Imagine This

// June 7th, 2011 // 3 Comments » // curiosity, writing

You are sitting at your desk

You are sitting at your desk staring at a blank page in your notebook

You are sitting at your desk staring at a blank page in your notebook and this blank page stares back up

You are sitting at your desk staring at a blank page in your notebook and this blank page stares back up as you twirl your favorite pen in one hand and nurse a mug of peppermint tea in the other

You are sitting at your desk staring at a blank page in your notebook and this blank page stares back up as you twirl your favorite pen in one hand and nurse a mug of peppermint tea in the other, you blow steam from the top of your mug because the tea is hot and it is very difficult to start writing

You are sitting at your desk staring at a blank page in your notebook and this blank page stares back up as you twirl your favorite pen in one hand and nurse a mug of peppermint tea in the other, you blow steam from the top of your mug because the tea is hot and it is very difficult to start writing when a robin bathes vigorously in the birdbath outside your window reminding you how low the water really is

You are sitting at your desk staring at a blank page in your notebook and this blank page stares back up as you twirl your favorite pen in one hand and nurse a mug of peppermint tea in the other, you blow steam from the top of your mug because the tea is hot and it is very difficult to start writing when a robin bathes vigorously in the birdbath outside your window reminding you how low the water really is and you go to the garden to fill the birdbath back up and maybe water the roses, and the rhododendrons by the back fence, before heading back in and then

You are sitting at your desk …

*****

If you’re a writer you might not have to imagine that scenario, you’ve probably spent enough time living it.

Writing can be such a difficult thing, I know I’ve spent way too much time staring at a blank page waiting for something to magically appear.

Sometimes all we need is a little space to help get in touch with what needs to be written, and a little support to help us dig deep and get the writing done.

That’s what the The Tea House Writing Sessions are designed for.

On The Cusp Of Creating

// May 3rd, 2011 // 3 Comments » // creativity, curiosity

I don’t know what’s coming next.

Sometimes it seems like the fire’s extinguished, the Muse snuffed out all the lights as she left, everyone’s gone to sleep, and the streets have stilled.

It’s just me and a full, insolent moon staring down:

Moon: ”What?”

The thing about creativity is you never know.

Maybe this is a trance I’ve fallen into, maybe it’s a trance I’ve fallen out of, either way: this could be it.

Maybe yesterday was the last day, and nothing will ever be created again.

But also, maybe I’m on the cusp of creating the best thing I’ll ever create.

Who knows? I don’t know.  The only way to find out for sure is to pick up a pen, to pick up a brush.

If I’ve dug myself into a hole and don’t have the materials to build a ladder then I’ve learned that it’s good for me to pick up my shovel and think “tunnel” or “pole vault” or “whatever” and do something about it.

Because as someone who gets stuck, a lot, I know that just thinking isn’t going to get me out of that hole. Once I get to the point that I’ve realized I’m in a hole, I can guarantee there’s already been a lot of not-so-great thinking going on.

When I shift into taking action, not only do things start to happen, but my thinking loses the stale quality it had and starts to take on a different air.

Small actions enliven my mind like oxygen bubbling through a stagnant pool of water.

The actions can involve doing something directly related to my art, or something seemingly unrelated like walking a labyrinth, or Shiva Nata, even just going outside and pulling a few weeds. Anything helps.

And when acting, I start making associations and things start to get clearer, brighter.

This feels good, too. It reminds me of why I like to create things in the first place: that quickening of the mind and body that tells me something is coming, that tells me something fresh and new is on its way.

This information comes through as both thoughts and sensations. It’s an embodied sense, it’s not just an idea or a state of being–it’s both those things, it’s everything–and when it’s happening I feel really alive to it, and to me. I feel like I’m really here.

I remember when I was a kid and my parents would drive us to the beach, approaching the coast there would always be these hills and dunes before we arrived, and I’d be stretching and straining to get the briefest of glimpses out the window: a flash of blue, swells moving in, a wave crashing over rocks.

It was a whole-body thing. I’d be tense and alert, my eyes would be scanning like mad. My mind was taking everything in and forming mental pictures of the surf–the size, if it was choppy or not, how crowded it was.

Once we got out of the car and started racing down to the water, the excitement was still there but that initial tension had been released.

That’s what it feels like when I’m in the act of creating, when the idea has appeared and things are happening.

There’s still an alertness and joy in everything that’s going on, but the initial burst of adrenaline always comes from those last few minutes of moving from total stuck-ness, to the glimpse of an idea, the picture being assembled in my head, and knowing this was going to happen.

I also remember that I used to, kind of, hate those last few minutes in the car.

