HEARING NO, FEELING NO – PART 2

In my last blog post I shared how we respond to hearing “no” and ways to work with the resulting emotions so that we can return to our purpose and use any rejection as creative fuel.

The other relationship we have to “no” is when we have a choice to make. It’s when we are weighing a decision, considering an opportunity – like submitting to a gallery or juried show – that we need to consider the internal “no” we may be feeling to ascertain its true source. I have, and I’m sure many of you have as well, been stopped by my internal “no” when it was likely a good choice for me to move toward that opportunity. 

Unfortunately, in considering the opportunity, I experienced a fear-based response to being out of my comfort zone. That feeling of uncertainty then led me away from what was actually a step towards what I said I wanted to pursue. This is a form of saying “no” to ourselves and our desires.

It can be helpful for us to remember that feelings of uncertainty can arrive naturally when faced with something new, and especially when it’s actually meaningful for us. If we want something deeply, we can be frightened of that desire and having that desire unmet. Perhaps in the past, we didn’t get our needs met or were told we didn’t deserve to have what we wanted. There can be any number of subsconscious narratives that can be activated when we move towards what we desire. 

That connection between our old script, and the uncertainty we feel, creates confusion for us and we tend to give energy to the feelings that are natural, making them bigger than they are. These feelings don’t need to stop us and are very different from the real clear “no” that results from assessing and making a decision based in our truth.

But how do we determine a clear “no” based on our truth, versus a fear-based response that we want to work with and allow ourselves to move through? 

Sometimes we are unclear about how we are truly feeling about an opportunity, and the waters can get muddy with our looping thoughts and mixed emotions. So we may need a little extra time to check in with ourselves to become more clear.

Reflective writing can be useful. As you consider the question or opportunity you are contemplating, begin to think about how to form a question for yourself to work with – or perhaps it is a series of questions you need to consider. For instance, you might ask yourself something like:

When I think of doing ______________, what do I notice? How do I feel? What thoughts are present? 

Often we get stumped trying to unravel a complicated set of feeling states, so just begin with your first thought, even if it seems silly or irrelevant. Think of it as an entry point to your inner knowing, not the actual answer you're after. Just notice what you’re aware of and begin to write about that. 

Next you may want to dig a little deeper into the feelings and thoughts that you have captured. Perhaps you have noticed that you are conflicted – on one hand you want to take this opportunity and on the other you feel anxious about it. 

Begin to meet both of these places within you and see which one feels stronger for you. Can you notice any difference? Does one call to you more? If you imagine missing the opportunity because you allowed your anxiety to stop you, how does that feel? Will you regret having said “no” to yourself? 

Another strategy that can help untangle these conflicting thoughts and feelings about a situation, or opportunity, is to focus on the quality of your energy – or your gut feeling – when you hold the question in your mind.

To do this, begin by sitting comfortably and focussing on your breathing, settling yourself as much as possible. Once you feel quieted and relaxed, bring your question or consideration into your mind. Just hold it there without trying to “think” about it or find the answer, just let it sit in your awareness. Then turn your attention to your body and notice how you feel as you hold this question. Is there tightness or weightiness anywhere in your body? Scan your body and notice any areas of tension or anxiety. Don’t try to figure out what you’re feeling or why, just identify it – a knot in my stomach, my jaw is clenched, a tightness in my throat, etc.

Again, hold your question or opportunity in your mind and now tune into your energy – your inner feeling state – and notice its quality. Does it feel expansive and flowing, or does it feel contracted and closed? Is there a feeling of opening when you think about the opportunity you’re considering, or is there an immediate restriction in your body – a tightness, or a weightiness? 

If there is a feeling of expansion or openness when you consider your question, then the anxiety you may be feeling around it may actually be excitement mixed with the very natural anticipation of encountering a new situation – the unknown is stirring up some discomfort.

We rarely feel fully at ease or ready to do something we’ve not done before or that has unknowable elements to it, so recognizing that this anxious, excited energy would naturally arise helps us to respond from this place of awareness and move towards what we’re after.

However, if the feeling that arrived for you as you considered this question, opportunity, or situation, was more of a contraction and you felt that immediate closing off of your energy, then it is very likely that you don’t want to do what it is you’re considering. This is really good information for you, and this process can really help bring clarity to the situation and allow you to move towards what you want, even when you notice that there is naturally some anxiety around it.

When we arrive at a clear “no” around this question, opportunity, or situation, we may then have to set a boundary with ourselves or with someone else to honour what we have uncovered. 

Setting boundaries can be uncomfortable for us, but it does get easier with practice. If you’re aware that this may be an area you could be stronger in then I encourage you to read up on working with boundaries and begin to normalize saying “no.”

Often when we are conflicted about something, we want to say “no” but feel that we can’t, or shouldn’t. For various reasons we may feel that to be a “good person” we should always try to say “yes” to what others request of us. Perhaps, in our life, saying “no” was dangerous or met with push-back from others. Or, like me, you may have developed a “people pleaser” personality to avoid conflict with others and remain safe. This personality type struggles to know how to honour themselves in the face of others' needs and requests. 

So as you can see, “no” is complicated for so many reasons. It often represents setting a boundary with someone, or with yourself. It often carries with it disappointment – the possibility of letting someone down, or abandoning ourselves. It’s loaded with a great deal of personal baggage and wrapped up in our history and experience with what we believe we deserve, are allowed, how we’ll be perceived.

But we can’t set a boundary with someone and take care of their feelings at the same time. We have to respectfully ask for what we need and let them have their reaction to that. If they’re not willing to respect our boundary then we have a choice to make about that relationship. 

For many of us, setting boundaries around our art-making time can be a challenge. And sometimes it’s setting a boundary with ourselves that is necessary – saying “no” to invitations, distractions, and setting our priorities. 

We often feel that our art-making is a privilege, something that we have to earn in some way – first we clear the obligations and responsibilities and then we can make our art. And yet, as artists, making our work is to us like water is to a fish – it’s what keeps us alive. 

If we don’t have healthy boundaries with others, we may not have healthy boundaries with ourselves. We make others the priority. The challenge for us is to recognize when we don't fully believe that we deserve to make our art, especially if we think that others are suffering because of our choice. This is our working edge and opportunity to feel the power of saying “no” so we can say “yes” to ourselves.

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HEARING NO, FEELING NO – PART 1

Lately I have been thinking about the ways we engage with limits, rejections, and hearing “no” – either from others, or from within ourselves. It’s a complicated relationship we have with “no,”as we typically associate it with a denied request or desire. We feel disappointed, and sometimes downright angry about being told we can’t have what we want. I’m flashing back to that feeling of being a young child and working so hard to get that “yes” – the magic “yes” that allowed me to have what my tiny heart desired. This relationship with “no” starts early for us and seems to carry some weight with it throughout most of our life.  

So how do we feel our way through hearing “no” in response to something we’re seeking? And, how does that differ from sensing and understanding an internal “no” when we’re considering a choice or opportunity. Both invite us to notice our reactivity to the sound of hearing “no” and perhaps experience it differently; more responsively. 

I recently made a submission to a local gallery, along with about 150 other artists. And, like many others have experienced, my work wasn’t accepted – I received a “no.” I was so happy to learn that a good friend of mine was accepted. She got the coveted "yes."

What was interesting to me was my internal response and how it has shifted from years past. Yes, I felt disappointed. That is a natural response to have after not receiving what we had hoped for. But what was noticeably different for me was how I wasn’t making this rejection personal. I wasn’t beating myself up with negative self-talk and feeling defeated.

This wasn’t always the case. It is a common challenge that artists face – managing their internal response to not having their work accepted for a show, a gallery, or not having it sell at an exhibition – which can feel like a quiet, sneaky “no.”

I think this relationship to “no” is an important one for us to pay attention to and work with. If we don’t consider how we respond to hearing “no,” we may find ourselves devastated by a rejection. This can then cast a shadow on the way we view our work, the risks we’ll take, the opportunities we will seek out, and the courage we need to stand back up and try again. 

When we make a rejection personal, we are saying to ourselves that we’re not good enough for that opportunity. That somehow we fell short and are flawed. There is little, if any, self-compassion extended towards ourselves, and our inner critics have a field day piling on the criticism and begin to chant “I told you so.” 

The truth is our ego may be a bit bruised by this rejection, that’s understandable. But when we allow that tenderness to be met with more self-punishment through negative self-talk and feelings of shame – “I must be a bad artist” – we crumble under that weight and decide it’s not worthwhile pursuing any further opportunities. After all, why would we want to feel this way again?  

Our ego recognizes that we’re vulnerable and its primary role is to prevent us from experiencing suffering. So in a moment of disappointment, like my denied gallery submission, it begins to protect us and drag us toward  places that will ensure that we are not risking this emotional suffering again. We then lack the emotional resilience we need to put ourselves out there again, and lose connection with that part of our creative work – sharing it with others. 

At these times, all kinds of mental games can begin, from comparing our work to others that were accepted, and tearing their work apart, to denying that we even wanted this in the first place. It’s a quagmire of emotional reactions that inflame the situation and make that “no” impossible to move past or utilize in any other way. 

One of our greatest needs as humans is the need for acceptance, and one of our greatest fears is of being rejected for who we are. It is base needs mechanics for survival, and runs very deep in our psychology. 

As artists we are facing this fear constantly as we create and share our work. We are committed to making our art, even when many others around us may not understand why we would make that choice. We dedicate hours of our time and resources to strengthen our skills and develop our work, much of the time receiving very little in return – either in feedback, recognition or sales. This is why, as I have written about before, we need an anchoring purpose for why we are making our work. It keeps us afloat when the external world doesn’t always offer us much back to acknowledge our efforts. So with all this at play, spending some time working on how you’ll meet a rejection is time really well spent. 

Whether you’re an actor auditioning for a role or an artist applying to a gallery, if we accept that hearing “no” is an inevitable and natural part of being a creative and wanting to share your expression with others, we then normalize it, expect it, and can prepare our mindset to meet it when it arrives. 

By strengthening our mindset skills through mindfulness, self-compassion, and reflective writing, we can help ourselves to be better at managing our feelings when we hear “no.” Here are some things to work with and consider – and some of the inner discussion I had with myself when I received my recent “no”:

It’s Not Always About You – Many of the opportunities we take as artists are based on a selection process with a criteria that we are not aware of, or can control. Gallerists consider many things in their selection process – the artists they already have in their roster, the clientele they cater to, their personal preference, and the gallery mandate. If your work didn’t make the cut, there could be many other reasons beyond the reason you’re giving energy to. It may have nothing to do with the quality of your work, and it doesn't mean you are not good enough.

You Took Action – There is great reward in taking the necessary steps to submit your work, make your application and risk being judged by others. That in itself is a win, regardless of the outcome. This is where self-compassion and the ability to recognize yourself for the risk you took is so valuable, and is what will help you to do it again. Can you acknowledge that you took action in pursuit of your goal and that is meaningful?

Failure is Creative Fuel – As artists we need to be extraordinarily comfortable with failure and actually harness it for our creative growth. We know this aspect of making our work and what it has to offer us. Through embracing failure we discover, innovate and build new creative territory. What if we applied this same thinking to marketing our work, applying to galleries, and making applications? What if receiving a “no” could be harnessed as creative fuel, and motivated us to try again from this informed place? Yes, we may need some time to feel the disappointment, but it’s what we do next that is so important.

Make it Normal – When we normalize something, we don’t typically have strong reactions or feel that we are inherently flawed in response to it. We instead recognize that this is something a lot of other artists experience too. In fact, many well known artists, writers and musicians experienced multiple rejections before landing that breakthrough opportunity. If hearing “no” is just something that happens and not a roadblock loaded with baggage about your abilities or worth, then you’ll move through it much more easily and get back to work.

Detach From Outcomes – Just as we do in the creative process, we need to let go of being invested and attached to the outcome. And when we are, often something more amazing arrives for us – something we couldn’t have expected. This requires trust. We trust that if we received a “no” then that means we’re headed somewhere else…and that destination is not yet known. There is every possibility that it could be even better than what we were first shooting for. 

Be Your Own Cheerleader – What would you tell a dear friend who had just received a “no” and was struggling to accept it? How would you support that friend? Can you offer the same to yourself right now? We often say things to ourselves that we would never say to anyone else – harsh words, criticism, even condemnations. And words matter, whether we’re saying them to others or to ourselves. While it may feel a bit unnatural, and even silly, spending time writing a note of support to yourself can be equally as powerful as those negative messages. We talk to ourselves all the time, so why not give ourselves a good pep talk or a compassionate message of self-support. Perhaps there is a supportive, nurturing part of you that can speak to the part of you that feels small, rejected, and unsure. What can you say to yourself that helps you to feel better and allows you to return to a place of balance again?

Get Back in The Game – As soon as possible after the rejection, get back to making your creative work. Begin to work on your next proposal or submission. You’ll miss 100% of the shots you don’t take, and often it takes a lot of shots to hit that goal. So begin again, knowing that the more you try the more likely you are to succeed. By returning to the making of your art you are also sending a clear message to yourself that art-making is not dependent on external circumstances, but only on your desire to live your purpose. 

How We Meet Hard Things is Important – It’s easy to be peaceful and balanced when things are going well. The real test for us is what we do in response to discomfort – to things being less than ideal. Often we want to avoid what’s hard. It’s natural and hardwired in. So we can assume that will be our tendency and can be mindful of that. With that awareness we can remind ourselves of our commitment to wellbeing and meet the emotional charge with compassion to help it regulate within us. Our stress can be mitigated when we practice meeting the hard things more sensitively and with care.

In my next post I’ll explore the aspect of feeling “no '' which helps us discern the truth about our feelings, allowing us to find clarity and set boundaries – with others and ourselves.

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EXPECTATIONS ON THE WAY TO BECOMING

“An artist cannot fail. It’s a success just to be one.” – Charles Horton Cooley

For every artist there is a sensing, a knowing, that they have something to express. Some from a very early age, and others come to realize this much later in life. Either way, no matter when an artist claims that title for themselves, there is a good chance they have been thinking and observing the world as an artist would. They may just not have realized that it was something unique and rooted in an artist’s sensibility. But it has always been there.

The fact is, no matter when we decide to start making our creative work, and commit to that path, we have always been an artist. An artist isn’t simply defined by their output, but more in how they think, interact, and move through the world. What they notice, consider and in how they deeply observe the nature of things. Robert Motherwell once said that all artists are voyeurs – watching others and the out-workings of the world with deep interest.

