nuance and variation

A couple of months ago, I was really struggling with process.  The issue was what I think of as copying myself. That probably sounds strange but the basic problem was re-making motifs that I like. I re-make them because I like them, but I was afraid that this approach will work me into a creative rut... again.  I've been very wary of anything that resembles production pottery. As a potter who makes a lot of stuff, this fear was making me a little crazy and jamming things up at the studio.

The very idea of "copying myself" brings with it a lot of judgement and that voice in my head, telling what's good, what's bad, what works, what doesn't. That voice stops me, I hold back. I don't want to make something that's bad or doesn't work. This is the crux of the main problem I have in the studio-- stopping myself.

The reason for stopping myself from doing anything is I don't want to "waste" materials or my time.  I also don't want to get stuck with "bad" work. When I break down this thought I have to reckon with the fact that the very idea of "wasting" time or materials in in itself a harsh judgement, and not really connected to anything real. The only wasted art material is the one not used. Wasted time is time spent on Facebook or other time I use up procrastinating. Making art that is not one's best work is not wasted time, it's just time used while you get better. It's unavoidable.

Rather than trying to not waste time or materials, I could be trying to use up as much time and materials in getting better. That's the only way. I can't think my way into being a better artist, I have to do it.

Getting back to the idea of copying myself and not generating new ideas. I mentioned it to my friend, Kathleen, who took in what I was saying and said very simply, "I don't think there is anything wrong with the idea of nuance and variation."  She said, "I like the idea of editions. You can work with the same concept but you try a slightly different approach each time."

One of  the reasons I like Kathleen is because she doesn't think like me at all, so I learn things. This was my little "ah-ha" moment. This concept  suddenly gave me permission to continue to explore these motifs that I like, but not have the fear that I would get stuck in them. Rather, look at them as ideas that will keep developing rather than as some arrival point. And suddenly, I was off and running again.

inspiration

I am often asked where I get my inspiration for my work, or how I get myself inspired.

Every once in a while inspiration is just delivered to me like a divine gift. A completed piece will show up in my head that I immediately understand and have the wherewithal to go ahead and make, but those times are very rare. It is magical, and I can't depend on it.

I think there is an assumption that art gets made through this kind of inspiration almost 100% of the time, that's how it "should" be. It helps feed the image of the artist as a special and mystical being, an image that I admit I can kind of enjoy, but ultimately it's just dress-up. It's not real.

The inspiration question I am never good at answering, because I get the feeling that people want a formula, or a step-by-step set of guidelines on how to pull ideas out of the ether and render them into creativity, and I don't have a formula. I mostly just do my work and hope. I think the reward for work is inspiration. And the reward for inspiration is work. It's a continual feedback loop. But all kinds of things will interrupt this loop, and that's just the reality of living in an annoying and imperfect world.

The best I can do is look for the beauty in all things. This is a habit for me, I try to find it everywhere.  Since I live in a crowded, polluted, overtaxed city environment, I have had to expand my definition of beauty. In hillsides covered will oil storage tanks. In broken down industrial lots with a small patches of flowering weeds. In the peeling paint on the sides of buildings. In the remote and withdrawn faces of strangers. Finding beauty means withdrawing judgement, and letting go of other people's definition of beauty. And as creative people, that is the first thing we all need to do.

artist date

I have been holding myself accountable for making time for an artist date each month. The idea comes from Julia Cameron's The Artist Way, a book I've been using (and ignoring, and using again) since I was in my 20's. The idea is to get yourself out of your usual creative routine in the studio and go do something creatively fun, even indulgent. I actually scheduled a year's worth of artist dates in to my calendar back in January, so I have a monthly reminder.

Coming up with a "good" artist date with yourself-- and it has to be with yourself, no one else can tag along-- can be difficult, especially for me. I want to create a beautiful, inspiring, and revelatory experience for myself, which is waaaaaay too much pressure for a date, any kind of date. I have to remind myself every month that these dates are about forming a habit of taking time out to try something a little different, not necessarily about a single trans formative experience.

Yesterday I was especially desperate, a feeling that I have been experiencing a lot lately. Desperation may not be the worst feeling to have, but it ranks in the pantheon of worst feelings. I was feeling desperate because every idea I had for my date seemed boring. I was in super judgmental mode and I could not make a decision. Finally, I did what all desperate people do when they need an answer, and I simply asked google what I should do on my artist date.

