Hello my loves.
I am continuing on with some thoughts about my recent little self directed art retreat AND the big thoughts and feelings around creativity. Let’s talk about creative expectations and the down-to-Earth reality that we often experience, shall we?
A disclaimer: There is no one on this beautiful pale blue dot that expects more from me than I do from myself. I have always been this way. Is it a good thing? No, not always. Yes, it means I strive to do the best I can, but it also means that I can be completely unrealistic about what I can physically accomplish, and the disconnect can lead to feelings of frustration and failure when the results don’t come close to my expectations.
I know this about myself now, I did not always.
It doesn’t mean I don’t still over expect, but it does mean that (most of the time) I can catch those thoughts before they spiral off the rails (that's a thing, right?). I can remind myself to be really compassionate with myself about outcomes, and celebrate what I did get done. And I am really practicing letting go of that word failure altogether. I mean eww, gross, why would we ever use that word towards ourselves or others? The outcome of a science experiment, sure, but never a wild or wild-hearted being like you or me. I hereby declare there is No Such Word, we shall strike it from our vocabularies!
I am going to give you a couple of examples of expectations and realities that came from my art retreat in Tasmania. I wonder if you can relate?
I would love for you to reply and let me know!
So you know that I am preparing for my first solo show at a gallery in Queensland in August. This trip was really all about that, and gathering inspiration for my Hedgerow community (whom I adore). I took oil paints, brushes and wooden panels for me to work on show pieces, and two sketchbooks. I expected I would get the first layer down on all 4 panels, and fill many pages with sketches from my own reference photos taken that day. The scene is set.
Expectation Number 1: I have 8 nights here. And a full day after I travel down early Thursday morning, no real time on the Friday we leave. Ok. That is 8 full days, times 24 hours, so I have 192 hours. I will be up early, to bed late, because I will be in the flow, big time. I should have brought more panels. I may actually fill these sketchbooks.
Reality: We have already established I have time optimism (the erroneous belief that I can get a weeks worth of work done in 24 hours if I just concentrate and work hard). We had things to see in Tas! Places to visit! Air to breath! Cocktails to sip! Spoiler alert - this takes time. Suddenly, without a full 24 hours each day to work (forget about sleep), my plans to do 4 panels became…unrealistic. Instead of accepting that from the get go, the fear and frustration lead to procrastination and hesitation. The easel might work better in this light. This chair isn’t right, what about that one. I should probably get some water AND some tea before I start. Hmm, slippers on or off? Maybe I should sketch this out first. My skin felt tight. Nothing was like where it is in my studio. What if I am having myself on here, what if I am not an artist? Insert existential crisis…and, scene.
Expectation Number 2: I am in the perfect place, I will paint perfectly, self assured and driven, the paintings will practically fall right off my brushes like magic.
Reality: I started on a Tiger Quoll. Cute, carnivorous, squishy, bitey, adorably wild Tiger Quoll. But we fought. Big time. Or rather we didn’t fight (Wattle is too sweet for that - she is the Quoll I had in mind with this painting, I met her last time I was here at Devils@Cradle), me and me fought. I am using a palette, a collection of colours, that is relatively new to me. It does not contain some of my fan favourite earth colours, but I can (theoretically) mix them myself. No drama, right?? BIG DRAMA. I could not, apparently, make the very specific brown ochre/raw sienna mix I could see at the top of her head and back. I got caught in the need to create that perfect colour. There were swear words. A part of me wanted to engage my inner toddler and have a tantrum. I mean, if I can’t paint like John William Waterhouse or Rachel Ruysch, what I am I even doing?? In a moment of clarity, I remembered what I teach (we all teach what we need to learn I think). Colour does not determine realism. Values (light and dark) do. Get the value. Adjust the colour with a glaze later.
The lessons, in a nutshell: Let go. Be present. Connect.
Let go of expectations - around time, around perfection, around colour mixing. We all work at different speeds - the speed we work at? That is perfect. It has to be, because it is what is right now. And right now is all we have! The colour? Close enough is where it’s at! We all see colour differently, and what we put around that colour will influence it too - getting the value shifts is more important (and perhaps slightly less stressful).
How do we let go? We start with connection. Connection to the present, to our bodies, to our subjects, to our innate creativity and curiosity, to our tools, to our wild hearts. Then we lean into compassion, and courage. Let’s talk about those two next time.
But I want you to know those big feelings are real. Don’t gaslight yourself. Feelings are real, but we can choose how we react to them, because thoughts, they are the things that can be full of fibby-fibby lie-lies. Thoughts aren’t real - we can change them.
Big feelings are a part of the creative process. We get to make a choice to keep going anyway. Have breaks and rest, yes, but keep going in your creative work. It is normal. Trust yourself. That is what I did, I decided to trust myself, trust that I have been doing this for nearly 10 years now, and particularly the last 5 years, I have been practicing walking myself through the big feelings with compassion. I took a deep breath. I connected with Tiger Quoll. I connected with Wattle. How my friend and I got a private audience with her and some Devil pups. How she tried to crawl into my handbag. How she climbed up my friend when she knelt down, and tried to curl up in her hoodie. I rolled my shoulders and felt into her strong and nimble and wild body. I yawned my mouth wide to feel that strong (strong) jaw and sharp teeth. I sniffed with my very sensitive nose a little. And I kept going.
Frustration and fear is where a lot of creative humans in their early stages of making, stop. And we are all the poorer for it - we need all the beautiful art you all put out into the world. But I understand it too - I’ve been there. However, it is also where the biggest growth opportunities are.
This is just one of the things that we talk about, and practice, in Hedgerow. We keep going because we know that the doing, the learning, the being is so much more than the outcome. We grow, we unfurl, when we feel in abundance, in awe, in wonder - not when we are in fear and scarcity. We celebrate where we are right now, because it is a part of a journey, whether you have been doing this for two days or two decades. There is no end point. In sustainable, compassionate practise there is so, so much joy.
Ask me how I know this ;)
Big love,
Hey, if you are curious about how you, too, can have a sustainable creative practice that normalises all the big feelings but helps you keep going with courage and compassion anyway, Hedgerow is opening again soon. Our community constantly speaks to how Hedgerow is transformative - creatively, and personally. We’d love to have you join us - get on the waitlist now!
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