I live two blocks down the street from my seventy-five year mother, which means I see her nearly everyday. One morning last week I stopped by her house as I was walking my dog. When I mentioned I was on my way to my studio for the day she asked, “are you feeling inspired today?”
I had to think about that before I responded because I wasn’t feeling particularly inspired at that moment. I was actually feeling a little flat and tired because I hadn’t slept well the night before. But her question got me thinking about the role inspiration plays in creativity. One thing I know for sure. Inspiration is not a prerequisite for me to show up and get to work. And it strikes in the strangest times. Like last week for example.
I was walking down the hall in my building where a great deal of construction has been taking place. Ahead of me a new wall was being erected and the spackle marks stopped me in my tracks. I knew that I looked like a crazy person, but I set down everything I was carrying and began snapping photos.
On my phone I keep a folder of images of things that I find lovely, curious, interesting. This might include marks on sidewalks or buildings, graffiti, the arrangement of stone in a walkway, the droop of a leaf or shrub, or a softly blurred horizon line. I use this folder for color notes as well, capturing the pleasing and surprising contrasts I discover and want to experiment with. I even make short thirty second or one minute sound and video recordings with my phone. An interviewer asked me about these sound recordings recently and the way they intersected with my work. The sound recordings themselves weren’t the important thing, I told her. It was the act of making them - of sitting still and listening to the world that I valued.
Photographing the world around me serves as an extension of my drawing practice and is a way to stay connected to my creativity on the days I cannot paint. It teaches me about composition and roots me both in my body and in the act of looking deeply, which is critical to the creative process.
Photographing the world around me serves as an extension of my drawing practice and is a way to stay connected to my creativity on the days I cannot paint.
Most of my studio days are pretty routine. I get up early and pack a lunch. I load my car or my bike and make my way to the studio. Once I arrive, I turn on the heated palettes and ventilation system. While I wait for my wax to melt, I tidy the studio. I put things away or clean wax off the floor. Sometimes I install hanging hardware on the back of a finished piece or prep a panel with gesso. Then I began my practice of building layers of encaustic medium. On a large panel, say 36” x 36”, this might take me the better part of a day. I let my thoughts wander. I feel my feet connected to the floor. I allow my shoulders to soften. I breathe deep into my belly. I listen to the baby grackles on the roof above me. And then, eventually, I begin painting.
I guess what I am saying here is, I don’t wait to be inspired. I show up and become so. I lay down paint and respond to what is there. I puzzle over it and stare at it and paint some more. Slowly, over time, something emerges and coalesces into a painting.
I often think of writer Anne Lamott whose book Bird By Bird I read years ago in graduate school when what I loved more than anything was to write. In the chapter “Shitty First Drafts,” she talks about the writing process. I think there are some pretty good parallels here with the practice of painting.
“People tend to look at successful writers who are getting their books published and maybe even doing well financially and think that they sit down at their desks every morning feeling like a million dollars, feeling great about who they are and how much talent they have and what a great story they have to tell; that they take in a few deep breaths, push back their sleeves, roll their necks a few times to get all the cricks out, and dive in, typing fully formed passages as fast as a court reporter. But this is just the fantasy of the uninitiated. I know some very great writers, writers you love who write beautifully and have made a great deal of money, and not one of them sits down routinely feeling wildly enthusiastic and confident. Not one of them writes elegant first drafts.”
Inspire is a verge meaning to fill (someone) with the urge or ability to do or feel something, especially something creative. It also refers to the act of inhaling or breathing, which, of course, is something we do all the time without thinking about it. So, how can we intentionally create the conditions for inviting inspiration into our lives on a regular basis?
Here are two strategies I offer students. First, regular drawing or painting exercises in which you make work that is not for sale and that does not have to be good allows you to take risks you might not otherwise. Doing these exercises on paper or less expensive panels can make them less precious, which is also helpful. Second, set up a weekly schedule for studio time and put it on your calendar. Treat it like it is a date you are going on with yourself.
There are probably as many different ways to tap into your inspiration as there are artists. I’d love to hear from you about yours. Send your thoughts to me here.