Here, we begin. Some choose to never live a creative life because they don’t know where to start. They might have an idea for a book. Perhaps they used to paint or draw in school. Maybe they have an instrument or dance shoes taking up space in their closet. Life gets busy, all the empty places filled with work, family, friends, and obligations. What about art? Have you had an itch to do something creative, return to an activity that you used to enjoy, or saw a piece of art and want to try that medium yourself, but you’re not sure how to go about it? There are countless ideas in these pages for starting, practicing, and sharing your artistic endeavors. Pick a topic, scan a paragraph, or flip to a page, and just begin.
Begin
To declare, “I write”, or “I paint, cook, sculpt, dance, or compose music” would change much in our lives. We would have to say no to some things so we can say yes to that part of us that calls out and speaks to us in the twilight between deep sleep and wakefulness as the sun's rays reach into the alpine glow of predawn. To make creativity the center of our lives is a commitment. Like having a child, adopting a puppy, starting a business, taking a marriage vow, these, and any creative endeavor, changes lives.
If we talk about it, dream about it, read about it, watch others do it, then that’s being a voyeur. Fine, if that’s what you would rather do, if that is how you would rather live, on the fringe, always watching, never doing. No judgment here. But if you would rather be in joy, be steeped in the magic and hard work and wonderment and release and discovery that creativity brings to one’s life, then start slowly, or jump in with both feet, but decide and embrace your choice, one way or the other. If you hold your courage close and flip the fear to excitement, then there is much to discover.
“Why do you write?” No right or wrong answer. But we need to be clear. If celebrity is a by-product of what we do because it's a tiny part of our dream, that’s awesome, if that’s what we want. If the larger portion of why we create is that we need to express the human condition from our point of view, to understand, to invite others to understand, to find our place, to help others make connections and make sense of what we have to offer, then may there be countless bookstores, galleries, dance studios, restaurants, and radio stations to hold all the words, pictures, dances, flavors, and music that we use for expression.
Hoarding our art is an option. Then we wouldn't have to worry about rejection or criticism. Giving it away for free is certainly a plausible avenue. There are more pages on the web than any single person could read in ten lifetimes. Some smaller venues than the Internet are available for what is created. E-zines and journals accept original fiction and sometimes pay the artist for the privilege of printing it. We can go the route of submitting our manuscripts to a publishing house and make a living off the royalties. Or we could go all out and offer our wares to anyone and everyone willing to take the time to look.
This book is an attempt to encourage you to try something new, such as a different medium, a change in setting, or an alternate way to tease the muse into playing. I invite you to daydream. Close your eyes, and listen intently to the whispers of the muse, the echoes within your heart, then go beyond that. Get quiet, and ask yourself, “Do I want my dream more than the circle of comfort that fear and doubt keep me in?” Only you know the answer. Motivation and energy and time and money will always appear when the dreams trump the ego holding us back. How big is our creativity dream? How do we go about convincing our ego to “dream bigger”, and then “even bigger”? How much will it cost us emotionally, mentally, financially to get there? When will we know that we have arrived?
Ego
If we continue to interchange “ego” and “inner critic”, it will assist in determining the different voices we hear. How do we tell the difference between the critic and the muse? The ego speaks louder, and more negatively, than the muse. There are ways to placate the inner critic, to silence it, to use it, to ignore it, to trick it. When we are in the state of creating, and if we hear the inner critic commenting on what we’re doing, then we’ve come up for air. We are no longer in that dark, deep space, far below the surface of where the ego functions.
When we are deep, we are “egoless”, as we are then with the muse. We can’t be with both the ego and the muse at the same time. So many writers begin a novel, but never finish. Perhaps they fear that feeling of not being in control, of being pushed or pulled by some unseen force to finish the story. When we first begin to create, we think we are in control, that we (the ego) are deciding what’s going to happen in the story, what colors of paint to use, which flavors would work best in the meal, or which notes would make the piece of music the best it can be. But all of that only happens when we dive under the ego, when we leave the inner critic behind so its whining and harsh comments can’t be heard. We willingly join with the muse, then the art flows.
I believe that if a person listens to the muse and tries creativity to discover how it fits them, there are as many ways to go about creativity as there are those who play with art. I’ve talked with musicians. Some begin with lyrics, others with a rhythm or melody. With chefs, some begin with the venue, the people who will be enjoying the meal, or what items are available. If the creating is to be authentic, then they don’t start with the ego.
