. After painting two 8x10 pieces, I flopped down on the couch and thought, “I’m just rusty and it’s been a while. Maybe, I’ll try again tomorrow.”
But then tomorrow rolled around, and I found myself avoiding my studio again.
Today, it hit me. I’ve spent the last three months doing something. Anticipating, thinking, producing, selling, marketing, etc.
How on earth could I expect myself to be creative when I haven’t given myself space to be inspired?
Inspiration does not come from productivity. It comes from space. It comes from doing less. It comes in moments of standing in a field and letting the wind move me, from floating on my back in the lake and staring at white, puffy clouds as they float on by, it comes from marveling at the beauty in the contrast between candlelight and twilight, where fiery orange meets cerulean blue.
Inspiration comes in stillness, in presence, in being. We cannot extract water from a dry riverbed.
Artists need space to do nothing. This is highly counteractive to our culture. One that tells us, if we’re not ahead, we cannot rest. In a way, living a creative life is an act of rebellion against our own societal conditioning. We are told if we are not producing and if we do not sell, sell, sell, and if we are not a smashing hit right away, we will starve. It’s a fear-based belief that I refuse to buy into. I am not a machine, I am a human, with a spirit that needs beauty like I need food, and needs space to rest in order to create. I believe that I am meant to create, that it’s part of my purpose to live a life of joy and not one where I drive myself into the ground out of fear of not making or being enough.
As I’ve mulled over this conscious yearning for stillness, I feel no more guilt. I feel no shame about not creating. Instead, I look forward to a weekend trip into the Boundary Waters where I will stare vigilantly at the tip of my fishing rod, listening to its song as the wind whistles through the guides. I will feel the edge of my paddle cut into water like a knife into butter and sing the same verse of a John Denver song over and over again until I move onto Simon and Garfunkel. I’ll watch the moon wane from crescent to new and celebrate another month that has passed. I will watch the sun rise and make coffee sitting in the dirt under a cedar tree. Maybe when I return, my riverbed will be flowing once again…