I think this is quite a comforting thought, and one that when offered to many of my clients, allows them to lean in a little more to the belief that realizing their artist’s vision is possible. They come to know that they don’t have to prove it to themselves any longer, even if they may still feel they need to prove it to others. In time that need also diminishes, as they stand strongly in their own authority and position. No artist should ever have to prove to anyone something so innate and integral to their wellbeing.

However, the challenge that many artists face is the weight of others' expectations alongside their own. Somehow many of us believe that realizing a creative vision, or finding our artist’s voice, is something that should come more quickly for us. This feels inextricably linked to the expectations that are ill-placed and loaded on before we even had the opportunity for true growth and development of our craft.

I remember graduating from a three year arts program full of vigour and assumptions, ready to launch my art career. I had been an artist my whole life, but hadn’t committed to working as one, or even really exploring the subject of art-making to the depth that is required for an artist to truly blossom. There was just a knowing that I was one, and a deep longing to realize on that feeling. I was always creative, but only dipped my toe in art-making, and as a result my skills were underdeveloped and my critical thinking was not formed. 

But after about 5 years of consistently making art, with dedication and focus, I felt like I “should” know who I was as an artist and have a distinctive, fully-formed voice. I felt frustrated that I had given so much time to this and there was still so much further I needed to travel. My vision for my work was still so far ahead of where I was and what I could execute. And, my artist’s mindset was nowhere to be found, so I struggled a lot and that also impacted my development. Fear, resistance, and weighty expectations were my studio companions, instead of trust, curiosity, and compassion. 

So many artists that I work with have this same challenge. They have made the decision to dedicate themselves to their creative work, often after a long period of denying themselves that possibility. It feels important, necessary, and risky. There may be external, and internal, pressure to prove that this choice is a good one, and not just indulgent and mistaken. This can be a recipe for so much struggle as the pressure mounts and expectations clog up the spaciousness that needs to exist for an artist to move forward and become who they are meant to be. 

If we can more clearly understand this path to becoming who we truly are as artists, with all its stages, we can honour the developmental process we are engaged with. When we do, we make space for ourselves to put in the necessary time without the pressure of producing work for any other purpose than to realize on this desire we have for ourselves. We’re not imposing success too soon, before we have developed work that is worthy of that, and reflects our artist's vision. 

In this time of Instagram followers and Facebook likes, it is easy to feel we have to jump in and share our work before we may even feel comfortable doing so. We see other artists sharing their work and making a path for themselves and, of course, we want that too. But how do we do that and still carve out a space for ourselves to grow in our work? If we receive attention for our early work, does that allow us to move elsewhere as we develop, or do we fear losing our audience and limit what we’re willing to explore? 

These questions are important ones to understand as an emerging and developing artist, and even as a more mature artist. We don’t want to limit ourselves and our development by the pursuit of success too soon. And, if we do find ourselves in that position then we have to be willing to stay true to ourselves and our artistic vision – risking that our audience may not travel with us and we’ll have to find new collectors and fans along the way. 

An artist must learn to hold fast to their commitment to growth in their creative work. It is what takes us from a budding artist to a fully formed visionary with work that is personal, compelling, and skillfully made. To get there we have to give ourselves permission to always be moving forward in our work and learning about our expression. The acceptance and validity of our work comes from our understanding of what we are making and why. We are firmly planted in a creative vision for ourselves and our only expectation is that we continue to hold this spaciousness – allowing ourselves to honour the path we’re on. 

I see an artist’s path as a high calling. It asks a great deal from us in a world that doesn’t truly honour that commitment for what it is and what it provides for the world. We are often undervalued and the choice to make art is an impassioned one, not necessarily a “career move.” It requires the deepest of commitments, dedication and tenacity. It asks us to know ourselves and to meet those places that inevitably arrive with compassion and curiosity. Art-making offers us the opportunity to utilize everything we have in the pursuit of a vision – a vision that may or may not resonate for others, but is everything to us. We stand alone here, and if we can lower the expectations around how we’re doing this and how long it is taking, we’ll find the way forward far more accessible and less arduous. 

In this article from The Painter’s Keys, artist Sara Genn articulates her relationship and awareness of time. She states, “I have learned not to attach my feelings of worth or creative happiness to these external metrics. Understand that you are now a person who gets up every day and makes things that, for the most part, nobody asked for. They are just ideas, and so work, incrementally, to make them better. Go into your studio with this intention: be yourself, engage deeply, explore your curiosity and bliss. Unlike the journeyman who must make her rent, you have given yourself the gift of later-life play. For this reason, your work has the potential to be higher in concept, more patient in quality of execution, and more potent with the energy and wisdom of life. Take your beat. Infuse your position with joy. ‘For us, there is only the trying. The rest,’ said T.S. Eliot, ‘is not our business.’”

Wherever you are on your path as an artist, embrace the very essence of why being an artist matters to you and align your expectations with that. It will allow you to knit together your truest purpose with your heart-felt desires for yourself and your work. 

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FALLOW

Life knows about the cycles and seasons. Life accepts that they must come and surrendering is an absolute. Life invites in periods of rest, recognizing them as a time of rejuvenation, welcoming them for their gifts. Life knows that everything changes, and always will. Life just seems to trust it all.

I remember the first time I received the suggestion to “trust the process of life.” I really didn’t know how to do that or even what that meant. It was a wise and gifted counsellor that offered me that wisdom as a counter to my angst-filled heart. Life wasn’t going very well for me at that time and I needed help to find a way through. Life knows there is always a way through and, thankfully, this reminder – to trust the process of life – became a way forward and out of my suffering. I was so grateful for that teaching that it has always stayed with me.

This idea that we can trust the process of life is one that can offer us so much more ease in every moment. As we make our creative work alongside our lives it’s not surprising that art and life have an interconnectedness that can’t be denied. Our art-making is informed by our lives, and where we place our trust. When we can trust the process of our creative cycles and allow for spaciousness, slowness, and rest to be a part of that process, we find that new life is found in our creative work and we have returned once again.

This poem by the Irish poet John O’Donohue offers us the gentle reminder that we tend to resist this most natural and necessary part of the creative process. Fallow seasons that offer rest and revitalization are rich periods of fertile development, when met with the awareness of that potential. 

This is the time to be slow,
Lie low to the wall
Until the bitter weather passes. 

Try, as best you can, not to let
The wire brush of doubt
Scrape from your heart
All sense of yourself
And your hesitant light.

If you remain generous, 
Time will come good;
And you will find your feet
Again on fresh pastures of promise,
Where the air will be kind
And blushed with beginning.

As artists we may come to face these fallow times in the course of making our creative work, as they are important intersections of envisioning and gathering. During these times we’re actually engaged in a process that allows for our growth and development. It’s a time of birthing something new, and to do that we have to let go of where we are for what wants to arrive. 

While this can feel challenging for us in some ways, it can be quite a different experience than being creativity blocked, although they may feel similar and have some overlap. When we’re stuck and feeling resistance about making our work, that is a time to push forward and break through what is in the way. It’s often connected to our mindset and the hold that fear can have on us, in all its subtle ways.

But creative rest, or fallow periods, are usually preceded with a feeling of needing a break, or experiencing a disinterest in what we’re working on. It can feel like dissatisfaction mingled with longing, and fear isn’t present. There is just a strong impetus to move somewhere else without knowing where. There isn’t resistance to making our art, just an awareness that something is missing, needed, or arriving. 

The poem tells us “If you remain generous” and “Try, as best you can, to not let the wire brush of doubt scrape from your heart all sense of yourself…” These lines offer us everything about how to hold space for ourselves when these fallow periods arrive. 

If we can meet this time, and ourselves, with the deepest compassion – remaining generous – we will find our way and be better for the time spent with the fallow ground. We will have rejuvenated ourselves because we trusted, rather than stressed or pushed too hard. We surrendered to the process of creativity and allowed the soil to be tilled and rested until the seeds could be planted. And when they are, the ground they are sown into is rich with nutrition and substance – and growth is inevitable. 

So how can we welcome these times of slowing for the gift they are? How might we engage with this time differently? By checking in with ourselves for clarity around what we’re feeling, we can know if the time we’re in is asking us to slow or are we allowing resistance to take hold. Knowing this will allow us to take the right actions for ourselves. However, the piece that can be missing for so many of us is permission. We need to give ourselves permission to rest, to go slow, as it is not really a quality western culture celebrates or encourages. We’re more inclined toward productivity and see resting as wasting time, or a sign of weakness. 

We need these reminders – from the earth, from our lives, and from poets – that everything changes, has cycles, and continues to evolve, or shift. So, of course, our art-making does too. It’s when we can meet that time for all it holds, and allow it to be present, that we can reap the benefits and experience less angst at the same time. 

If we can acknowledge and accept the life cycle of our art-making and the creative process, we could meet the rise and fall of creative output with equal reverence. We wouldn’t feel any fear arriving in response, because we trust this place with our work as much as we do in times of high output. We would move ourselves into a place of reflection, restoration, and gestation. Continuing an art-practice in a way that honours the space that has arrived. Welcoming and dancing with the whims and whimsy of ideas, visions, and longing.

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DETAILS AND THE BIG PICTURE

It is in the details where I find information about what is important to me. As I make my work I notice the areas that really draw me in, usually taking a photo to crop that section from the bigger painting. I know that this selective composing is information about what I am seeking in my work. I’m paying attention to what I am noticing and asking myself what is occurring here and how I can take that further into the overall painting. I’m studying relationships and interactions – deep looking.

One of the opportunities this presents for me, which in the past actually became a challenge, is to notice these details and not become attached to them. While they provide useful information for me, and are a source of inspiration and a connection to my vision for my work, they may not remain in the piece I am in process with, simply because they no longer contribute to the whole of that piece.

I really noticed the benefit of capturing these details when I was doing my 30 Day Sketchbook Challenge in the spring of 2020. As I photographed the work each day to share with the community of artists that were joining me in this challenge, I would also take several detail shots to include. I noticed that I was often more engaged with these found compositions than with the page as a whole. So I began to ask myself questions about what I was responding to and why. The next day’s work would be informed by that investigation and I would get closer to what I was discovering through this deeper inquiry I was making – building on what has come before through observation and assimilation.

In art-making we are often in pursuit of something – a vision, a feeling, an evocation of something intangible. This is particularly true in abstraction, where the subject matter is not drawn from the external world in the way it might if we were working representationally. As my mentor, artist Bill Porteous often says, “If representational painting is explicit description, then abstraction is implicit suggestion.” In abstraction our subject matter is not directly related to a person, place or thing, but rather an internalized awareness of these externals, reinterpreted into form, colour, line – all evoking meaning for us as we choose our own way of expressing this nebulous space. Is it any wonder we find it challenging to know a path forward with our work, or how to determine it is finished?

What helps us to find the solid ground to meet this place? What can we offer ourselves as artists that can support the deep dive we often take as we bring forward our internalized vision for our work?

For many of us, myself included, the vastness of this place and the endless possibilities and choices that we face can cause creative anxiety. And when we want it so much – to make work that feels truthful, connected, and personal – we invest a lot in every action we take towards that desire. When we inevitably fail to meet ourselves there, simply because failure is an important part of the process of getting there, we begin to close down that process with frustration, fear, disappointment, and self-criticism. We want it so much that we unintentionally let the “want” grow bigger than the process we need to be present for. Then all we have is the want itself, which leaves us unfulfilled and dissatisfied with our results.

Being attached to the process instead of the outcomes allows us to really mine this place for all its worth. We find gold when we are able to let go of the “want” and just be present for the discoveries. When making our art we have to be passionate about the process, so much so that if the final result of our efforts is a complete and utter failure, we have still given ourselves tremendous value through that engagement.

We look for the details of what we notice and what feels more right than something else. We add this to our inventory – our collection of elements that make up our work. Our artistic vocabulary grows, clarifies, and directs us towards more wholeness in our work. Rather than parts we love attempting to join together to form an image, we ruthlessly rework areas to bring all of the parts together to form something whole and complete – something that is greater than the sum of its parts and something completely new.

It is through this act of paying attention – noticing what we are noticing – that we find ourselves. And it is when we bring ourselves fully to our art-making, without concern if what we are bringing is worthy, that we access our unique expression. The details we are drawn to are like breadcrumbs leading us to our clarity and the work we are meant to do. This deep looking is slow, methodical, and requires our presence. We need to be willing to sit with unanswered questions, unsatisfying results, and puzzles that are not yet solvable for us. We need to remain with ourselves and the process to find the gold. 

By paying close attention to what we are compelled by, both in our work and in our lives, we give voice to our sensibilities. And when we accept our sensibilities as whole, complete and worthy we are accepting ourselves. This is the best place to make our art from.

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Reflections on Art and Friendship

One of the most profound relationships in the human experience is that of a deep friendship. Before we even have a firm grasp of language we learn what it means to be a friend, and as we grow, so does our understanding of the preciousness of these connections. Some of us are blessed to have met a kindred spirit who planted themselves so deeply in our hearts that they will stay there forever.

There is a powerful time in a true friendship that is so unique and bonding that it forges a lifelong connection between two people regardless of time passed or miles between them. It often occurs closer to the beginning of a friendship, but not before there is some time behind it so trust has a firm foothold. And it is this trust that allows the next, most profound phase of the friendship to occur – the part that links up these two hearts and souls for life.

It’s actually hard to describe what this connection feels like or what it means for me. It seems it is only in reflection that I can identify the essence of this experience and its ultimate purpose. I recently revisited an old picture of me with my best friend of many years and I was immediately reminded of this precious time and what it all means.

When two friends meet that are meant for each other – like married couples are meant for each other – they feel compelled towards this connection. It’s as if their individual energies become amplified through this union. Two women joining together and empowering the other through their trust and love. Perhaps men feel this too, but I know with certainty that women cherish this aspect of their friendships, especially the ones closest to them.

I believe it is because of their unwavering trust and commitment to each other that this occurs. Each one is stronger for that support, knowing that they are not alone with their feelings, needs, and hopeful desires. Each feels heard, seen, understood, and greatly valued. Like all relationships there are moments of grace, alongside moments of conflict. In fact the closer their connection becomes, the more likely it is that conflict may occur. This, again, is a function of that firmly established trust.

