In
Sickness and in Health
I
think one of the reasons I paint and do creative things is because it
is my safe place, my own world, my escape from the daily concerns of
life. I feel a sense of accomplishment and freedom, provided I do
not let perceived market demands influence me, and it is also
therapeutic. But, what do you do when problems, be they a world-wide
pandemic, or even personal issues are at the forefront of your mind.
How does sickness and stress really affect the art that one does? In
these stressful times, there has been many a day when I have not felt
like working, not felt creative at all,
and could not muster the energy to lift a pencil to paper. The lack
of motivation or sense of agency in the world has been total. So what
do you do?
I
remember a year when I was ill with an insidious infection that would
not go away. I was flat. I was interested in nothing around me. All I
wanted to do was sit on the sofa and knit. Period. Eventually a
combination of medications and my own immune system lifted it and I
was able to create again and participate in life. I will never have
the energy I had when I was a young mother chasing children around,
and I have learned to (somewhat) accept that. I have slowly learned
how to do what I can do, reduce my expectations and ride the waves of
vacillating energy levels. I now arrange my day so that my creative
hours, usually in the morning are prioritized. No other tasks or
chores get done then because I know that after lunch, around 2:00 my
energy and motivation will drop like a rock. So from this experience,
I have observed and identified my personal patterns and developed the
ability to adapt myself to them and take advantage of the good hours
of the day.
This
year was different. When the Coronavirus hit and the world was, and
still is, in turmoil, once again I could not really work well. There
was just too much running on the back burner of my consciousness to
let the light, magical genie of creativity out to play. In the
beginning, I made it to my studio and took up working on finely
detailed floral watercolors. I would enter into the work itself and
close myself off from the wider world of turmoil. So my take-away
from this experience, was to use art as an escape. There is some form
of art that you can practice, though it might not be what you usually
do.
Now
in the heat of summer, having weathered many a becalmed moment, I am
again drawn to the couch to knit or sew. It seams like the heat was
one more challenge too many. I had taken up working in the studio in
the early morning before the temperature in my attic garret had risen
to 90 degrees plus. But, honestly, it seems futile and pointless to
even try. So, I am riding out the cloying molasses of summer heat, by
holing up in my sewing room, which IS air-conditioned, to work on a
variety of projects, some of which date to years ago. There is
something soothing about excising basic skills that have a purpose of
their own. I am letting go of some of my ambitions
to experience being humble, to do simple tasks and to just wait it
out. This is not the best solution. Discouragement can easily take
over and a few days can turn into years. Don't
let that happen.
I
read recently that one of our giants of modern art, Chuck Close, once
commented on the creative process by saying, “The the advice I like
to give to young artists, or really anybody who'll listen to me, is
not to wait around for inspiration. Inspiration is for amateurs: the
rest of us just show up and get to work.” That is something of a
“tough love” stance, but it is encouraging. What it says to me
personally is that I don't need to feel it to express it, or to work
on it, to come up with something good. Meaning seeps out whether we
want it to or not. So maybe the feeling of inspiration is not
necessary. You can still get to where you want to go, but, you have
to have faith in it and Chuck Close, through being the embodiment of
this success, gives us that faith. He is the athletic coach who
exhorts us to run one more lap around the field because he knows you
can do it, even if you don't.
I
once came to the realization that it is not what you paint, it is how
you paint it, that is key. Can I sit in the family room (air
conditioned) and doodle with the pen, add some color and call it art?
Can I feel the lightness and joy in it when the world is sooooooo
depressing? Or do I draw the depression? I have always been attracted
to the inky blackness of etchings and rainy nights, but painting it
is another issue. For now, I may not have the energy to drag my
french easel out of the corner of my studio and paint rainbows, but I
can lift pen to paper and reach into the stillness and make some art.
So,
Chuck Close, you are my hero. I will take that extra lap around the
field. I don't really want to, but I will.