Creatives who share their experience in blogs and books and workshops are offering a map to others. It may not take the readers and attendees exactly where they want and need to go, but it can, at least, give them signposts. Sometimes we can borrow courage from others who have gone before. We read about how they traveled, and our interest is piqued enough to try it ourselves. When we begin, we might copy what others did. If we pay attention, we find what works for us. We tweak another’s suggestion. We try something someone else mentions. We practice. We develop our own rituals, our own dance steps with the muse.
The more an artist practices with their medium, the more truth they are able to tell, about themselves, about their lives, about society. What is it about a piece of music, a novel, a poem, a painting, or a meal that we really enjoy? It has to speak to us on some level. We may not be able to articulate that level, we just know we really like it. I think we really like the experiences that we share with the artist, even if those experiences aren’t exactly the same. We’ve all loved. We’ve all been sad, angry, and lonely. Art expresses those experiences, and when they’re close enough to our own, the art touches us in some way, in that place that is far below the inner critic.
Time
“Time waits for no man.” “You can't stop time.” “I have no time.” “What time is it?” How many times have you said or thought, “I can’t do that, I don't have the time,” or “I can't make the time,” or, “It takes too much time”?
As a teacher, I have two calendars at all times running in my head. The Gregorian one we all use that begins in January and ends in December, and the school calendar, starting the work year in August and ending in May. At the day job, my time is budgeted into blocks that hold my classes, and often not enough time to do all the stuff that comes with the job title. Those of us who have several interests and obligations become masters at scheduling. Leaving just enough time to travel from one appointment to another, we abhor being late, since we equate it to stealing another's precious time. However, if we run a few minutes late, it causes a domino effect, and we don't have enough time to fit it all in, and by the end of the day feel worn out and frustrated that our time was not as well-spent as we had planned on our calendar.
When it comes to doing anything in life, there are some who jump right in believing, “No time like the present,” or “If not now, then when?” And there are those who procrastinate, thinking, “Now is not a good time,” and then they end up with so many things to do that they revert back to, “I don’t have time!” For some, it is difficult to not fill every minute of every day. Others have all kinds of time and choose to “hang out” as time goes by. Sometimes all it takes is a little restructuring to find the time we need or want to devote to a hobby or project. Retirement can afford all kinds of time, which is scary to some and rewarding to others.
So what does all of this talk about time have to do with creating art? I'm a firm believer that we make the time for things that are important. If a couple of friends invite us out for dinner, we rarely have any problem with putting off cleaning the house in exchange for a good time. When a friend or relative comes into town, we can often take a day from work or rearrange our schedules to make time to visit. And when time becomes small for those close to us, we start to evaluate what it all means, why we’re here, and if we’ve spent our time doing things that matter.
I’ve struggled to find time to do what I'm pushed to do, which is putting words down on paper. Occasionally I procrastinate, but almost always I comment, “I don’t have the time.” I’ve partially solved this by carrying my notebook with me everywhere, and while I wait, I write. I hear the same litany from many others. “I can’t do that right now. I just don’t have the time.” When will we have the time? Never, if that project or creative endeavor doesn’t mean enough to us. So perhaps the better question is, how do we make the time? We all have the same twenty-four hours in a day, and almost limitless ways to fill that time, such as with work, children, household chores, friends and relatives, holidays, hobbies, your favorite sports team. Creativity.
One time management tool that works for many activities is scheduling the time on a calendar. I suggest you use the same strategy for creativity. Do you write? When can you mark it on your calendar? From 6 to 7 AM? How about from 9 to 10 PM? Paint? Okay, ten minutes to take out paints and canvas, but then think about lighting in the room. Is it better in the morning or evening? Sketching at Starbucks? When is it the busiest, when would you have the best opportunity to catch humanity engaging in ritual? And how many of you, right now, are thinking, “I can’t do that. I don't have the time?” And you never will unless it is important to you.
We are in a space of timelessness anytime we engage in something where we lose track of time. For me, the list is long. Teaching, spending time with my horses, practicing yoga, meditation, attending a concert, having dinner with a friend, pleasure reading, watching storm clouds, swimming, cooking, and writing all bring me to the state where time falls away. It is just me and the experience. Athletes refer to it as “the zone”. We stop watching the clock, being time-bound, and are absorbed into the timeless state of being. We've all been there. We all know what we “do” when we lose track of time. It sounds counter-intuitive, but to get to that state of being we often have to schedule time to do it.