Conflicts or challenges between lifelong friends are steadied by their trust. There is an embedded assumption that they will always work things through and that the conflict arose because of how much they care about each other. It simply becomes a conversation that brings them even closer, as they clear away any obstacles that are preventing a deeper intimacy. This type of relationship to conflict is mindfully approached, understood for its true value, and never avoided or left to go underground, as that would not be in agreement with what this friendship stands for – the commitment to each other's growth and wellbeing.

As time passes they travel further together in their trust and connection to the deeper purpose and meaning in their relationship with each other. They allow more and more of their authentic selves to show up in the relationship which is immediately met with acceptance and love. As they see and honour each other’s value and worth, at times beyond what is even possible for the individual, they provide one of the most beautiful gifts one human being can give to another – the gift of reflected worthiness. Each one trusting the other to reflect back to them the truth of who they are. This exchange is what amplifies their individual power – they are stronger together, both in friendship and in their lives independent of the friendship. They carry this empowerment with them and it colours all that they do.

For many artists their relationship with other artists can offer something very similar, if there is an abiding trust and respect for the individual. This requires that they set competition aside and dedicate themselves to the commitment that other close friendships experience – trust and an investment in each other’s wellbeing. It’s a rare gift to find this, and one that should be cherished for all that it offers.

But there is another place that I believe that this type of deep trust can be found for artists, and through which they can become empowered in ways that will endlessly support their unique needs. That place resides within their relationship with their art. Just as a close friendship affords us a safe place to grow and deepen our connection to self, our art-making can offer us the same. There is simply a need to trust and commit to this relationship in the same way we would to our best friend or romantic partner – with deep abiding faith and a willingness to meet the challenges that may arrive. 

Artists are frequently in conflict with their work – as they often describe it. This is experienced as the work not going well, meeting them where they are, or allowing their vision to be fully exacted into form. Frustration arrives, negative internal dialogues ensue, and before they know it they feel hopeless and lost. This is when they most need to trust, but they may not know what they are trusting or how that trust will guide them forward in the work. It feels more like a problem to be solved or a personal failing of their own, as they struggle to move out of the discomfort that has met them.

But imagine how different it would feel to have the type of relationship with your art-making that you have with your closest friend. Imagine knowing that art, like your dear friend, wants you to grow and be empowered through your connection. What if art, like your truest friendships, was reflecting back to you your worth and simultaneously challenging you to clear away what doesn't serve you – like your criticism, your mistrust of the process, and your need for assurances? What if your art could meet you where you are, accept you fully, and guide you forward to being even more of who you are?

Alternatively, how differently would you respond to your art-making if you treated your art just as you would a cherished friend – with respect, kindness, and devotion? And how might this change the dynamics of the challenges you face when making your work? What if those conflicts you experienced were not met with frustration, but a commitment to a conversation that brings clarity and deepens the intimacy of that relationship? What if you showed up for your art in the way you do for your dearest friend – ready to give and willing to trust that you’ll both be better for the time spent together?

I think our relationships, especially our closest ones, have so much to teach us. We are relational beings after all, and are we not in a form of relationship when we make our art? Can we not benefit from embracing that relationship as a vehicle for our continued growth and development? Art-making can be our constant companion, our trusted guide as we navigate the inner terrain of self. It can reflect back to us who we are and how we experience ourselves. It can show us where we are holding back and where we are expansive. It requires the same depth of trust that we extend towards our closest relationships, without which we can’t find our way with the work.

Make friends with your art-making and capture that essence of empowered wellbeing through deep devoted connection and trust. You’ll find both grace and conflict there, and all of it will be in service to your growth as an artist. 

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BROKEN BEAUTY

During a recent coaching session, a client reminded me of the centuries old Japanese art of repairing broken pottery, called Kintsugi. This ancient technique, also known as ‘Golden Joinery,’ involves rejoining broken pieces of pottery with a tree sap lacquer mixed with powdered gold, enhancing the break instead of hiding it. The repair elevates the beauty of the piece, transforming it into something more than it was before. The cracks are filled with radiant gold, taking what some might perceive as a flaw and declaring its brokenness as valuable, even precious.

I loved this idea when I first heard about it years ago, and was grateful for the reminder offered through my client’s sharing. Instead of burying our brokenness away, it feels like a way of honouring it. I think it also has something to teach us about self-compassion and the value of building on the ruins of what has come before. This not only helps us in our lives, but can support our art-making as well. When we understand the value of failures, loss, and struggle, and how that builds depth and meaning, we can let go of resistance and stop hiding. We can reveal ourselves, to ourselves, and let that show up in our creative work. We can be vulnerable and trust that the mistakes we make are teaching us, and becoming the veins of gold that acknowledge our broken beauty.

I remember feeling broken from a very early age, simply because I was sensitive and different. Many artists arrive in this world with heightened sensitivity. It’s part of what allows us to experience the world in the way we do and create our art. But it’s not always understood by others, and we may have been encouraged to be more normal, to fit in, and not attract unwanted attention. These well-meaning messages inherently tell us that there is something wrong with the way we are, and we might imagine that we’re flawed in some way – broken, not like the others. 

As a young teenager I experienced a literal break in my world when I was in a  serious car accident that left my face badly injured. At the tender age of 14, all-consumed with appearances and being accepted, I was undergoing plastic surgery to put my face back together. More than 200 stitches and years of procedures to repair the injuries to my face left me with lifelong scars that I still feel self-conscious about at times. I know that many never see these scars on my face, and many times I don’t either, but they are part of my brokenness. And I now know just how much they have brought into my life as a result. Like the art of Kintsugi, I have been filling the brokenness with gold, offering myself compassion and acceptance, even when I feel myself wanting to hide those scars with better lighting and make-up. When I can see the scars in pictures and on video, I am reminded of that flawed beauty and I get to practice again – not judging, not rejecting, not hiding. I am grateful for the opportunity each and every time...and, at times, I don’t always meet that opportunity as well as I could have and catch myself wishing they were not there.  

One of the ways that I was able to move more easily into acceptance was through art-making. In art school I created several pieces that helped me to process some of that early experience of trauma. I didn’t choose to do it consciously, but as I was opening up a space within myself to make art, there was a lot more there that was getting in the way than I was aware of. Being so self-conscious was preventing me from risking and from allowing myself to be seen. I was hiding in the work. 

When I finally allowed what wanted to be expressed to come through, I was both startled and intrigued. It felt as though all the unprocessed stuff around my accident, and how I viewed myself, was coming forward in the work. Stitches, sutures, flesh, blood, and brokenness was all there for me to see. The work I created at that time was for me, and while some of it was shown in my graduation exhibition, it remained with me as a part of my private collection. This was art saving my life and showing me where I was locked down. This relationship with my art – revealing myself to myself through what I create – has always been with me.

When I first heard of the art of Kintsugi I felt a connection to it, not only on a personal level, but for what it represents. The essence of Kintsugi is that instead of hiding flaws, we can fill them with gold and transform something into even greater beauty. Our failures, our mistakes, our flaws are what make us beautiful. This is where we experience our imperfect humanness. And this is where we can use compassion as the gold. 

In art-making we are always challenged to risk, fail, and make mistakes. It’s what we do in response to those failures that makes all the difference in our work. Kintsugi can remind us to meet each failed attempt and fill it with gold – our devotion to curiosity, acceptance of failure’s role in learning and growth, and our compassion for the hard work we’re putting in. 

In my work with clients I am often reminded of how each of us brings our entire selves to our creative work. The relationship we have with ourselves will arrive in the creative process and become another aspect of our work. If we’re highly self-critical, we’ll be highly critical of everything we produce, making it very difficult for us to reap the benefits of exploration and failure. If we always expect ourselves to be perfect and produce amazing work, we may feel immense pressure and find ourselves procrastinating, and avoiding working all together. If we have little tolerance for our own needs, the struggle and discomfort that comes with art-making may cause us to move too quickly out of discomfort and unable to stay focussed. This may mean we’re constantly moving elsewhere and never finding a position with our work, a distinct style or area of interest to expand into. 

Art-making can help us to witness ourselves in ways that we may not have before. This means we can discover our strengths, skills and abilities. And some of what we discover there might be our brokenness. This is when we can remember the Japanese art of Kintsugi and consciously choose to put ourselves back together with the golden light of our self-compassion. We acknowledge our struggle in the moment, we allow it to be with us, without judging it, just noticing, and we get curious about how it is operating in us. There is such valuable information there for us to work with when we’re willing to accept and be curious. And because it is hard work to look at ourselves and our art openly and honestly, we extend the deepest compassion towards the part of ourselves that is trying and willing. We nurture our tender selves and create a safe inner space for our brokenness to become our true beauty. 

A similar sentiment and understanding of brokenness can be found in the beloved children’s book ‘The Velveteen Rabbit’ by Margery Williams:

"You become. It takes a long time. That’s why it doesn’t happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in your joints and very shabby.

But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand."

It is our commitment to finding strength in our brokenness that allows us to endure and become real – hair loved off, eyes dropping out, and all the cracks beautifully filled with gold.

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WHO ARE WE CREATING FOR?

This question of “who am I creating my work for?” is one that arrives for me often, and for many of the artists I work with. It’s an important one, and one that guides us towards our truth, our courage, and our vision as artists.

Many of us make art because it is an innate need – something we’ve always done, or know that we have to do. And for some there is a keen desire to share the work they have made; it completes the creative cycle when the work is experienced and witnessed. It has a relationship with the viewer, one that the artist is interested in connecting with and cultivating.

There are also many artists who chose to make their living through art sales, which helps sustain their practice, pay the studio rent, and support themselves. This is often a challenging path for artists, and in many ways can muddy things for us if we’re not careful. The focus on generating sales can shift our consideration more towards the audience for our work, than staying true to our vision.

Essentially this is when the question, “Who am I making my art for?” really comes into focus and asks us to consider the relationship we have to our audience, and to ourselves. It’s a tricky question to answer so let me expand on that a bit further.

I recently came across this passage of writing by Jeff Brown from his latest book ‘Hearticulations.’ 

“People pleasing is a self protective pattern. If we keep them happy, they won’t turn on us. But it comes at a terribly high price. Because in our fixation with keeping others happy, we undermine our own happiness. In our desire to placate others, we deny ourselves. Perhaps it is time for a new way: Please others, when it truly pleases you.”

When I read this I felt the truth in these words. I’ve been a people pleaser most of my life...avoiding disappointing others, looking for ways I could be different so as not to upset people, including limiting my own light from shining. I resolved to not take or ask for too much. I tried to not be too much or to shine too much. I didn’t want others to feel challenged by that and push back at me in some way. The confusion I was caught up in caused me to make some seriously unhealthy choices and to give far too much away.

In trying to be liked by everyone the result was I had no idea who I really was – what did I think, feel, believe? I derived my sense of self through how others saw me, and whether they accepted me. If they didn’t like me, that was the evidence that proved I was flawed and that I should try harder to be better, more, or different in some way. This is a form of self-abandonment and leads to a loss of connection – to ourselves and our creative work. We trade our truth for acceptance, which is based on something that isn't truthful at all but about self-preservation. It’s an illusion to think we can be liked by everyone, always accepted and never judged. It’s often impossible to avoid disappointing others by our actions or choices.

This part of my nature is something I have always struggled with, and continually work with. I still hold a frayed thread of connection to the belief that my truth and my needs are too much for others...so asking for support or help is still my growing edge. I’m much happier in the helper role, and always have been. Thankfully, over the years I have recognized this aspect of my personality and have been able to learn that I can reach out, and that while my purpose is to serve and support others, I am better at that when I allow myself to receive.

Art-making became a powerful vehicle for my understanding of this relationship I have with people pleasing. In my pursuit of making authentic work that felt truthful and personal, I had to reveal myself to others. Each time I would see my truth arriving in my work, I would also feel fear arriving in equal measure. The fear was about allowing myself to be seen...and if I could muster the courage to show my truth, how would it be received.

There came a time when this inner conflict between desperately wanting to make work that felt “right” for me, and making work that would be accepted into shows, galleries and collections, was so painful that I almost quit. I felt it was impossible to bridge that gap and enduring the unending inner conflict was too high a price to pay for my art.

But in that moment art was saving me. It was reflecting back to me my inner state – my thoughts, fears, habits, desires, and my inability to prioritize my own needs. I wanted to make my paintings, but my concern for making the work for others, and the external mechanisms that decide value, was crippling. It affected my ability to connect with my truth, to show up fully in the work, to ask the tough questions and declare something I made as good. I had to come to terms with this aspect of my personality or I could never make the art I knew I wanted to make.

Art is like a mirror, always showing you who you are as you engage with it – both as a creator of the work and as a viewer. If we arrive at the canvas or page with a myriad of thoughts and concerns about how our work will be received, if it has value, or if we can sell our work, those preoccupations and concerns will be reflected in the work through our choices and ability to connect. In this way art reveals who we are to ourselves. If we're willing to look at this with compassion and curiosity, then our art will guide us forward towards our truth.

But how do we stop this cycle of concerning ourselves with how our work will be received, develop strong work and put it out into the world for others to consider? What allows us to maintain some separation between the work itself and the sharing of it?

I believe this begins with our relationship to ourselves. Most artists feel their work is an extension of themselves. They see it as coming from them, through them, and that it says something about them or their choices. It’s difficult to separate ourselves from our art, and why would we want to? If anything, we want more connection to our art, more truthful expression to come through. But, if we find ourselves second guessing every move we make, trying to determine validity and sales value as we are making the work, we won’t find the connection we’re seeking; ultimately the work won’t be as strong as it could.

We need to cultivate a quality of space within ourselves that reflects the quality we want in our work. If we want our work to be bold and expressive, then we need to embody boldness and courage. We need to allow ourselves to risk and push at the perceived boundaries to discover something really juicy and alive.

If we want our work to feel contemplative, refined, quiet and nuanced, then we also need to cultivate an inner space that reflects those same qualities. We can’t make quiet, meditative work if inside we’re swirling with self-criticism, as we anxiously look to see if what we’ve made is good enough.

We need to make our work for ourselves, firstly and wholeheartedly. And to do that we need to be mindful of our inner space – the space that the work comes from. Taking the time to heal our relationship with ourselves, through cultivating mindfulness, self-compassion, and radical self-acceptance will reward us with a receptive inner space to make our work from. The result will be work that feels truthful and connected – work that you feel good about and even love.

