In Sickness and In Health

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.