Change In Narrative
In my natural habitat, and proof that I did paint recently!
Creativity is a dance—an ebb and flow of action, rest, and reflection. Artists are not well-oiled machines, existing to continually produce pieces of art to appease the public. We are human beings that are experiencing the art of our own creative journey. Too often, I forget this and fall into the horrible habit of critiquing myself and my artwork. With my creative mind begging for rest, I am confronted with my own human limitations and must take steps to avoid a complete burnout.
That is where this month’s story takes place. To my extreme displeasure, my social media presence has slowed significantly these past few weeks after being on a roll for several months, and I’ve been mentally beating myself up over not making enough art lately as everyone else. Life changes (albeit positive ones) have contributed to the shift of pace in my studio practice, and I’ve struggled with balancing this new routine I find myself in. Art must come first, I say. But my own well-being and mental health cannot be overruled—not to mention the general “adulting” which must be taken care of on a daily and weekly basis. Having such high standards for oneself can easily become overbearing and serve as a cause for anxiety. Without self-care, I am forced to recognize that there wouldn’t be anything left in me to keep painting.
Thus, the lesson I have been coming to accept is this: enjoy the creative process. Yes, even when it’s time for rest. One cannot take care of others if they cannot first take care of themselves, and I feel the same idea can be said for artmaking. How can one create their best works with little-to-no energy? If the well of inspiration is dried up or that creative source is being used to manage daily tasks, surely the paintings produced will not be of the same caliber as works that are created during a time of great artistic influx. The critic in me says that I am making excuses, but the human in me says my body is tired. Not listening to your body’s signals for rest can be both detrimental to your art and yourself in the long run.
Taking a much-needed mental break in the Big Apple!
On this stage of my creative journey, I cannot help but be reminded of one of my college professors. He once told me that being an artist doesn’t mean you have to make art every day, but rather it is how you incorporate it throughout your lifetime that matters most. He had exemplified the birth of his first son, and how he spent those two initial years focusing on his family over studio time. Though he did occasionally sketch, those creative gears turned throughout a period of rest and reflection before it was time to step into action again. Balancing inaction with action allowed his overall portfolio to flourish, and his studio work soon caught up as if no time had passed.
This example comes to mind during my own current experience with needing lots of rest and reflection. But to truly recharge, there is a fourth step involved in this creative cycle that most of us forget about: forgiveness. Too often, we chastise ourselves for not being good enough, compare our workflow and finished products to others, and allow negative self-talk even though we may be trying our very best. At least for me, there needs to be a change in narrative. I need to practice forgiveness toward myself for needing rest at times and gently open to the ebb and flow of what it means to be a creative soul instead of a product-making machine, of which I am not.
If you find yourself in a similar internal struggle as me, remember this: be kind to yourself. Learn to set aside the pressures of social media, others’ expectations, and the doubt you hold toward the timeline of your own life. Creative journeys are meant to be different. Every cycle has its own season, and your artwork will be there for you when you are fully recharged, and your creative mind is refreshed. When you can finally forgive yourself for needing rest, you will allow true healing to begin and your creativity will flow effortlessly once more.
“I feel thin, sort of stretched, like butter scraped over too much bread.”