It is from this space – that solid ground – that you then offer your work to the world. When we have a strong foothold in this place with our art-making, we are not hijacked by any feedback we may receive. If we’re clear on our own relationship to the work, then we can become very discerning about what is reflected back to us from the external world in the form of opportunities, sales, and critiques. When we receive feedback, we recognize it as information and weigh it against the internal connection we have with our work. This way, valuable feedback – either positive or negative – doesn’t cause us to go off course, but helps refine our direction. We get to choose what to let in and why.

This is how we stay solid in our art-making while simultaneously building opportunities to show and sell our work. When we attend to our inner space – our relationship to ourselves – and nurture a strong and healthy mindset, we have what it takes to navigate both these places. We can then find quality in both our art-making experience and the external influences that we will inevitably encounter.

By simply reminding ourselves, “who am I creating for?” we can reconnect with the most important critic to please – ourselves. And, when we have a healthy relationship to that inner critic, we can guide our work forward, take greater risks, honour our true voice, and paint with passion and freedom.

As the artist Georgia O’Keefe said, “I have already settled it for myself so flattery and criticism go down the same drain and I am quite free.”

Perhaps today is a good day to ask yourself how you can free yourself from the burden of pleasing others, and just please yourself. Your art will thank you for it.

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SAYING GOODBYE TO 2020

How do we say goodbye to a year like no other? How do our typical seasonal rituals of taking stock of the past year and making resolutions for the year ahead fit for us, given all we’ve been through together?

I’m sure there are many others considering this right now. Perhaps others are drafting similar blogs and trying to offer words of comfort or inspiration. But this year, everything we counted on and had come to expect was turned on its head, so why should we employ the same approaches to sending off 2020 and welcoming in 2021?

Yes, we want to return to feeling hopeful and as if things are returning to normal, but what is normal after all this? And, do we really want to return to that perceived normal? I do know we need hope to survive, so that is a worthy area to connect with during this transition out of 2020.

As an artist I spend a great deal of time in contemplation and disrupting so-called “normal.” I also negotiate the space of uncertainty on a regular basis, as the creative process is filled with unknowns and imminent failures. I work with quieting fear, as both an artist and as a coach to other artists. But 2020 brought forward a new level of fear for us. It brought forward instability, mistrust, inequality, hatred, and too much suffering and loss. It also brought forward courage, fortitude, patience and compassion. It really just depended on what you were looking at and paying attention to, as all of it was there for us to see.

2020 gave us a type of wake-up call that shook loose some of our belief systems and asked us to question what our lives are about and for. It may be some time before we are able to look back with dispassionate, curious eyes and see the truth of this time and experience the learning it may have to offer us. For now, we stay the course, manage as best we can and, as much as possible, accept what we cannot change...but change what we can. Using our discernment and wisdom to know the difference.

In thinking about how I might construct my own ritual for this marker in time – the arrival of a New Year – celebration doesn't feel quite right. I’ve been asking myself, “What, exactly would I be celebrating?” While others may feel differently and are looking forward to ringing in the New Year with some joyful times, I’m noticing that I feel more reflective and like I want to learn something from all we’ve been through this past year. I often reflect on the year that is passing, but this time I feel as if I haven’t had enough distance just yet to do it in the same way I always do. But at this moment two words feel very present for me – curiosity and compassion.

I am curious to lean into the lessons of 2020. And, I am meeting myself with the deepest compassion for my attempts at processing something so profoundly life altering. I’m not likely to “get it” at this time – and perhaps never will – but I will begin the pursuit anyway, because that feels like forward movement. And as the writer and poet Victoria Erickson says so eloquently:

“Remember forward movement. Forward is the way of trust. Forward is the way of forgiveness. Forward is the way of action. Forward is the way of healing. Forward is essentially the way of life.”

In an attempt to begin to assimilate some of what is changing within me as everything around me has changed, I have decided to write a letter to 2020.

Dear 2020,

You have unsettled me and challenged me in ways I haven’t had to experience before. You opened up wounds for me and for others. You called me to realize even more deeply the fragile condition of our humanness. You dealt blow after blow of “shit storm” crazy that terrified me. You isolated those I love and caused them to suffer. You made us sick and brought forward how we respond when our most basic needs are threatened.

2020, you have caused belief systems to crack, institutions to fall, and the pain and suffering of others to be in our hands and our hearts. You’ve called us to our responsibility as an inhabitant of this planet, and you have reminded us that we don’t own anything. You have asked us to continue to hold space for each other, even when we didn’t know if we could hold it for ourselves.

Through all of this I have learned some things about myself, and I expect I’ll be learning much more. I have come to know that I have biases and privilege that I can be blind to. Truth is strange in how it can be altered by these beliefs and blind spots. I am grateful for this and will continue to remain aware of these places in me that instinctively protect and preserve what I believe to be true.

I have also learned that when I am stressed and in uncharted territory, old patterns reappear and bad habits reemerge. Rather than condemn myself for not doing better when I know better, I have learned to offer myself more compassion. I am a flawed human trying to function when I don’t know how just yet. I have learned that I can give myself a break.

There are all kinds of people in this world and we each believe that our way is the best way for us, otherwise we wouldn’t be doing what we’re doing. I have learned I can be judgemental of others, even as I practice not being so. When I can’t understand why someone would choose an action or path forward because it’s so different than what I might choose, I need to be curious as to their nature, and mine. When I judge, I close down curiosity. I can be of better help to myself and others when I understand more.

And there are harms acted upon others that deserve our righteous judgement. I have learned I can still stand up for my rights and the rights of others while remaining curious as to how we got here.

As we have all been looking for comfort in this stressful year, I have been reminded that this means different things to each of us. I love being alone but others don’t. Comfort is personal and I shouldn't project my idea of what comfort is onto others, but instead be curious about what helps them. As a coach I am very aware of the fact that my answers are mine, and not necessarily my client’s. Because of this, I can be better at helping  them to find their own answers. Putting aside my own ideas of comfort, I can create a space where self-help can be discovered in time. Patience and a willingness to remain in the discomfort of sitting with another’s suffering is what’s needed. I can be better at that.

When I am in pain, I need to stop and give to myself. Taking the time to move, create, dream and love is healing. The pain tells me I am out of balance and my body’s wisdom should be trusted over my mind. The mind is an endless taskmaster, always measuring, calculating and problem-solving. It is not the best advisor in times of suffering. I have learned to trust the messages from my body more than ever, and when I honour what it needs, the whole of me feels better.

2020, you have provided me  a whole other level of fear to work with this year, and I am grateful for the mindset work I do as an artist and a coach to help guide me through this time. I often speak of our fears being tied to our primal and primitive responses – fight, flight or freeze. For the most part the fears we encounter in the studio and our daily lives are not real fears that threaten us in the way that our brains were wired for, so we have an inappropriate response to them. But this year our lives actually felt threatened and I learned about our surge capacity and how that gets tapped out pretty fast in an on-going situation like this. I have learned what ambiguous loss feels like – loss that continually cycles us through the stages of grief as we endure another hit. I have learned that resilience is about softness as much as it is about strength. The softening of our hearts towards ourselves, when we just can’t manage, is the way through the next wave of loss.

Those that have experienced trauma in their lives are particularly challenged right now. We need to extend so much compassion to ourselves if that is part of our history, and to those around us who may not be coping as well with so much uncertainty. I have learned to meet myself where I am, not push away because I shouldn’t be here; to nurture the place in me that feels vulnerable and needs to know it’s safe to trust.

I am accepting that I am doing my best, and my best looks different on any given day. If my wells are dry, I need to replenish and I may not be at my best that day. Can my perfectionistic, people-pleasing nature accept that? I have learned that part of me likes to compare and then condemn me for not doing enough, not being more engaged, or not being super productive with this time and space that has arrived through repeated lockdowns and isolation. I am learning to tolerate the discomfort that I feel when I want to do so much more, but I simply can’t. I am learning to accept that this doesn’t make me a bad person and that I can effect change in other ways. I can gently pursue hopefulness even when, at times, I feel hopeless.

Perceptions form so much of our experience and artists love to call our perceptions into question. I am embracing this challenge for myself and asking, what if 2020 was a teacher for me? What if everything that has occurred is asking me to consider my perceptions of what is valuable and important? What do I want from myself, others, this life? Has 2020 brought that more clearly into focus for me?

I have learned that even as an artist and coach, and knowing the value of questioning our perceptions, I still long to be “right.” I am attached to my beliefs and systems of attributing value. If I give some of these up, what do I replace them with? In the in-between of letting go and new understanding, there is a vast cavern of disruption to what I give meaning to. I feel as if I am free-falling and I am most challenged at that time to trust.

And, I am re-establishing my relationship to trust – moving what I think trust is from an idea to an experience. For me, trust is knowing that I will be okay no matter what happens – that my ability to manage my internal mechanisms is strong and I can depend on that. This gives me the greatest hope. I will always be there for myself, doing the work I need to do to understand more and to extend compassion towards the struggle of my humanness.

I am accepting the truth that pain is inevitable in this life - it is the suffering that is our responsibility. We can, and should, feel deeply...our emotions are our built-in guidance system. When we trust ourselves to meet our feelings without shame or rejection, they guide us to our truth and help us grow. Our suffering is often in the rejection of those feelings; the outright denial that they exist for us, or that we shouldn’t have to experience what we’re experiencing. When something hurts us deeply, we feel the pain of it, and we take action where action is needed. The suffering occurs after, in what we do to ourselves through the repetition and recirculating of the hurtful event. It’s the endless playing of the tape, in a futile attempt to rewrite it, that causes us to suffer. Here, again, acceptance of our perfectly imperfect selves is so important.

So, 2020, perhaps we can meet you with heaps of compassion for all that we endured, uncovered, and experienced; for all that we learned and decided needs to change. And, like me, if you’re still sorting that out, then let 2020 teach you how to meet yourself where you are. Extend the most heartfelt compassion towards your fragile self that is struggling in the vast cavern of the unknown. You don’t have to know what it all means for you now, you just have to trust that you will in time.

Moving into 2021 there is only one word that feels relevant for me, and that is nurture. My only commitment that I am making for this New Year is to nurture – myself, others, the whole of everything that is occurring and has occurred. We heal when we are supported and nurtured, and it feels like, as we enter 2021, we could all use some healing.

I am committing to nurturing my life into fullness and connection, regardless of what might be occurring in the external world. My inner world is a respite and a place of restoration for me.

I am nurturing my creative spirit to soar beyond the limits of my mind. I easily shift and clear away any and all of the residual rules, limitations, and thought patterns that stall my process and cause me to doubt myself. And, I nurture myself when I am not able to do this in every moment.

I am nurturing my body to be stronger and more vibrant as it continues to change with age. I am listening to my body’s wisdom and trusting that guidance. More movement and space arrives as a result, which provides me with ample energy to meet whatever comes.

I commit to nurturing friendships, family and loved ones – both in how I give love to others and how I receive love. I will reach out for help when I need it, and not live in a false belief that my needs take up too much space for others. When I receive, I have more to give.

I am nurturing my relationship to time and how I use it. I nurture and create space – in my body, in my mind, and in my life. This space I create has a direct relationship to my experience of time. It slows when I become more present and speeds up when I lose connection to my truthful needs.

Because of all the ways in which I give to myself, I am able to help heal the wounds of this time. I can afford to give some of my resilient strength to those that most need it while keeping enough for me to continue.

I am committing to nurture my abilities as an artist and a coach, building on everything that 2020 has shown me and what I have learned about myself as a result. I will nurture any fear that arrives as I push at my growing edges in my art-making and in my coaching practice. I will meet fear as a call to love – a spotlight on where I am attached, unsure, and tender. Here is where I will bring the full force of my nurturance and compassion. I will recognize that 2020 was a year that showed me what I am capable of and how adaptive I can be. I will not waste the teachings of such a challenge.

Goodbye 2020. You brought forward much for me to work with and learn. I will not pretend that this was an amazing opportunity that I feel deep gratitude for, just yet. That would be untruthful. As I write this, too many are oppressed, suffering and dying. There is still so much division and struggle to agree on what the truth is. I feel unsettled and called to myself more than ever – for that I am grateful. 

Hello 2021, may you bring us some hope – not a miracle, just a little hope. May you give us a bit of breathing space to loosen our grip and begin to listen to each other again. May you gently nudge us towards the answers we need and may you remind us of our compassionate natures, our interconnectedness, and the value of a life. May our nature return to nurturing all there is.

Prefer to listen? Click on the link below to listen to and/or download the audio version of this Blog post. 

LOOKING WITHOUT SEEING

“I sat staring, staring, staring - half lost, learning a new language or rather the same language in a different dialect” – Emily Carr.

Have you ever noticed how we become unaware of what is actually in front of us because we’ve seen it too often? Attentional selectivity has been well documented as a method we use to function. Taking in every visual in our field would be overwhelming, so we filter, focusing our attention on what we deem to be the most relevant details. This ability frees up energy in our brains for other tasks. We are so good at this that we seldom even notice we’re doing it. 

I recently became aware of this attentional selectivity when I realized I had been overlooking a cluttered pantry that had been this way for so long that I no longer saw it. Until that moment, I had looked past the clutter, focusing only on what I needed to retrieve. We naturally tune out what our brain deems to be unimportant, so I simply retrieved what I needed. The fact that my pantry was a mess didn’t serve my purpose at that moment, so I was blind to it. I wondered how I could be looking at this clutter for so long and not be seeing it!

This experience prompted me to ask the question, what happens when we really need and want to see – like when we are making our art? There are times in our creative work when we need to see clearly and thoroughly to make the important decisions and choices. So how do we switch off the filters that deploy organically after looking at something continuously for some time?

We all know how it feels to have looked at our work for so long that we just can’t see it anymore. We lose our objectivity and feel lost. This is when we need to bypass our tendency to simply look and instead consciously see.

What helps is to slow down and get methodical. Take some time to make a complete visual inventory of what you are seeing in your work. Use mindfulness to observe what you are seeing, as you would to observe your thoughts. Make an extensive list of what you are noticing, and do this as a neutral viewer, withholding any and all judgement – there will be a time for this later. Once we have taken time to simply be an observer, we will have more information to be a discerning judge of our work, giving our observations clarity and purpose.