As exciting as it was it was also hugely frustrating. I’m an immersive person. If I see an ocean I want to be in it. Forest, in. I’m claustrophobic and terrified of caves, but if I see one I want to go in. I like to be in the middle of things.

I like especially to be in the middle of creating things, right in that sweet spot where everything is flowing along nicely, thank you very much, and great things are emerging.

So not knowing what’s coming next, feeling creatively frozen, when the fires seem out–that’s the point just before everything gets great again. I know that, and also, I’m really good at forgetting that, at allowing myself to get immersed in that feeling too.

The other thing that’s easy to forget is the remedy: that when the idea of ever creating again seems insurmountable, like some great mountain looming over me, all it takes to shift things is to pick something up.

It can be an object so small it fits in the palm of my hand–a pen, a brush– and that small tool, put into action, can wipe away entire mountains, shadow and all.

Creative Walls. Kinda.

// April 6th, 2011 // 8 Comments » // creativity, curiosity, process, Uncategorized

Creative walls?

I’ve lost count of the the times I’ve been partway through a project, everything rolling along nicely, thinking; “This is going great!” And then … Bam! When that sense of stuck-ness descends it feels as solid and impenetrable as any wall.

I logged onto twitter last night and, looking at my stream, I noticed I’d only tweeted two times in the last month. Here? My last post was a month ago.

I’ve hit some sort of creative wall. But it feels a little different–I’m actually writing a lot at the moment, way more than usual. It’s just that nearly all of my writing is being done by hand, in journals and notebooks.

I’ve been working on a new thing: doing writing sessions with people. It’s a weird hybrid-y thing structured like a coaching session, but without the coaching–they’re just writing sessions, really. Two people writing together. I have this great metaphor and we build this small world, then sit in it and write.

There’s no agenda, except to build the most comfortable space possible to get some writing done. No judgement. No criticism. No expectations.

While preparing for these sessions I’ve been doing a whole lot of writing, trying out exercises, session plans, and ideas for guided meditations. It’s been a really creative time, and somehow I’ve made a switch from writing on the computer, to writing by hand.

So, when I put my note-books away, and turn to the computer, it’s hard to get started. It feels just like the standard Creative Wall that everyone knows: “Oh, no. I’m totally blank, I haven’t got one idea in my head.”

But I know it’s not that, because my head is almost too full of ideas right now.

And it feels like I’m creatively blocked–that same tightening in the chest when I sit down to write, the smarts all draining out of my brain at the moment I’m calling out to them, and the frustration at sitting there. Blank.

Even though all those familiar feelings are there, it seems more like a computer thing. I’ve gotten out of the habit of writing on a computer and back into the habit of writing by hand.

Which is great. Except I’m trying to build this whole online creativity blog thing and I don’t think posting slides of my notebooks is going to cut it. What would be great for me, right now, is to see if I can build a practice of moving from one to the other–maybe hand written drafts and then typing them in to the computer for the editing and posting parts.

That would be nice, because I’m finding that writing by hand and typing on a computer are two entirely different ways of experiencing writing, and they both have qualities that I really like.

Writing by hand is a much more organic and flowing process for me, and I seem to write in a more leisurely style. It’s more relaxing too, but my writing needs more editing later on.

Writing on a computer has a much more accelerated feel and I usually seem very focused and compelled to edit while writing. I love the speed of it, and always feel like I’m being super productive–if I’m actually writing, not feeling too blocked to start, that is.

I like that this problem has come up. It’s making me look at creative walls, or blocks, in a new way, like they’re a more subtle experience than I’d previously thought.

*****

If you are interested in the writing sessions you might want to sign up for my newsletter–there’s a form in the sidebar, there –>

You might also like Havi’s beautiful post describing the session we did together yesterday.

The Labyrinth of Lost Puppies

// November 19th, 2010 // 6 Comments » // curiosity, Labyrinths

I actually painted this labyrinth for yesterday’s Art Every Day Month piece, and was unhappy with it.

So I put it aside and worked on another piece.

I like the idea of this, and love the texture of the background, but I really hated seeing how slap-dash the dots were.

Before  painting I had a mental image of the labyrinth in the centre with the white dots coming out like bleached pebbles.

I also wanted this to have some sense of those beautiful Aboriginal dot paintings.

The final piece has none of those qualities.

The quality it does manage to convey is my lack of focus as I was drawing it. The dots are all rushed and uneven. Some are almost dashes, some show where I kept going too long before refilling my brush and the paint became see-through. In other spots the dots are like thick puddles of paint. There’s no evenness or care showing through.

