I can feel the pounding of my heart in my chest, my palms are a little sweaty, got a little tunnel vision going on…this is what happens any time I’m on the verge of sharing something I’ve created. It’s an inherently vulnerable process- to create and share. We open ourselves up to criticism from others, and from ourselves, and if we’ve let our self-worth become tied up with the reaction to our creations, then we’re in real big trouble. So why on earth would anyone ever do this? Are artists, creators of any kind, super humans that are immune to fear and shame?
Well, I think yes and no. I do think that creators practice courage on a regular basis. Are they immune to fear and shame? No. To varying degrees and in unique ways we’re all affected by fear and shame. But we can chose to live our life in a way that is confined by fear, or one in which we decide to practice courage. And the rewards for doing it are pretty great. Yeah, there are hurts, and criticism, and sweaty palms and racing hearts, but by showing up and sharing our bravest selves, we’re going to get the gift of connection. And honestly, I have trouble thinking of anything else in this life more worth striving for. REAL, deep, vulnerable, messy, beautiful connection. This is what makes my heart and soul feel full.
So Ellen and I are here to practice our courage. To challenge our fears on a regular basis with you. And to recognize the beauty of celebrating what can happen when we give ourselves unconditional permission to share our awesome, silly, crazy, messy, authentic selves.
“The way to create art is to burn and destroy ordinary concepts and to substitute them with new truths that run down from the top of the head and out of the heart.” – Charles Bukowski
We just finished discussing ideas for the blog and before that, decided to collaborate on a cross-country, multi-media art series. Experimentation can reduce the weight of a concept or idea. My personal story with struggling to practice art begins with mediocrity anxiety. I grew up painting and drawing. However, after years of doing art intermittently, I’ve noticed an appreciable loss of skill. The tools I once had for self-expression have dulled (of course not irreparably) such that attempts at self-expression are not guaranteed successes, as they used to be, and such that sometimes, at the end of an artistic endeavor, I step back to find I haven’t said anything. I’ve simply thrown down some media on top of some other media to no avail. I think we call these failures and are supposed to learn from them. I’m not so conscious as to dissect the result, though. I discard the final product and, if I’m feeling bold, begin again. The process is not a means to an end.
Relating to a piece of art is as much about being present as creating a piece of art. For me, the end result is (or should be) unimportant—if I have created nothing but shapes and colors, I can recycle it. While I’m creating, I’m not the end observer and need not be concerned with him. The act of creating is for me, whether I have anything to show for at the end or not.
So I’m presently forcing myself to begin practicing, again. Experimentation is key. I have no preconceived notions about what my art could or should look like in a medium I’ve never used before, with a time constraint I’ve never set before, listening to music I’ve never heard before or am hearing again with new ears. The anxiety leaves once my pencil hits the paper. There are no missteps, no constraints, all is new, unanticipated. This is my process—a letting go, connection.
With our new project, any shortcomings I may produce may be overcome during the piece’s second iteration under new eyes and with a new pen. Or not. The outcome is trivial.