Chapter 2 Post 7 ▫️ Home is where your art is (Part 3)

Day 36 and counting...how is everyone doing?

If you’re like me, you may have been feeling the strain of isolation these past couple of weeks. Ashton and I seem to be taking turns in the roles of The Strong One and The One Who Needs Strength. To all of my friends and family out there, I hope you’re doing well, exchanging strength with each other and taking care of yourselves inside and out.

I approached this mini-series of posts about art with the idea that writing would be a beautiful outlet for my inner world while my outer world is up in the air. However, I found that the pressures of the quarantine at home, the expectations I had set for myself, and the unknowns of the near future all weighed me down to a point where I just fell flat. I couldn’t find anything to say. 

Despite how I’ve been feeling, I decided to sit in on my creative writing group’s coaching session last Monday. The discussion was about our relationship with writing—specifically, do we feel like we’ve fallen out of love with writing? And if so, how do we fall back in? It felt hand-picked just for me, and after reflection, I thought how easily this discussion could apply to a  relationship with any art form. After all, I’m not the only person feeling the pressures of these times, nor am I the only one who has looked for distraction and/or relief through art. We might start out feeling as though our art will be one of our life preservers in a rough sea of uncertainty, but as we continue bobbing up and down with no landing in sight, that life preserver might start to feel more like a millstone.

So, how can we tell if we’re falling out love with our art? Here are some warning signs:

▫️You’re not actively engaged in your artistic endeavor.

▫️You’re not experiencing any cravings to be artistic.

▫️You’re filling your time with other activities.

▫️Thinking about your art feels heavy, like drudgery.

▫️After a period of inactivity, the thought of getting back to your art doesn’t give you joy.

▫️You’re eyeing new projects or a different form of art.

▫️Any goals you had associated with your art have changed.

If we see those signs in ourselves, we shouldn’t panic. Some of these signs could be due to other factors; for example, a change in our goals can be a sign of growth rather than stagnancy. So here are some questions to help us evaluate which direction we might be headed:

▫️Do I even want to pursue this artistic endeavor?

▫️Do I think I could fall back in love with this art form?

▫️Is the problem just that I don’t know what to create right now?

If we decide we can and want to restore our relationship with our art, here are some suggestions:

▫️Take the pressure off yourself. Rather than hold yourself to a certain standard of quality or quantity, create only what makes you happy. Don’t worry about whether it’s “productive” or not. Your goal here is to relight the fire.

▫️Break old habits and create new ones. Change your medium. Change your location. Change the time of day. Any little change can lead to refreshment, inspiration, even a new favorite way of doing things.

▫️Set aside time to contemplate and create. Make a commitment to yourself that your artistic time is yours, and block out any foreseeable interruptions. 

▫️Avoid forcing the relationship. If you have nothing just begging to come out, take a break and do something mindless. (Sometimes I get ideas in the shower; others have found vacuuming, folding laundry, ironing, or other chores to be very conducive to artistic meditation.)

I’ve been thinking a lot about this discussion since Monday and it’s actually helped me feel a little more balanced. Art is beautiful and soul-nourishing, even necessary—human beings are artistically designed to be creative in a myriad of ways. But art is not our end-all and be-all. Art can inspire us, but it cannot protect us. It can comfort us, but it cannot love us. Like other inanimate, non-human things, when our art starts to feel heavy, it’s time to analyze its place in our life and readjust its form, its priority, or its presence.

On my daily walks through my neighborhood, I’ve seen art that inspires me. Some cheery souls have drawn greetings on the sidewalk with multi-colored chalk. Others have simple crayon signs in their windows encouraging passers-by to stay safe. It’s not the quality of these pieces that touches me. It’s knowing what is behind them: people—my neighbors—individuals and couples and families all trying their best to get through a stressful time, and doing what they can to help others do the same. It reminds me that it’s not necessary to write the Next Great Novel in order to accomplish something. Our time will not have been wasted if, through writing or any other art form, we use it simply to express our feelings for others, or to share something helpful, or to make someone smile. While art cannot make a home, it can connect us to others, and that gets us one step closer to home.

▫️ ▫️ ▫️

Just a couple of notes:

1️⃣ I owe a big thank you to Rachel Payetta and Alysia Lyons for their research on the topic of “falling out of love” with writing! They’ve both been doing a great job keeping the writers’ group going during a hectic month. You can find them both online at rachelpayetta.com and alysialyons.com respectively.

2️⃣ I got feedback after my last post that some readers were unable to leave a comment on this blog. I’ve had trouble myself trying to publish responses to comments. Currently, the only way I can do that is to access my blog through Instagram and comment from there. If you have tried or are trying to leave a comment here and it’s not getting published, please message me via Instagram. Thank you—I love hearing from you!