I ended up bicycling to our local Rose Garden, which is about to go into full bloom. I went with Julia Cameron's suggestion that I color a mandala. Then I spent an inordinate amount of time looking for a mandala that I liked. Which made me feel desperate again, and decided to just make my own a la Maria Ramon. I made it with my Prismacolor pens, which have to be the best coloring tool on the planet. It was very satisfying, and fun. Exactly what an artist date should be.

The experience of trying to come up with the exact right date for myself brought me back around to the general problem I have of trying too hard, being a perfectionist, and then freezing myself through judgement. It's torture. When I got back to the studio in the later afternoon, one of my new, big tall pieces was waiting for me. I decided to be completely crazy and just give myself an hour to complete it. No thinking, no processing, just go. I needed to undo a creative clusterfuck I created a few days before when I was inspired by some fabric that was pale, almost translucent yellow with some white designs on top. I worked on the idea with a piece and then undid myself with judgement. I don't know how this one will turn out, but I'm happy I just did it.

Do you keep a regularly scheduled artist date with yourself? Do you know it's something you "should" do, but don't make time? Tell me about your experiences with the artist date.

make it mighty ugly

I've been noticing lately that I've been falling back into workaholic habits: long hours at the studio, sneaking over there on the weekends to finish pieces, cutting lunch short so I can get back to work, and feeling agitated when things come up that take me out of the studio. Like last week, I woke up Tuesday morning to an eye that was swollen almost shut. I was diagnosed with preseptal cellulitis and given an antibiotic. The next day I woke up with both eyes swollen and an ugly rash on my face, neck, arms, and legs. Allergic reaction to the antibiotic. My left eye was so swollen I could barely see out of it, so I slapped a bandage over it and went to work. With no depth perception. I realized at the time that was not the right thing to do for myself, and I should be home resting. But really, I am so into what I am making these days that I am indulging the workaholic for now. Frankly, I'm just happy to know that I can still be this excited about clay again.

Something broke open for me about 6 weeks ago or so. I listened to an interview with Kim Werker, who wrote a book called Make It Mighty Ugly. Apparently, it's a book she wrote just for me, all aimed toward my personal demons: perfectionism, fear of failure, stopping before I start because of the voices in my head, blah blah blah. I've had several people tell me that I need to make something ugly, to get past that shit, and I resist that idea so much. But the way Kim talked about it made me realize that it's not about making something ugly on purpose, it's about making something and not being afraid that it will be ugly.

I've been drawing and making designs on pots for a while, and I know I can make something really beautiful and nice to look at. But there is something about these designs that bore me to death. It started when I was working on my grandma's urn last year: I made the urn with a perfectly designed trillium flower all around, and I hated how it looked. So perfectly boring. My hand, almost on its own, scratched it up. I liked it much better, and left it at that.

This year, I've been working on mishima concepts, and I really love the process. It's insanely labor-intensive, but the results are lovely and I'm having fun re-interpreting my work through this new design process. But, I'm running into that same wall of things looking perfectly boring. The work, though enjoyable and beautiful, feels like a dead end design-wise.

I had a couple of pieces in the studio that I had reserved for "fun". Meaning I could do whatever I wanted with them and they didn't need to fit into any category of work that I've made before. I kept pulling the pieces out, and just staring at them. Nothing was happening. Weeks went by. It wasn't until I listened to Kim that I was able to pull those pieces out and do the work. I still struggled with the voice telling me to not screw it up, but I worked through the first wall and made some work that was kinda ugly, and it helped push me to a different level.

The main thing I got out of it was to not judge the process or the work-- not before, during, or after. Judging is a preclude to letting the voices take over and shutting down the creative process. A couple of weeks ago I had an idea to make some small dishes carved out like Art Deco roses. Immediately the voices started in on how the concept was too simple, too obvious. Judge judge judge. I was able to override the voices and make the pieces anyway, and it is their very simplicity that makes them so awesome. I finished some other pieces last night and I was having that anxiety around feeling like they were not the way they "should" be. I caught myself judging, and stopped. The work is just what it is. It has no intrinsic value one way or the other other than to teach me about what I want to do next.

And fuck it anyway. I have Open Studio this weekend and the work is going to be finished and shown no matter what. Come see me if you can!