As you look, pay close attention to what you are seeing that you might not have noticed before, no matter how small. Turn the work and view it in different orientations and angles. Try viewing the work through a mirror to see it in reverse. This is often like seeing the piece for the very first time, fresh and unfiltered.

Change the placement of where you are looking at the work. Take it to a different room. Take it outside. Adjust the lighting from very bright to barely lit. Take pictures of the work and look at it on a screen, view it in black and white or different tones.

Each time you make a change to how you are viewing the work, ask yourself what more you are seeing. How has the work changed as a result? What has been discovered and what has been lost? Is there anything that feels uncomfortable or off-putting in the work? What really stands out to you as beautiful, effective or captivating?

What do you notice when the colour is absent from the work? What role does the colour play? Could it be doing more in the work or is it too much? How about the texture? Both the implied texture that is a result of the imagery, and the actual texture created through applications of paint and other media. Are you now seeing it differently?

Consider the qualities of what you are looking at. If you were describing this work to someone who has lost their sight, how would you convey what you are seeing and experiencing? What words could you use to speak about the quality of the work and the overall feeling, along with the details and essential elements?

Make a drawing of what you are looking at, using your observation skills to render the work in a different media. This forces us to distill every aspect of the work we are observing so we can recreate it with some accuracy in its new iteration. Close and thorough observation through drawing not only helps us see what we are looking at, but also strengthens our drawing skills.

These are just some of the ways we can help ourselves to let in more visual information through which we can assess our work more deeply. We need to be able to do this for our own work and it also trains us how to look more slowly and contemplatively at other artists’ work. The fact is that when we slow down and become intentional about looking, we see more than we typically would. When we do that over time, more can be revealed to us.

It is often said that a really great painting does only this – it reveals more of itself to the viewer the longer the viewer engages with it. Great paintings pull us in and intoxicate us with their initial impression. We notice certain things first, usually the contrast, in its values and colours. The strongest elements do their work and grab attention. It is when we take the time to look longer that the more subtle and evocative aspects reveal themselves. But what if we were to spend an hour looking? By spending protracted time deeply looking at a piece, we ourselves can be changed through the experience. We may discover something we hadn’t known or understood before, and our perception could be altered. When we take the time to really see what is being presented to us, we discover more, and that discovery can lead to change.

Sometimes the long looking can generate anxiety for us simply because it feels like we “should” know what the painting is saying, needing or doing. Sitting in the space of not knowing is challenging, so we often avoid it. We may try to relieve the discomfort of those feelings by making an impulsive choice. Sometimes that does take us to an interesting place in our work, but I often feel there is a balance needed between action and contemplation.

We need to become attuned to not only seeing, but sensing when is the best time to do this deep looking. I think that perhaps there are two key stages that can benefit from this slowed down looking – when we are stuck with where to go to next in our work, and when we are contemplating what a piece needs to be finished or whether perhaps it already is. Both of these stages of our work are asking for our discernment and judgment to guide us forward, or to conclusion. The rest of the time, it is action we need – movement, intuition, choices informed by feeling and sensing our way. These are the times we play, express, and push boundaries. We entertain what is possible, and how we can get out of our own way to be more open and freer in our work.

As artists we not only want to be able to truly see our work, but we also want to create an experience of the work being revealed to the viewer and unfolding over time. So it only makes sense that finding ways to look deeply at our work, with mindful observation and patience is key to the process.

Becoming intentional with how you look at your work can lead to a deeper understanding and appreciation of your craft. Expand this deeper looking to other aspects of your life and you may find you develop a new appreciation for the small details and nuances in the world around you. Like me, you may even find you need to organize your pantry. 

Prefer to listen? Click on the link below to listen to and/or download the audio version of this Blog post.

THE ESSENTIAL QUESTIONS

I have been thinking about the one thing that I feel is essential to our creative process and emotional resilience as artists. As always when I pose a question to myself like this, information often arrives from places known and unknown. It’s as if I have set an intention, made my request and now the answers are there to be discovered. It’s likely they were always there, I just wasn’t clear about what I was looking for – or how to ask the right question.

And in what I have just shared is a hint to the answer of what is the one essential thing that drives the creative process. But let me tell you more about how I once again realized it’s value.

The past few months I have been obsessed with painting, compelled to work and finding any stolen moment I can to be back in the studio, even if it is to only sit with the pieces I’m working on and look at them. I have just felt really engaged and somehow freed up in ways I haven’t been before. 

You might remember the 30 Day Sketchbook Challenge I gave myself in mid-May, where I committed to making one work in my sketchbook each day for 30 days. I invited my community to join me and it became a rich and activating experience that I thoroughly enjoyed. 

Around Day 19 of the Challenge I started to notice myself becoming attuned to something in this daily practice. What I was connecting with in my sketchbook work was the dialogue that was occurring between the two sketchbook pages. I was working with a two-page spread each day, working on both pages together and allowing the relationship between the pages to guide my process.

I was also writing about my sketchbook practice each day and I often found myself engaged with a question that continually drove my process forward and eventually anchored it to one idea or area of investigation – the dialogue. This question was fuel for this process – the activator, the clarifier and the distiller. That is what good questions do and why they must be a part of our art practice.

As the sketchbook work progressed and I neared the completion of the 30 day commitment, I decided to take this idea of “the dialogue”, which I was still deeply engaged with, and scale that up by beginning a series on panel.

I decided to do 10 paintings, with two panels in dialogue with each other and replicating the process I used in my sketchbook. The panels were 18 x 24 inches, so similar proportions to the sketchbook pages, and not a typical proportion for me to work with. 

Once all the panels were prepared – sealed, primed and mounted with paper – I began to add paint, loosely following the process I used in the sketchbook work. I had plenty of nicely sized collage papers at the ready as well, as they were a big part of the approach I was working with.

All seemed to be going pretty well and I had two panels coming along, with a few layers of paint and collage. Then something happened and I stalled. I had ten panels on the wall, all waiting for me, and I was feeling an all too familiar sense of resistance. 

It was true I hadn’t been working as much due to my commitment to my 12-week online program The Artist Mindset, which had just completed. But the 30 Day Sketchbook Challenge was my re-entry strategy and I felt really ready to dive in now, so what the heck was this? 

Again I brought forward a question to guide myself towards what needed to shift. Of course I knew it was my mindset, but what was going to be the key that would allow me to engage even in the face of resistance?

I’ll admit it took a few days and a couple of more rough starts, in between long days of admin and coaching work, but I found the key question that could guide me forward. It was like a eureka moment for me.

I asked myself, what made it so easy for me to engage with the sketchbook page? What was the quality of the approach I was using there and what was different now as I approached the panels?

The answer was clear. I was monumentalizing the panels, making them more important than the sketchbook pages. I was attaching to and identifying with outcomes and allowing those feelings, when they arrived, to grab a hold of me instead of just letting them pass through me.

I remember taking pictures of the beginning stages of the work and thinking about posting them to Instagram, sharing my progress along the way. Knowing that there was an audience following me, this brought me into a space of feeling I somehow needed these paintings to be super strong. Again, thinking of outcomes and external acceptance, two areas of our thinking that prevent us from risking in our work and that often fire up the walls of resistance.

So I decided not to share in real time, like I did in the 30 day Sketchbook Challenge. but to give myself permission to hold my ground, my sacred space of process, and decided to document the process, to share later, as I am doing now.

I also decided on a key question to work with, one that would bring me back into process and out of outcomes quickly. The question I posed to myself each time I felt resistance arriving around a choice I was making in the work was:

Would I take this action if I was working in my sketchbook?

This simple question was the metric from which I could measure my presence to pure process and detachment from outcomes. I know that in my sketchbook practice, and all that I unpacked from that, I was ruthless in my ability to make decisions, changes, and altering what was already on the page. And while I lost many gorgeous bits along the way, the final results were always better for the risks I took.

The Sketchbook Mindset is the mindset that allowed me to take risks in my work, and all I needed to do was find that one question that would return me to that mindset and I was off and running.

Once that connection was made I became enthralled, curious, and willing to risk BIG time. That made a huge difference for me and the 10 paintings moved along quickly. They are now finished and I have started another series of 10. And what is most notable to me is that even with breaks in between working sessions, that one key question put me just where I need to be with this work.

Here are some images of both the sketchbook work and the new work on panel. In sharing these images I’m hoping you can see the connections between them and that this might give you some ideas around how to move your own work from the Sketchbook to more formal work.  Perhaps asking yourself the right questions can pave the pathway forward to clarity around intention.

Day 19 of the 30 Day Sketchbook Challenge

You can see more images of this body of work on Instagram, both for Insight Creative, where I shared the daily sketchbook work, and Cheryl Taves Art, where I posted the finished paintings in this series, which I am calling the ‘Dialogue Series.’ 

Dialogue no.7 and no.8 | Mixed media on paper mounted on panel | 24x18 inches each

This type of practice of moving from sketchbook to more formal work also invites us to consider how we can generate work from our own work. Can we be the source of our own inspiration? If we posed a clear question around that, what might it be?

Just as we need to be mindful of the quality of our thoughts – checking to see if our thought is supportive or unsupportive for us – the questions we pose to ourselves have power. And that is because of how our brain responds to problem solving. 

Whatever question you ask yourself, your brain sees that as a problem to be solved, becomes engaged and will attempt to answer it. So we can see the importance of choosing those questions wisely. Otherwise our brain will fixate and try to solve a question that isn't helpful for us, and perhaps even damaging.

If our internal dialogue is filled with questions that are unproductive and invite self-criticism like, “Why am I always messing things up?”, or “Why can’t figure out what to do next?”, or even “What am I doing wrong?”, our brain literally tries to answer that with evidence and assertions, searching for untruths which we then adopt as beliefs about ourselves. These beliefs when repeated enough actually can turn into core beliefs – that we then operate from.

If we reframe the questions we ask ourselves – restructuring them to engage our positive, curious nature instead – we get different answers and results that move us towards self-development and growth in our art and our lives.

Working with a question like, “What if have everything I need to make this work?” has a completely different energy to it. Here the question assumes that what we’re engaged with is easy and already within our grasp, and as a result our brain now searches for the answers to how to continually keep it that way.

As you practice the art of working with and crafting good questions for yourself, keep in mind that you first want to place your awareness on the underlying implied tone or energy of the question. Here are some things to consider when working with questions in this way:

Know Where You’re Wanting to End Up

It is helpful if your question contains the desired change or outcome you’re after –  the purpose or intention. If it does, you’ll be heading in the right direction.

For example, take the question “Why can’t I figure this out?” – which is embedded with self-judgement – and change it to “What do I need to know to move forward?”

Craft The Question to Give You Information

Open-ended questions invite curiosity and engagement of the imagination, giving you access to insights you may not have otherwise had. Questions that begin with “how”, “what”, “who”, “why” and “where” are open-ended questions. They invite information, not a “yes” or “no” response. Questions that begin with “would”, “should”, “is”, “are” or “do you think” can all be answered with a yes or a no. These are closed questions and nothing further is needed as a response.

There are Times to Use a Closed Question

Open-ended questions are very important in helping us to explore more deeply, but closed questions – that can only be answered with a “yes” or “no“ – are good when we want to be very clear. If we need to check in with ourselves to see if something is true, feels right, or is in alignment with our purpose, a closed question is the way to get a clear, quick answer. 

For example, in my process with moving from my sketchbook work to panels, I used open-ended questions to connect more deeply with what I was exploring and to help me get to the core idea – the dialogue. Then when I found myself stalled and not able to move forward with the paintings, I again asked open-ended questions to help me clarify what I was doing differently between my panel work and my sketchbook work. This helped me to unpack and connect to the mindset that would be more helpful for me and craft a guiding question that would get me quickly back to where I needed to be. The closed question, “Would I take this action if I was working in my sketchbook?”, which I would answer with a yes or no, then became the guiding question to keep me clear and moving forward in the work.

Follow Up and Dig a Little Deeper

To go even further with your questions you can work with follow-up questions to dig deeper. “And what else?” is a good one to use, but it can also be more specific, like “Why do I think that is true?”or “What more do I know about this?”

Give Yourself Some Time to Respond

If you were asking someone else this question, what would happen if you interrupted their thinking with another question or a comment before they were able to respond? It would likely distract them and they’d lose their train of thought and ability to offer a considered or truthful response. Our own thoughts can be like this, impatient and uncomfortable with the space and silence as your brain is churning away working on the answers. Allowing yourself to sit and wait for the answer can be surprisingly engaging and bring about interesting outcomes.

This way of working with good, well-crafted questions leads to less complicated choices, viable solutions, and replaces the idea that our work or next project needs to be difficult and beyond our abilities, with the possibility of it being easy and attainable, and perhaps even enjoyable. This is reframing a thought pattern or habit by enlisting the powerful problem solving aspects of your brain. It’s a mindset shifting technique on steroids!

So next time you find yourself at an impasse or struggling to move things forward in the way that you’re committed to doing, consider the potent potential of a good question. You may just find this becomes your go-to strategy, helping you to meet your creative work with renewed energy while busting down any walls of resistance.

Prefer to listen? Click on the link below to listen to and/or download the audio version of this Blog post.

PARADOXICAL THINKING

If I were to ask you to simultaneously pour every ounce of yourself – your skillful abilities, your emotions, intellectual concepts, your truth as you understand it – into your creative work, while remaining in a state of neutral detachment during the process and uninvested in its success, would you find that difficult? I think most of us would. And yet, it is what is asked of an artist as they make their work, along with embodying many other conflicting states of being.

Art-making is filled with paradoxes – seemingly contrary or conflicting actions that often defy reason, but can lead to truthful unexpected discoveries. It’s when we understand the challenge this presents for us that we can hone a skill set for negotiating these sticky places present in our craft.

Without this awareness we overlay exceptions and mythical beliefs about art-making that are simply not true and cause us unnecessary struggle. Learning to accept the paradoxical aspects of art-making prepares us for the deep work of managing the discomfort that inevitably arrives, and helps us to go the distance.

With knowledge we are empowered and more able to adapt to what is required of us. So let’s talk about some of these paradoxes and why they are important to embrace in our art-making. 

Here are a few that I encounter in my own process and with artists I work with:

• Be all in – fully committed and authentic in your work – but at the same time get out of your own way. Know what part of yourself needs to be in and what part needs to step away.
  
  
  

• Move into the unknown without any idea of where you might be headed, but hold an intention for your work at the same time. And if you have a really clear idea for your work, execute that idea while still allowing for chance and intuition to play a role, keeping your work fresh and alive.
  