*****

The reason I’m posting this today is because I’ve come around to thinking that this is all o.k. It’s a representation of where my mind was when I painted it. And rather than trying to hide the fact that I’m unfocused and scattered at the moment, I can just let it be. I’m not always going to be like this but I am now, and that’s fine.

*****

One of the things I love about labyrinths is that there is only one path in, and one path out.

The labyrinth is a confusion-free pattern, unlike a maze which has multiple paths in and out, and walled off sections meant to create confusion in the mind of the walker.

If I encounter confusion while walking the labyrinth, it’s because I brought it in with me. Actually, I think that’s a bit of a harsh way of saying it. Maybe it’s more like this:

If, while walking the labyrinth, I encounter confusion then it has probably followed me in, like a lost puppy.

I like that analogy more, there’s less judgement in it. Less self judgement.

In the first scenario I’m well programmed to deal with the confusion by assigning blame (to myself, of course) and beating myself over the head for being in that state. In the second scenario the response is just as clear: I stop and be with the dog. Maybe give a reassuring scratch behind the ear and allow her to follow me in a bit, and enjoy the companionship on the way to the centre. There’s no way I’d berate a small dog for being lost, or confused, who was just stumbling along trying to find their way.

One of the beautiful truths I’m finding from walking and drawing labyrinths is that they mirror what’s going on for me in the moment. I’ve had serene walks, frustrated walks, jangly stressed out walks, and saced out and confused walks, too.

All of these states are o.k. And walking the labyrinth helps to shift some of these states, too. I’ve come to learn that when everything gets pent up during the day, a brisk walk around the labyrinth can shake off a lot of nervous energy. When I’m spaced out or unfocused, during the course of my walk I can become more present.

The state I enter in doesn’t matter, it’s just a starting point. Nothing miraculous has to happen in the labyrinth. I can just walk it, or draw it, in whatever state I’m in. So even though there’s not much puppy-like about this labyrinth, there is a little bit of lost in it. I’m going to assign it puppy status, give it a little tickle behind the ears, and post.

Mish-Mash

// November 18th, 2010 // 4 Comments » // curiosity, illustration

I got this great tweet yesterday from Barbara ( @Reptitude )

@creativechai eeeeeew. I would like to see a faceoff between the dude and the dino — in the labyrinth by candlelight. luv this series!!

*****

So, that was the inspiration for today’s Art Every Day Month offering.

It’s not so much of a face-off, the guide seems to have hopped onto the dinosaur and offered to do his guiding thing, and everyone is getting along very well.

Fact: Labyrinths are known to be very soothing to dinosaurs.

Bonus fact: Origami paper holds up surprisingly well to acrylic paint.

Gypsy Fire (Part Two)

// August 17th, 2010 // 6 Comments » // curiosity, painting

***********************************************************************************

Wrestlemania with colour. That’s what yesterday’s painting session felt like.

Colour is something I really have difficulties with, most of my art has taken the form of black and white inked cartoons or drawings. One of the ‘rules’ I have for my blog is that each post is illustrated by me, in colour.

I’m slowly getting there and have noticed a shift with my level of confidence. Whenever I used to hit a ‘colour wall’, where I had totally messed up, I used to thow my hands up, throw the artwork into the nearest bin, and either start again or, more often, return to familiar ground and work in black and white for a while. What I’ve noticed more recently is that when I get stuck with colour I start getting excited about the prospect of getting in there and figuring it out.

This is a real shift.

I’ve made some total messes with my blog illustrations, but the pressure I put on myself to illustrate each post is starting to pay off. I’m still stumbling around colour-wise but I’m starting to see a difference.

So, the Gypsy Fire painting is moving along and I can see real colour problems with the backgound, it’s very gaudy and needs work. I’m using it as an opportunity to play a bit with glazes and try to experiment and pull it togetjher.

What I do like is how the Gypsy caravan came out. It’s almost exactly how I had envisioned it. The caravan is gaudy too, but it’s a Gypsy kind of gaudy and I was going for that. Intentionally gaudy is o.k., it’s the unintentionally gaudy parts of the painting that I’d like to sort out.

I don’t want to be a realistic painter, i never have. I want things to be off-balance, and wobbly, and weird, when it comes to form and colour (I actually think the world is off-balance, wobbly and weird, so maybe I’m a realist painter after all!). But, as much as possible, I want these to be choices that I make. I love happy accidents, but also want to be able to get the effects that I want without having to rely on happy accidents arriving.

The way I see it, the more skill I’m able to develop, the more value I’ll get from those happy accidents anyway. I’m looking forward to the next wrestling match.