I found this picture on Facebook, and I like its message a lot.
I like it because it speaks to the huge, hideous cramp I've had in my creative muscles for (egads) a couple of years now. As much as I've lost the impish little voice that was always on standby to connect two strange things in the background and present them to the foreground, my problem has also been laziness and a fear of "putting brush to canvas," in any artistic sense, including this blog or comedy. My only outlet has been Facebook; while that is an outlet and serves my social needs, Daddy likes to go on and ON, and I need a long-form format to air my things out.
I digress (which is kind of the point, isn't it?).
I think somewhere along the way I let the mild fear of writing something, anything, that might be met with disappointment turned into a reflexive aversion to writing anything at all, possibly corrupting the whole creative process.
I read on and off a book called :"Art & Fear - Observations on the Perils and Rewards of Artmaking." Right up my alley, you might say. Mostly and so far, it is encouragement to brace against all the fears an artist might have, about relevance, quality, skill, all of those bugaboos. I was hoping for something a little deeper, but then again I'm not done with the book yet, am I?
Anyway, in that book they point out that after the first stroke of the paint brush or pen, the potential of a work narrows and with each successive stroke it stops being a possibility and starts becoming whatever it's going to be.
I thought about that during my last drawing or two, resisting as I always do the temptation to quit in the face of my real and perceived inabilities and lack of skill. I would be preparing to draw a face, an intimidating task for noobs like me. And it reminded me of watching boxing:
I used to watch the "sweet science" on television, and occasionally I'd watch a fight where one fighter would seem to become so afraid of a counterpunch (or perhaps he was injured or exhausted, but it looked like hesitancy to me) that he wouldn't throw a single blow for minutes on end! I would become so frustrated that I would shout at the television:"Dammit man, it's a fight! You're gonna have to hit him at some point!"
It's the same with creative works. At some point, you have to create SOMETHING, even if it sucks. I found that once I started in on the face I wanted to create, it worked out well enough, certainly not as bad as the fears in my head had convinced me it would be.
It is the time of year for resolutions, for reflection and the will to improve. Some years I resolve to improve and some years I don't, but I always hold the idea firmly in mind at the dawn of a new year. The usual suspects leap to mind: weight loss, learn a new skill, etc. But I'm thinking more about the underpinnings of such urges. If nothing else, it's a more profound form of useless navel-gazing, so that's a comfort!
But with at least as many wishes and shortcomings as ever to address, and fewer and fewer years in which to do it, the bells toll more insistently, and from a nearer distance.
Which is a damned wordy way to say that true perniciousness of my laziness is becoming more and more clear, and that I am happier when I'm creating something. I think my favorite part is the planning stage, in my head and to some degree on paper or digital form. It has all the delicious, invigorating potential of the blank canvas, and less of the intimidation. All the ideas line up in my head magically, like pennies in your palm. And all things seem possible. That is exhilarating!
Somehow that eventually spirals into a recursive loop of anxiety, where fear and inaction feed each other, and I've convinced myself, in miserable fashion, that doing nothing is bettter than doing something. I can smell the stink of that mindset even now, and I hate it.
I hope that I can keep the bright light of this motivating notion resident in my head long enough to redevelop good habits and revivie the imp, reawaken the Muse. I miss that bitch. I used to write and draw and say such pretty things, and gave myself such joy. It's a very sad and fearful prospect that I might not be able to do those things again.
And I damn well reject the notion. Let's go dirty up some canvases, and make some mistakes!