  
  

• While you may begin your creative work with a plan, an idea or intention, you must be willing to let the work have its way and let go of that initial idea if something else arrives. Hold intentions lightly.
  

• Face a multitude of choices and decisions in nearly every moment of the creative process – some that can be hugely consequential to the work you’re making. But don’t let that generate anxiety for you, just make those choices. And don’t feel any pressure around that.
  

• At every stage of your work, you need to be willing to risk greatly. Even if you have invested tons of materials and numerous hours of your time, you have to be willing to sacrifice the whole of your work for its development – to move it towards greatness.
  

• Accept that most of your work won’t be deemed by yourself or others as great – it might be good, or sometimes just okay, and at other times a complete failure. As you pursue the vision for your work – striving for that greatness – you need to accepted that most of your work won’t get there. But don’t let that discourage you, as that is a sure way to never get there.
  
  
  

• Be willing to embrace failure even when you feel intense resistance to that idea. In fact, true innovation only occurs when failure is an expected result of the process. Through failure comes discovery and invention. Befriend your resistance to failure and make it a part of your creative process.
  
  
  

• Make your work for yourself first and foremost. Create with authority and autonomy, buffering yourself from being swayed by the art buyers or the market, but then share your work with collectors and gallerists and hope they like it enough to purchase or exhibit it.
  
  
  

• Your work feels deeply personal, an extension of yourself, an expression of your truth or an important statement that needs to be shared. And if others don’t like it, accept that they are not your audience and don’t take their rejection of your work personally. While your work is an extension of you, it isn’t you. Separate yourself from your work, but be fully engaged with it.
  
  
  

• Spend time in isolation, learning to trust your own counsel, while recognizing that you need to receive feedback and have fruitful discussion around your work. Feedback helps you to see it more clearly, but you shouldn’t let it sidetrack you – only take what is valuable for you, and you should know what that is.
  
  
  

• When making your work, don’t think too much, but know that every action you take has an impact and can change the course of your work. Set this heavy concern aside while working, using your discernment to know when is the right time to think.
  
  
  

• Create from your centre – grounded and focussed – but also with abandon, letting yourself be free. Use your emotions as fuel, but don’t be emotional about the process or the results.
  
  
  

• Recognize that chaos and order can co-exist and you are often moving between these two places. Know which state you need in your work and when.
  

• Music needs to be heard, writing needs to be read, and art needs to be seen. But when is the right time to share your art with the world and how do you do that? And what if you’re introverted, shy and uncomfortable with being seen? How do you overcome all that to act on this essential stage of art-making – the sharing of your work?

I could go on, as there are so many paradoxes to art-making, but I think you get the idea and perhaps you have even thought of a few of your own as you’re reading or listening to this. I find it helpful to write about them, uncovering them in my process. Somehow identifying them allows me to understand more fully what is required of me as I make my work. That way I can build in strategies to assist me in navigating these conflicting aspects of the creative process.

And here is the gem in all this effortful negotiation – working with paradoxes invites in discovery and trains us to be adaptive, curious and resilient. These are mindset skills that artists need to employ to be successful in their work.

According to the Merriam Webster Dictionary, the ancient Greeks were well aware that a paradox can take us outside our usual way of thinking. They combined the prefix para meaning “beyond” or “outside of” with the verb dokein meaning “to think”, forming the Greek word paradoxos, an adjective that means “contrary to expectation”.

So a paradox moves us elsewhere – outside of conventional thinking and into new thought. It essentially provides our brains with a conundrum to contemplate, which likely occupies a part of our brain that employs logic and reason, allowing the creative part of our brain to free associate and generate ideas and possibilities yet unknown to us.

As artists we need to do more of this type of thinking – outside of our usual way. We actually want to embrace the paradoxical aspects of our chosen craft for all that they can offer us. All too often we fight against the very thing that is in service to our ingenuity, our creative vision, and our ability to execute that vision. 

When we insist on a roadmap or a set of clear guidelines for how to get from where we are to where we want to be, we have already closed ourselves off from the genius of paradoxical thinking. It’s as if we haven’t truly harnessed what art-making is about – endless and expansive questioning. 

It’s through this experience of working with questions, paradoxes, and ambiguous parameters that we become equipped as artists. Learning to engage with the process of asking good, well-crafted questions is essential, and will help you to negotiate the space from which your work is generated from.

Next month I’ll expand further on how to work with questions in your art-making, letting them inform your process and guide you towards clarity when you’re needing that. But also how to use questions to invite discovery and unexpected outcomes – cozying up to the essential, evocative, paradoxical thinking that you may have been avoiding in the past. 

But for now, notice the paradoxes when they are present for you. Consider the list I’ve provided here and perhaps add some of your own. By identifying the paradoxes you’re faced with and that are inherent in your creative work, you’ll already be setting yourself up for a new way to engage with them – moving yourself from avoidance of what feels uncomfortable to becoming curious, intrigued, and ready for a new way of thinking. 

Prefer to listen? Click on the link below to listen to and/or download the audio version of this Blog post.

BARKING DOGS

Photo credit Fabian Gieske

It’s often said that the critical voices that an artist hears as they work are like barking dogs – insistent, noisy, and sometimes downright aggressive. It’s hard not to be distracted by them as they demand our attention with their volume and triggering tone. How can we focus on our creative work and drop into that flow space when there is such noise inside our heads? And what can we do to lower the volume and bring ourselves into a better space to create from?

I like the action of identifying these voices and even naming them in such a way that allows us to see them for what they really are, helping us to recognize when they are active. For some artists the voice is a quieter whisper that grows and pops in unexpectedly to offer a derailing comment. But for many of us, when we really focus our attention on our inner dialogue, the voices are cruel and terribly unsupportive. Our inner critic takes great pleasure in interfering with our creative process and will find any opportunity to mess with us. And we all have one.

Somehow just the very act of recognizing these voices helps us to hear them more clearly and feel the painfulness of their judgment. When we have a thought that hurts us in this way it’s not based in any truth about us, but is likely connected to a long held belief we have about ourselves – one that we somehow decided was true about us because that’s what we were told. Our early experiences in life form our personality and the negative messages we may have received about ourselves become an accepted truth. But, it never was our truth...it was someone else’s truth. 

What a relief it is to finally recognize we actually don’t have to believe everything we think. Many of our thoughts are just a false narrative and something we can challenge and rewrite, building new beliefs – ones that are more in alignment with our desires for ourselves. But how do we get from barking dogs to rewriting our beliefs? 

The first step is to listen. Just as we would do for a loved one when they are struggling and needing our support. We listen with compassion and with a desire to understand, so we can help. We need to be able to offer that to ourselves in these moments of weighty self-criticism. If we listen to what we are actually saying to ourselves from a place of compassionate observation, we can begin to clearly identify our unproductive thinking and decide that is not true for us, and we don’t have to believe that thought. 

Questioning our thoughts is the gateway to self-awareness and provides us with opportunities for growth and change. When we engage with curiosity in our art-making and our thinking, we become more open, more resilient, and more authentic. So we listen, then we become curious and we question those thoughts.

As we explore the quality of our thoughts we can begin to notice the tone – is this thought supportive or is it unsupportive? If it is an unsupportive thought then why would we invite it in? Well, sometimes it’s a barking dog insisting on our attention...so we let it in, but we can also take control and correct that thought, just as we might quiet a barking dog. And, when the barking dog settles, we offer it praise and acknowledgment for the better behaviour. We can do this for ourselves as well – acknowledging our very action of reframing our thoughts from something unhelpful, and even damaging, to something neutral or perhaps supportive for us. 

Reframing our thoughts is a practice that helps us to align our thinking with our desires for ourselves. When we can offer ourselves encouragement, support and compassion, we have much more capacity for the emotional work that art-making requires of us. We can meet failed attempts, ugly starts, and moments of feeling completely lost with a different kind of energy – one that is rooted in the understanding that art-making is hard work and we need to help ourselves along the way, not bombard ourselves with noisy, critical dialogue. 

And because this is practice – like any other practice – we need to continually recommit to it and to ourselves. We need to start again each day with the intention of supporting ourselves and our work. We may even need to recommit moment by moment at times when things are particularly challenging. For instance, during these recent and unsettled times many artists are hearing the “why bother” voice, and that has become the new noisy barking dog. 

You see the inner critic is tricky and is always waiting for a crack in our resiliency. Even when we are working in a wonderfully productive way, perhaps digging deeply into the essence of our creative work and connecting the dots of meaning, the critic will try a new approach to see if it can sabotage that forward movement. A client of mine recently sparked a dialogue with what she called her “therapist barking dog.” She was exploring the symbols in her work, connecting with a potent place in her expression and choosing to consider how the ways she was applying paint and generating imagery related to her inner world. As she worked the therapist barking dog appeared and started to try to make every painting action a futile attempt at authenticity. It called her attention to every move, asking for it to be dissected and analysed. This caused her to feel self-conscious and she would tighten up. The work felt forced as a result. 

When she gave her attention to the inner dialogue she noticed the tone and quality of the commentary. While it was connected with her deeper dive towards understanding more about her authentic imagery, the comments were actually demeaning and poking fun at her – like subtle, judgemental jabs. The bottom line is the therapist barking dog was attempting to undermine her growth in this area and prevent her from becoming more connected to her truest expression. As she showed up more for herself, the inner critic found another way to interfere. Thankfully, she knew to tune into the quality of the feeling that accompanied this thought and brought that into her awareness to be worked with. She decided that the best strategy at that time was to identify and more quickly recognize the pattern so that she could quiet the inner dialogue while she was working. When she was looking at her work later, she could then invite the inner therapist to join in for some productive, analytical discourse. 

It’s when we attune to this inner space – our inner space – with a sensitivity and commitment to knowing more about the quality of our thoughts and the role they play that we can become more mindful and cultivate a place for our creativity to thrive. We need to till the soil, add the compost, and pull the weeds in the garden of our thinking minds. When we do, we can grow the most wonderful forms of expression and make our art with more ease and have it be reflective of our truth. When we change the way we engage with our inner dialogue, we can question and change our beliefs – moving from barking dogs to rewriting our personal story, aligning it more closely with our truest purpose.


Prefer to listen? Click on the link below to listen to and/or download the audio version of this Blog post.

MEANING AND MOTIVATION

Photo credit Tim Laman

One of the great existential concerns that many artists struggle with is why they make their art – questioning what purpose it serves. This concern can arrive all on its own as an artist attempts to carve out space and opportunity in their life for art-making, but it is especially concerning in times like these when there is so much need, suffering, and uncertainty.

In these past several months we may have found ourselves struggling – feeling uninspired, apathetic, unable to focus, and even beginning to question if making our art isn’t just self-indulgent and unnecessary. When galleries have closed and opportunities to show and share our work are even more limited, what motivates us to show up to the studio each day and continue making our work? What purpose does art-making serve in times of such struggle and hardship? And what if we feel that our art-making is dependent on the external circumstances being just right, and when they are not moving in that direction anytime soon, what then?

The answer that can help is to recognize that art-making and being creative is a way of making our lives meaningful. There is no other creature on this planet that makes art for the sheer joy of it except for maybe the amazing Bowerbirds, whose courtship rituals involve building elaborate nests very specifically decorated with groupings of coloured objects – composed, placed and designed to attract an interested female. While their artistry is motivated by finding a mate, they also seem to enjoy the process of making.  But would they do this without the underlying motivation? Probably not. Only we would, because we find meaning in making and experiencing art. It moves us emotionally, provokes our awareness and provides us with an outlet to express what we are feeling or needing to say. 

As artists we have an interesting relationship with this need to make meaning. We want to know that what we make matters, but we also see so much good work already out there in the world and we wonder how ours could matter. And that creates creative anxiety for us, anxiety that arrives as procrastination and resistance, which unchecked prevents us from making our art.

Interestingly, we also experience creative anxiety when we realize that making our art actually means a great deal to us. We can then put extraordinary pressure on ourselves for every piece we make to be significant and a reflection of that deep, meaningful purpose – as a kind of evidence of our worth. When a work fails or doesn’t meet our vision, we decide that we’re somehow flawed and unable to make meaningful work –which is our deepest, unanswered purpose. So the mounting anxiety causes us to stop. We relieve ourselves of the painful experience – the discomfort – by avoiding making our art.

But as the author and Creativity Coach Eric Maisel says, “Since anxiety accompanies both states – creating and not creating – why not choose creating?” Certainly we don’t have any chance of finding meaning for ourselves if we never attempt to make our work.

There is plenty of emotional labour to manage in art-making, even when the external circumstances of our lives are feeling just right for us. And we need to recognize the added layers of challenge that arrive for us when circumstances are not feeling right, and prepare ourselves for that. At these times art-making can become particularly hard for us and we can lose ground easily with our work – avoiding, questioning, abandoning. We may even decide it just doesn’t matter.

But what if the process of making our art was the answer to this question around meaning? What if we found meaning in making, the engagement and the process, and not the outcomes or external validations? The act of creating our art is sourced from a deeply personal and connected place. When we focus on the connection – feel more and think less – we tap into something that nourishes us and allows us to feel meaning. We can choose to make meaning in our lives by honouring this relationship to ourselves. And when we do, we are healthier, calmer and better able to help others.

Our wellbeing depends on this connection to meaning, and art-making is an access point for us. And our art is meaningful because we declare it as that. It’s activated by our choosing to engage with a process that offers insights, truthful expression, trust and courage. The very act of making art causes us to expand, grow and discover. Meaning is a matter of course. And when our lives feel more meaningful to us we make better choices for ourselves and in the world. 

At times like these we can decide to do something that will help us to be stronger and more accepting simultaneously. And art-making can offer each of us that. Regardless of whether there are opportunities to sell or show our work, making art needs to be rooted in this place of “making meaning” for ourselves. Because then our art can’t be touched by anything that changes in the external world – which is constantly changing. It’s our path to mastery in life and will contribute greatly to everything we do. 

The first action you can take in the commitment of making meaning with your art is to state that you matter and so does your work. And only you can offer that to yourself.

Remember that even when we don’t feel certain of the future prospects for our art, like exhibition opportunities and in-person art sales, what you’re doing – being an artist – is tremendously valuable, simply because it allows you to be well. When we are connected to our deepest purpose, we create meaning in our lives...and right now, more than ever, we need to find meaning in our lives.