So, when will you put your creativity on your calendar? That feeling of timelessness, of being “in the zone”, where we are absorbed in the experience, might be enough to encourage us to set aside an hour to write, paint, knit, or woodwork. And when we get to the point where we want more time to be timeless, and it becomes important, we’ll be amazed at all the time that will be available.
Understand
Why do we write? To communicate with ourselves. Why do we talk? To communicate with others. Reading and listening are passive expressions of sharing ideas.
We speak to others in order to help them understand our day, instructions, feelings and emotions, the past, or even the future. We want to be understood. Our opinions must be heard, and so we speak them loudly. Other than those times that we might talk to ourselves, we are sharing, wanting others to see things from our perspective, to join our side, or debate against it. To be understood. Talking usually requires another to listen, and oftentimes our efforts are rewarded by keeping another’s attention. We already know what we’re going to say. When we listen, we are on the flip side. It is our turn to give the speaker that feeling of being understood.
But we also write, or do art, to understand. We make connections, record thoughts that perhaps were not there previously, and look at ourselves and the world around us in a way that encourages us, drives us, to understand. That is why journaling is so important for some people. It gives them a ready audience, the paper or their keyboard, where their understanding, or sometimes misunderstanding, is revealed.
I want to be understood, but I write to understand the vast expanse of the human condition. Mental illness, love, hate, death, sickness, joy, anger, frustration, excitement, anxiety, depression, and more are explored from the artist’s point of view. Sometimes strong language is needed in order for the writer to understand the anger at wrongful deeds, or the wonder of love.
How will a character, paint color, ingredient, chord, or subject of a photograph react in a certain situation? The flow of emotion, of creation, from that part of us we all possess, dictates the rough edges, but it’s the artist’s experiences, the artist’s quest for understanding that allow the edges to be smoothed, for the character, paint color, ingredient, chord, or subject of a photograph to do what the artist might have done, or perhaps the artist allows the character to take a road they themselves might have passed by. It is this search for understanding within themselves that reinforces with a creator that their art is an expression of who they are, often includes pieces of the artist, and is completed for their benefit, their growth, their understanding. If an audience resonates with what artists have done for themselves in order to understand, then the artist is understood. Is it a requirement? No. People may create to understand themselves and the world around them, to make some sense out of life and its often-unpredictable situations and circumstances.
In our quest to understand, we tap into that which provides us with timelessness, with bliss. In peering into that place, which I believe we all possess, we can ask, “What does it look like for you?” What does it feel, taste, sound, and smell like? What emotions are easiest to pinpoint when we’re in the mode of creating something? Intensity? Anger? Joyfulness? When we remove the piece from the kiln, the printer, or the easel, what arises? Is it a sense of accomplishment? Achievement? Or does that only come when our ego is fed by compliments given, or solicited, by those that we view as an authority? Or is it only when we receive a monetary amount that we view ourselves as having achieved?
Goals
Numerous people have told me what an achievement it is to even put pen to paper, let alone complete a piece, then publish it and share it with the world. For many, it would be a dream come true to dip into that place that speaks quietly, asking us to pay attention to it, to allow just a little of it to escape. We can sit in silence, even for a moment, and listen to the gentle ripples inside that well of creativity that is urging us to set aside the critic, the ego, the concerns of whether what we create is worthwhile, and just make art. Follow, even for a step or two, the whisperings. We might surprise ourselves.
It’s been said that in order for a business venture to be successful, there must by an overarching goal, then other targets broken down to quarterly, monthly, weekly, and even daily goals. If we want to run in a 10K, then the goal of completing the training schedule is critical. If we’ve ever made a goal, even one as simple as to give up drinking soda for a day, then we can relate to how it usually makes us feel. We stress and strive and work and sweat, believing we will be rewarded for all of our efforts. So many people then go a step further and attach an emotion to the outcome. “I’ll be happy when _____.” What this leads us to do is to be miserable the whole way towards the goal, then have a moment of sunlight, of “Ahhh… I knew I could do it.” And a few moments later, we’re on to the next goal, and back in the state of stress and strive. After ye...