Through art-making you create meaning for yourself. When that art is shared you give that gift of meaning to others, allowing them to create their own. As an artist you are an ambassador of meaning-making. What a gift you are to the world. 

Prefer to listen? Click on the link below to listen to and/or download the audio version of this Blog post.

THE SKETCHBOOK MINDSET

What happens when we truly commit to something, set ourselves up to succeed by being accountable to others, and show up regardless of what might be getting in our way? Much more than we could have expected is often the answer, at least that has been my experience, and seems to be the experience of many others that have done the same. 

As I write this I am on the final day of the 30 Day Sketchbook Challenge. I started this Challenge as a way to help me reacquaint myself with my studio after a break and invited any other artists that also wanted a Challenge like this to join me. The response was unexpected, and welcome. I had a wonderful group of artists from all over – including many that were familiar with my coaching work and many others that were not – join together and form a supportive and encouraging Community. Each day we have shared our work and thoughts on Facebook, Instagram and in my private Groups. It has grown beyond any reach I had imagined possible, and that became a strong, driving connection to continue day after day.

I’m so incredibly grateful to all the artists that dedicated 30 days of their creative lives to this Challenge and offered me so much feedback and support along the way. I know that by travelling together we gave each other added strength to make it to the finish line. Some may continue, while others are catching up. Either way you can ride the wave of this energy to where you want to go. You have a community behind you and alongside you...cheering you on.

Throughout the 30 Days I shared my work and my thoughts about what was arriving for me – what I was investigating and bumping up against. I haven’t shared this openly before about my process and I so appreciate the many comments and emails about how much this resonated for you. Thank you so much. Today I am reflecting further on what this Challenge has given me, as one last sharing and offering for you.

I want to talk about the Sketchbook Mindset and how I believe this mindset tells us everything we need to know about making our art. 

I have known the gifts of having a dedicated sketchbook practice for some time, but this practice and commitment went even deeper and I have been considering why that is and what allowed it to be such a powerful practice for so many artists. And, I’d love to hear your thoughts on this as well. 

One of the things that I have been asked about is how to leverage this practice and use it to inform our studio work. So let’s unpack this a bit and then see what strategies can be used.

Observations on the Sketchbook Mindset:

• By its very nature, working in a sketchbook immediately dissolves our attachment to outcome and product – or at least it should. We know that these pages will remain in our sketchbooks, so that gives us freedom from outcome. But we often catch ourselves beginning to like a sketchbook page and even start to think that perhaps we can actually cut this page out and use it somehow. This is our attachment to outcome showing up and it’s good to be aware of.

• Because we are not making a “work of art” we can be more attentive to and indulgent of our impulses, wild ideas…and even more accepting of any failures, if they happen. “It’s just sketchbook work, it doesn't matter.” This is tremendously freeing for us. And, we get to practice being unattached, uninvested and wildly risky.

• When we decide to share our usually private and personal sketchbook work, that potential for feedback changes our relationship to it and we may not be as free. But if we were able to share our work, we also got to practice and notice how that could be managed, or not. Did you not show the work that you felt wasn’t as good? Did you do more of what was getting good feedback? How did the feedback change your relationship to your approach? This is also really good information.

• Each day’s efforts in our sketchbook took us through the entire process and stages of making a formal piece of art – condensing it into a shorter time frame and pushing us to make choices more quickly, with less deliberation and more intuition. We practiced starting, being in the mucky middle and, most importantly, finishing. What did you learn about how you approach these stages? Did you engage with them differently in your sketchbook than in your studio work?

• We also had to make our art in small, sometimes rushed, pockets of time. If we were committed to accomplishing our goal of one piece per day, then we may have only had 30 mins or less to make a piece of work. Were you surprised at what you were capable of in shorter, broken periods of time? How does this information help you in your studio work? Can you do more in less time?

• A daily practice like this – not too demanding, but engaging – really begins to build connections through that repetition. We start to really recognize the benefits of regular visitation – a habitual and disciplined approach to our art-making bears fruit. If we commit to that and let go a bit more of the bigger pieces of what art-making is about for us, we do the work without even trying. 

• The more we show up on the page, the more we see ourselves – our voice, our style, our interests, our compulsions, our habits and our sensibilities. When we take time to reflect on each day’s work with writing and investigative questions, we find even more of ourselves and can build on the loose structures that are starting to form for us.

• When something new arrives we don’t shut it down because it’s not the work we’re making right now. We let it arrive and become curious about how it relates to our existing work, or consider if it is a new direction popping up. Inspiration finds us working, so that next idea or body of work might arrive while we’re diligently working on the page. It’s okay to spend the next sketchbook session exploring that further to see if there is something there for us. We don’t judge it or shut it down. We remain curious and trust the process we’re in. 

• Working through an idea or impulse in your sketchbook can be helpful before bringing it to your formal work. It gives you a place to safely explore something new without feeling the emotional pangs of discomfort that often come when we bring it into our studio work before we understand what it fully means for us. The sketchbook allows us to connect in with this newness and make it more like us so that when we bring it into our art-making it has relevance and connection to what we’re already doing. We can also take anything that has arrived consistently in our sketchbooks to our studio work. It will happen naturally, but we can be more intentional about it.

• The freedom we experience on the sketchbook page allows for our most personal and potent imagery to come forward. We allow ourselves to play and access our subconscious. We move more easily into “the zone” and flow state. Our work becomes more truthful and authentic as a result. 
  

This is the Sketchbook Mindset – and this is how we want to approach all of our work, not just the sketchbook page. When we practice in our sketchbooks, we are training ourselves to “feel” the mindset we need to embody. We’re able to connect with that mindset more easily as a result. 

What would happen if you saw every painting the way you see a sketchbook page? What inner-state do you need to hold in order to do that?

Can you recognize that the only difference between the sketchbook page and the panel or canvas is the meaning you’re giving to it – how much importance you're placing on the materials, the investment of your time, and the desire for results?

The work we can do now is to reflect back on this focussed, informative time and truly leverage it. Writing out what we discovered and creating an understanding of these truths. What are your truths that you are now keenly aware of through having gone through this experience?

We can also revisit our 30 Sketchbook pages and look for what we were most engaged with and consider how that could scale up into more formal work – not only in size, but in our thinking. We can do this by making notes of what we most enjoyed doing, what themes seemed to repeat, what we were most excited about investigating, what surprised us, and what we learned about ourselves come through this process of reflection. And what we want to develop more of in our studio work, that we may have discovered or touched on in our sketchbook.

The Sketchbook Mindset allows us to engage with the creative process from a place of complete freedom and trust. This is an invaluable gift we can offer to ourselves – a powerful practice to develop our connection and take our work further.  

If you’d like to see my daily posts from this 30 Day Sketchbook Challenge – including images of each day’s work, my thoughts on the process, and a prompt that you can work with – please visit my Insight Creative Coaching Facebook page or Insight Creative Coaching on Instagram.

Prefer to listen? Click on the link below to listen to and/or download the audio version of this Blog post.

ART AS A PRACTICE

It’s often said that art-making is a practice, something that we do consistently and with a sense of dedication, perhaps even reverence. For most artists this connection to practice is what helps them get closer to that long-held vision they hold for their work. But for many artists there are times when consistent practice just isn’t possible, at least not in the way they would like. I’m often bumping up against this myself as I navigate between coaching, facilitating online programs, and art-making – oh, yes, and enjoying my full and wonderful life. 

After winding up my 12-week online Group Coaching Program – with an incredible group of inspiring and courageous artists – it was time to reacquaint myself with my art practice. I know this cycle well by now and have learned to prepare myself for the reentry, laying down solid ground to work from. This preparation really helps me to find a path into my work without the heaps of discomfort that usually insists on arriving. Experiencing more peace in the creative process is always a good thing. It’s not always easy making our art.

Working in a sketchbook, however, has always been a place of peace and discovery for me. There is such a spacious and personal feeling to those pages – they welcome me every time I arrive, much like returning to a warm home. My sketchbook is my companion, my witness, and my secret-keeper. I can express and create anything on its pages. My only rule: there are no rules. I accept and indulge my compulsions, ideas and every effort to show up on the page. 

This engagement with my sketchbook sets me up beautifully to access my studio work again after a break. Not only does it help me to warm up, but I also tap into my reservoir of creative energy – the backlog of ideas and connections that will inform my future work. After all, in the time that has passed I have changed, assimilated new information, sensibilities and imagery. This is now waiting to be brought into the work, but it’s not yet realized and needs some outworking. The sketchbook is the place to connect into this. But what makes a sketchbook practice work for us and why is it so helpful to our development as artists?

Making art can be a serious affair. It’s demanding at times and certainly pushes us to be braver, stronger and more truthful – with ourselves and the work. We need to be fully present and manage many things simultaneously. And, we do all this without the assurance that what we’re doing is valuable, needed, or worth the investment of our time. Artists are driven by passion and necessity – our work is what connects us to our authenticity and wellbeing. So it’s important to us to make it. And that importance can in itself become a barrier to getting to the work. It means so much to us that we experience a real sense of loss and desperation when we’re not making our art. Whether it is due to circumstances beyond our control or our own fear and resistance, the loss feels the same.

A sketchbook carries none of that for us – at least it shouldn’t. It’s a tool of learning and practice. Finished works from a sketchbook will never be more than what they are – studies, experiments, documentations, and sketchbook pages. They don’t demand anything more. They simply invite the artist into the present moment.

Sketchbook work also allows us to experience what detachment to results and what making art for product feels like. All too often when we create our art we’re thinking about outcomes, viewers, showing, selling, likes. We’re focusing on the ending without being present for the process – being where we are with the work. And when we’re not present, we’re in a state of disconnection – which is the exact opposite of where we want to be when making our art.

We practice being in connection in our sketchbooks. We practice presence.

There is also an opportunity to really let loose and do things that we wouldn’t necessarily allow ourselves to do in our studio work – although it would be better if we could, and I’m continually striving for that. And sketchbooks help. It’s providing a safe space to play, invent, get wild, follow compulsions and obsessions, experiment with techniques and ideas. 

We practice risking when we work in a sketchbook. We learn through radical experimentation that only good can come from trying new things.

A sketchbook practice over time allows an artist to witness themselves and their development as an artist. The sketchbook becomes a repository of influences, inspiration, ideas and concepts. It contains the building blocks of an artist’s voice and documents their history and progression. When a sketchbook practice also includes journaling and reflective writing on the artist’s work and philosophy, then the purpose and resource is even more integrated and beneficial. 

At the time of writing this blog post I am on day 7 of a 30 day Sketchbook Challenge that I created, first for myself, and then invited others to join me. I knew I needed a way to return to my studio work, to establish a rhythm and forge a path forward. So the Insight Creative 30 Day Sketchbook Challenge was the perfect answer and action to take. The fact that hundreds of other artists felt the same and jumped in with me is a testament to just how valuable a sketchbook practice is. Most artists know this but often find staying consistent difficult. A commitment like this challenge helps us to establish a new habit and solidify the connection to our practice. 

Perhaps you’ve been thinking of establishing your own sketchbook practice or want to reconnect with one that has gone quiet for you. You’re welcome to join the Insight Creative Sketchbook Challenge at any time. If the 30 days of this challenge have passed (June 12th is the final day), then maybe think of inviting a few other artists to join you in a sketchbook challenge of your own. Being accountable to one another’s artistic growth is a powerful way to move everyone forward in their art practice. And, it’s so uplifting to share our experiences with others.

You can find and follow my daily posts of my Sketchbook Challenge work, along with some thoughts and prompts for the day, on Facebook and Instagram.

THE GIFT OF UNCERTAINTY

There is only one certainty in life and that is that everything is in a state of change. And even when we see evidence of this all around us, we spend a great deal of our time trying to control aspects of our lives to provide ourselves with a sense of security – an illusional certainty. Perhaps for a while our efforts even seem to shore us up – at least we feel some temporary relief.

Then every once in a while something comes along in life – into our direct experience – that clearly denotes that there is only change and that certainty doesn’t exist. Right now we’re in a time of heightened uncertainty. We feel a sense of loss around the rapid changes and fear of what lies ahead – the unknown future. We are not sure how to cope with what has always been true – change is inevitable – and we may not clearly understand the needs we have as we adjust and adapt to what is happening, and how self-compassion can help us.

We are bearing the weight of uncertainty and feeling its full force. How can we move through our lives with this looming over us? How can we make art, be creative, play and experience joy when everything we thought we knew has been turned upside down? It doesn’t seem accessible for us somehow or even appropriate. 

These thoughts and feelings are a normal response to a crisis and are not to be judged – no one truly knows another’s struggle. What we may be experiencing is nothing like what our neighbour might be going through – it’s personal and each of us is responding in our own way to this. We let go of judgement of ourselves and of others.

Compassion is the next natural response. We feel the depth of our own suffering and can also understand the pain that others are going through as well. Our ability to empathize and join others where they are is a gift we share, and a beautiful one. 

But how easily do we extend compassion towards ourselves? During times of stress do we acknowledge that what we’re going through is hard and offer ourselves love and support for our perseverance and ability to endure? I know meeting ourselves with compassion doesn’t come easily for most of us. We’d rather choose to berate ourselves for not being better at things. We imagine that we should be responding differently than we are, or we should have jumped into action by now and have taken steps to mitigate what is happening. 

We mostly tend to criticize ourselves – and always in the quiet recesses of our thoughts – when we most need to offer ourselves support and encouragement. Sometimes this criticism has become such a habit that we are not even aware we’re doing it – until we are and then we’re shocked at the fierceness of our self-talk. 

As Artists we are often working to clearly hear and reframe our inner dialogue. In fact, the majority of the work I do with my coaching clients and Group Program participants is to help them find a way to recognize their inner state, to hear clearly what they are saying to themselves and then work with that. We focus on being mindful of our thoughts and energy and we learn to reframe any unsupportive dialogue into something more helpful and aligned with our purpose. This, along with meeting ourselves with compassion and curiosity, is what The Artist’s Mindset is built upon. When we have a strong, resilient creative mindset we are capable of navigating the emotional labour that art-making can be. We reside in a place of trust with ourselves, knowing that we have a stable foundation and a set of tools to help us face anything that arrives on our creative path. 

But what happens when everything changes so quickly and with such broad reach? How can we find a place for our art-making and ourselves in a time of deep uncertainty and loss? 

A mentor of mine offered this question to a group of Artists in discussion about this topic. He said to ask ourselves, “What can’t be lost during this time?” I love that question for the hope that it provides – you mean there are things that can’t be lost, when it seems everything is falling away? What a revelation. 

What can’t be lost is our creativity, our art, our courage and our compassion. These belong to us and are untouchable. Our relationship to our art-making can be different and changeable at times, but it is always present for us. We are the source of our creativity – it resides within us and lives through us. This relationship is symbiotic and deeply connected. It can never be lost, only clouded from our awareness when we’re feeling disconnected from ourselves.

When the quality of our energy is affected by external circumstances – like stress, loss and unprecedented change – we don’t lose the relationship to our art or the ability to make it. But the relationship we have to our art will be a reflection of something new, because we’re in a state of change as we adapt to the new circumstances. The work we choose to make can’t help but be a reflection of that inner state – if we’re willing to allow our process to naturally unfold. 

If we try to make the art we were engaged with before the change-making event, we may find ourselves feeling disconnected and we’ll struggle. We need to make space for what wants to arrive –the new expression, the internal shifts. Our art might look different right now as a result. We may want to work smaller or bigger. We may feel called to use a different palette, revisit a medium we had once used, or explore a new one.

The change we are experiencing will be evident in the work because we are authentic creators – tuning into our inner states. We’re truthful, we’re connected, and we’re responsive. We honour ourselves and allow compassion to hold the space through which we extend acceptance to these new openings and discoveries. We trust this rhythm, this dance. It’s what being an artist is about – listening and believing in our own wisdom...and following the dance, without looking at our feet.

When the weight of uncertainty is upon us, we bend with it and invite in the new arrivals. We don’t hold tightly to what we know or have done in the past. We lean into the understanding  that the certainty of change is all there is. 

If you’re struggling to make your art right now, take some time to tune in and ask yourself some questions. Try writing out your responses in a journal or sketchbook and, as much as possible, just listen to your instincts and intuition. Your inner artist knows exactly what’s needed right now...and our problem solving, reactionary brain just needs to step aside for a bit as we feel our way through this time.

I have been finding that I am attracted to making work that feels fragile and impermanent. Drawings and collage papers are loosely pinned together and layered. They are not paintings, they are not easily moved or feel like they need to be more than they are. All I know is they feel good to make...and seem to capture something about my inner experience right now. I don’t need to show them or attach the same intention behind them that my other work posesses. They’re new and unpredictable, and they are strangely comforting. 

Here are some prompts to help you explore where you’re at with yourself right now. They may help you to find some clarity around where your energy wants to go in your creative work and how to help yourself get there:

• If you were to completely let go of what you think you should be making right now, what do you feel like making? What actions or qualities do you feel drawn to at this time? Is there something new that is calling to you or is it something familiar, maybe somewhere you’ve been before with your work?

• If you were to make art that was only for you, never to be seen by anyone and to serve no other purpose than to meet you where you are, what would you make?

• When you tune in to your inner state, what do you notice about it’s quality? Is it tight or loose? Is it firm or sticky? Is it in a frenzied state or is it numb? Is it prickly or heavy? Make a list of words that represent the quality of your feelings right now.

• What art would you make to represent these qualities of your inner state? What materials would you use? What colours? What size? Would its nature be permanent – like an object – or impermanent – like an event or installation?

• What do you know that helps you to settle yourself? Can you offer that to yourself before beginning your creative work? Do you need to move vigorously and dance out some energy before beginning or would it be more helpful to sit in quiet mediation, taking deep breaths?

• If you were to follow your intuition completely and allow yourself to be led, what would be the first action you would take? What would be the next action? And the next?

• What thoughts arrive for you when you consider the idea that the purpose of your art-making is a vehicle for your wellbeing? Is this purpose enough to move you towards making your art? If not, what purpose does move you towards making your art and does that inspire you right now? 

• Can you give yourself permission to move towards what feels better for you right now, even if that means a new direction in your work or a change of focus for the time being? What would need to change within you to grant this space of permission to yourself? 

I hope these prompts help guide you to invite in more curiosity and ease into your art practice right now. This may not be the best time to push at your growing edges and challenge yourself to dig deeply.

While facing our fears and limitations is something I encourage and work with my clients around at length, we also need to allow ourselves a space to adapt to the changes we’re facing. This time of uncertainty is adding more weight to the emotional labour that art-making is, and we need to recognize that and be kinder to our artist-selves as we adjust. 

Thinking of you and holding an intention for each of you to discover something meaningful for yourself through this time – no matter how small. Perhaps it will be a new understanding of how self-compassion can make you a stronger artist as well as a healthier person.

ABSENCE

We have heard it said that absence makes the heart grow fonder. When we’ve been away from our beloved for a period of time our feelings of longing only grow and we can’t wait to be reunited. Anticipation grows with each passing day as we imagine how it will feel to be in the arms of the person we love.

All artists have a unique relationship with the process of making their art and need to find just the right rhythm of focus and discipline to advance their work. This requires consistency of practise and an awareness of their personal sensitivity – what best supports them in their art-making.

Some artists thrive by spending long, uninterrupted hours in their studio. This affords them the opportunity to connect deeply with their process, materials and ideas. Other artists find that after a few hours in the studio they lose focus and energy for their work, so little and often helps them to be more productive during their studio sessions. Knowing our creative cycles and how to best set up our studio schedule to align with them is really important for any artist. 

But the common understanding that all artists have is that consistent, regular visitation with their art practice allows for development in their work. Discipline is needed whenever we want to improve our techniques and skills and our emotional engagement is deepened as well. While this is the ideal we strive for, it’s not always available to us.

There are many reasons artists are not able to have consistency in their art practice – health issues, work commitments, family needs and many other real life occurrences can interrupt our studio practice and our regularity is broken. 

For many artists I work with, this break from their art practice generates a lot of internal struggle. During these breaks they begin to feel like they’re losing ground in their work and begin to doubt themselves, even questioning their validity as artists. Their mindset, which may have been healthy and supportive of their process, moves towards a fear-based mindset instead. Where they once were strong, they are now feeling insecure and unnecessarily vulnerable to feelings of Imposter Syndrome. These feelings can loop on themselves and become insurmountable obstacles causing some artists to abandon their work for very long periods of time, and sometimes altogether. 

As an artist who has had to take breaks from my art practice due to life and work demands, I have had to face this very real challenge myself. I would respond with internal anguish and condemnation. Fear would grow inside me with it’s paralyzing poison, penetrating every thought I had about making my art. It would build and build the longer I was away from my art-making and any attempt to return became an insurmountable possibility. The resistance that is inherent in the creative process was now magnified and unmanageable. Finding a path back seemed impossible and I’d rather avoid that discomfort despite how much I wanted to make my art. 

It was only when I began to really work with my mindset that I discovered the clues to how to circumvent the build-up of energetic resistance to making my art during these long breaks from my studio practice. In the past my thoughts about the absence from my work were feeding a place of insecurity within me – the fear that I may not actually be an artist if I wasn’t making my art. 

I started to shift my thinking and reframed these thoughts and feelings about the absence. I leaned into this place of longing and decided it was a good thing to be feeling. Much like the absence of a lover, the time apart from my work strengthens the heart’s connection. As the anticipation of reuniting with it loomed, our time together occupied my thoughts and I felt connection, desire and love – not one ounce of space for fear. 

Just like we might do when we’re missing someone so dear, I’d revisit images of my work, look at lots of other art – art that inspired me and increased my desire for my own. I’d spend time writing love notes to my art in my sketchbook journal – dreaming of painting, planning our time together again. 

When the day came when I was able to finally return to my art-making I felt a sense of excitement and anticipation. I recognized that just like reuniting with someone we haven’t seen for awhile there would be an awkward period of familiarization as we became reacquainted. I learned to trust this space and even find ways to settle back in and catch up. 

I used primer-type exercises that would help me connect back with my art-making without the pressure of having to work on studio work that was awaiting completion or needed to be started. I approached my re-entry to the studio with reverence and respect, giving myself the space I needed to find my footing again, all the while noticing my thoughts and not allowing any negativity to take hold. I’d offer myself a supportive, encouraging space to begin again.

And it worked. What was once a painful, torturous process that would begin in my mind during the break and then stand in the way of the reconnection when it was finally available to me, was now more fluid and welcoming. The absence had made my heart grow stronger and I felt such a strong need to make my art. It was as if my creativity had been pent up and I needed to unleash it again. My beloved and I were reunited once again. 

BALANCING ACT

Do you pick a word for the year ahead – a word that captures what you feel you most need to give to yourself, focus on, or set your intentions around?

I do, and for 2020 I chose the word Balance.

Being an artist today seems to be about so much more than just making art. There are so many other things a working artists must attend to, which can take up a lot of our creative energy. Moving constantly between many roles is the new normal – artist, curator, promoter, writer, photographer, social media expert, fundraiser, shipper, administrator.

Don’t get me wrong. I recognize and appreciate the inherent value of the broader, accessible audience through social media and online platforms. And that also comes with its time demands and neediness. Sometimes I find myself just wanting to make art. After all, without the art, there isn’t anything to build a business around.

My art needs me and I need it. I have to – and want to – regularly spend time with it, nurture it and open up an internal space for it. 

The needs of making my art often run right up against the needs of promoting and supporting my art, which inherently takes away from the quality time I get to spend with myself cultivating an inner space from which to create. I find myself feeling like I need to fight for that space – becoming protective and obsessed. This, along with the need to move between the paradoxical mindsets that these various roles require, can leave me juggling a lot and seeking some balance in it all.

Recently, I’ve been thinking about my artist identity and these various, accompanying roles – what it means to have a presence online, a role in the art community, a reputation as a creativity coach, as well as attempting to be a productive, collectable and interesting artist all at the same time. It has pushed me to consider what’s necessary when it comes to sustaining a deeper relationship with myself, which, I believe, is absolutely needed in order to make our most personal and authentic art.  

It’s always about balance.

Who am I now and what do I need? That question is ever present and persistent – and one that brings about some good exploration, helping me navigate the paradoxes of being a working artist and coach.

In many ways I seem to like the variety of roles I play, and in other ways I find it challenging. At times I can lose touch with my truth and my passion and have it replaced with routine, habits and maintenance. I can get bogged down and lacklustre about it all if I’m not aware and don’t do something about it. We artists need to replenish and fill our creative well.

It's only by asking myself the right questions that I can coach myself back into alignment with my desires and get back to what's important to me – the work and my relationship with it. This engagement with reflective writing and questioning, and the connections that come as a result, might be the most important work that I can do to balance these conflicting needs. It helps me to know and sense the quality of my energy so I can make a good decision when I have to make a choice about where to spend my time. What would serve me best right now? How can I transition more fluidly between these various parts of myself with ease and find the artistry in all of it? 

It's through this introspective look at my roles, and how they are aligning with my greater purpose, that helps me access my truth. With that awareness I can guide myself to where I need to push and grow, as well as where I need to find balance. 

The power of good questions always helps me at these times. So I ask myself, what do I need to give more space to right now? And, what can I do to regenerate my creative energy so I can return to art-making with a fresh mindset?

The answers are always a welcome gift.

ENVISIONING

I recently tripped across a journal entry I made about seven years ago and was transported back to a time when I was struggling with how to move forward in my life. This is one of the reasons I adore, and continually recommit, to my sketchbook journal work – it provides me with real evidence of the power behind connecting with and envisioning our future. 

At the time I was writing about my desire for more meaning in my art-making. I wrote paragraph after paragraph about what I wanted my work to be about, how I wanted it to shift and what I imagined it could evoke in others. I also wrote about my desire to help artists – to be of service in some way.

I wrote in great detail about the passion I felt when I was able to talk with artists during open studios and at art gatherings. So many artists were feeling frustrated, lost and uncertain about the purpose of their work. They deeply wanted to connect with themselves and others. They wanted to see themselves in their work, take more risks and push past the fear and limiting beliefs that were holding them back.

Each conversation seemed to open a bigger space of compassion in me. I understood their suffering and their desire for so much more. I could feel their longing, the perpetual yearning for bringing their visions forward through their art. It was the searching, the “blessed unrest” that Martha Graham refers to in her writings to dancer Agnes de Mille that they were speaking of.

“No artist is pleased. There is no satisfaction whatever at anytime. There is only a queer, divine dissatisfaction, a blessed unrest that keeps us marching and makes us more alive than the others.”

In my journal pages I envisioned something bigger than I thought was possible for me. I wrote about working with artists to help them find comfort in the search. I wrote about coaching and online programs. I wrote about how it would feel to be offering my support, my insights and my guidance to others and witnessing them step more fully into their dreams. I poured it all out on the page in great detail. 

This is how envisioning works. We dream, we fully imagine ourselves in the experience – feeling it, embodying it and imagining the potential of it all. We don’t think about how we’ll get there, or if it’s even possible, we leave that to the greater outworking of things – trusting that when a vision is so clear and impassioned there must be forces at work to bring it to fruition. 

In fact, the moment we begin to question the possibility or validity of our inspired vision, we limit its potential. Yes, we’ll need to take action and move forward towards the ideas we’re excited about to make them real. But the energy of doubt, mistrust and needing to see the path ahead pulls us away from the flow of creating and locks us into thinking and planning our way there. 

It’s like this with our art-making too. We envision the work in our mind’s eye, we feel its essence and connect to the elements that are presenting themselves to us. But then we need to let go and trust the process – pursue the vision with awareness and a light touch, careful to not be too attached. If we force the process and try to make the painting follow a path that we think will get us there, we often end up with something that reflects that control and – as a result – feels devoid of emotion, vitality. 

Whether we’re creating a life or a work of art, we envision what could be, dream it up, expand beyond what we think is possible for us and then we follow the breadcrumbs that are there to guide us. They may not immediately look or feel like the clues to get there, but they most always are. It’s only in hindsight that we can see the connections, the chance meetings, the course corrections – sometimes disguised as failures – that led us to the destination. Suddenly we realize that we had a vision and now we are living it or witness its manifestation. 

Envisioning and creating is something only humans do. The ability to imagine something and then bring that into form is pretty amazing. Reading this old journal entry reminded me of this powerful aspect of being an artist – the awareness that we can create anything if we envision it. 

So dream on, dear artist. Create what you’re here to create. Bring your vision to life.