Tag: creativity

Silence, Stillness, Observation: Creativity In The Pandemic Era

 

Yellow and black bee rests on a concrete sidewalk
Worky work, busy bee.

Even four or so weeks into Pandemic 2020, memes pushing productivity over peace, especially for artists, persist.

I was talking with my friend Irene, co-owner of the amazing local restaurant Dylan’s Oyster Cellar, after she posted a quote by Toni Morrison on the artist’s role during societal upheaval.

First, the quote from the extraordinary Ms. Morrison:

“This is precisely the time when artists go to work. There is no time for despair, no place for self-pity, no need for silence, no room for fear. We speak, we write, we do language. That is how civilizations heal.”

I have been struggling with my own creative practice since this began, and I know many others who have struggled as well. It has been hard for me to put into words why I react negatively to the quote above, but talking with Irene helped clarify my thoughts around this particular time and place.

This pandemic reminds me of 9/11. When the planes hit, the U.S. stopped. Planes were grounded, people stayed home. For four days the bones of the U.S. were exposed, flesh laid bare in the sunshine.

And for many years after, there was no art surrounding this event. Writers talked about how hard it was to write anything around that day – the risk of trivializing something so catastrophic was high, and there was a kind of respect that silence afforded that words and dance and painting could not.

Even now, art surrounding 9/11 is mostly commemorative, writing is more reportage than creative. It is missing a “call-to-action” element, though, which seems appropriate and thoughtful. After the boo-yah, racist energy of going to war subsided, the creative work from 9/11 is memorial, not activist or nationalist.

This is not to say that coronavirus-specific work isn’t being done, but for some reason there seems to be a sense of social justice-style urgency surrounding this pandemic. Like all artists have to be productive and write towards what’s happening right now, and if you are not working in that way, you aren’t really worth much as an artist.

What about people whose work was not in that style to begin with? I write about love and nature, and I paint abstract impressionist paintings. I believe that love and nature are inherently healing; I don’t need to manipulate those things in order to micromanage healing or connection. I paint intuitively, as many layers as it needs and for however long it goes until it’s “done.” My work is not oriented towards social justice, and it never has been.

But, if I am honest (which I always try to be), I have not felt much of a creative impulse, or rather, the creative impulse I have felt has been different this past month. I have felt a deep need to be in the woods, by the water, away from people. My fellow humans are weaponized with virus right now, and many of them are not exercising the sense god gave a turnip. Avoiding them makes sense to me.

Meanders in nature, looking for edibles and studying them, writing recipes and experimenting with teas and tinctures: this is where my creativity has rested for the past several weeks, and I am here for it. It’s comforting to provide for myself with what’s available, to watch how nature is responding to this strange weather (no winter to speak of and spring temperatures that fluctuate wildly, with fewer flowers bursting, not like 2019’s ostentatious floral gluttony), and to winnow the wheat of my life and relationships from the chaff.

Of course, no one should sail their ship guided by memes on the Instagram, but in the small sphere of my blog I am here to advocate for silence, stillness, and observation.

If you are an artist struggling to find a voice in this time, listen.

If you are normally running yourself ragged with work and school and kids and art, let the stillness settle into mystery.

If you have felt that the world is spinning too fast and all is a blur, watch.

I give you permission to exist in this state of dormancy, like the slow trickle of water under the frozen stream. It’s ok to not be churning out creative work. It’s ok to feel stuck, blocked, stymied, and frustrated.

Everything passes, including this virus and this life and this time.

Silence, stillness, observation: creativity in the pandemic era can take many forms. Let yourself be ok with whatever form yours takes.

Now a question: how has your creative practice changed, if at all, over the past month?

Take care, be well, wash your hands.

 

 

 

 

 

Hey, Everyone: Cut Yourself Some Slack

A 1,000 piece mushroom puzzle box, with unassembled puzzle pieces sits on a wood table.
I am perhaps more excited about this than I ought to be.

Just this morning I was writing my morning pages and berating myself for my lack of writing. A familiar trope that I revisit frequently: that I am never doing enough creative work, even when not social distancing and with ample time.

And then Khristian Weeks shared this Instagram post with me:

“Notes from my last residency in Ontario, Canada:
A whole bunch of materials is waiting for its transformation into something we commonly call ‘works of art’. Not only these from Canada, but a lot of other findings from Italy (sea and forests) reside in my studio suspended in this motionless moment. On top of that, new projects and conceptual works reside in my mind for the warm season, and one could think right now, given the quarantine, an artist should have an abundance of time to dedicate to his/her practice.
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What I want to say is that I just don’t feel like doing anything. I just prefer to spend my time deep into this crisis rather than distracting from it.
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Suddenly my work has become something far from what I’m living, something off-topic from what I’m through right now. Everything feels useless or distant. And in the compulsive ways socials are pushing people to do, do, do (on-line courses, exhibitions, flash mobs, virtual gatherings and whatever may sound productive, which I don’t criticize), I want to allow myself just doing nothing.
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It’s strange how death is the only certain thing in this life, jet it shocks and upsets us so deeply.
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I hope and guess that my mood will change again soon as everything is changing fast and I will be going back to my art practice with a different attitude, but for now I’m living through my mood with the effort to not feel guilty about it and it feels good I’m succeeding in this.” @francesca.virginia.coppola

I alternately love it and hate it when someone beats me to a public expression of how I am feeling.

The idea that we (the big, U.S. of A “we”) are being pushed to be productive and busy at the same time this virus has forced us to slow down seems counterintuitive to me, and, for creative people, a direct contradiction to the quiet reflection that is necessary for deep work.

I am a big fan of the idea that creative work is more than just the production of stuff and encompasses the whole wide network of action that includes inaction as well. And that there is tremendous value in removing all of the distraction of busy-ness to sink into creative practice that may or may not have a final product.

People: you don’t need to organize your closets and deep clean your house. You don’t need to re-create your child’s school at home. You don’t need to go into high-speed production of your art, or learn a new skill, or attend a class.

You could, but this is not required.

Nothing is required of you at this moment in time except that you wash your hands, cough/sneeze into your elbow, and don’t touch your face.

Literally, that’s it.

Today, we are watching movies and working on a puzzle (‘shrooms, natch). It will be warm but cloudy, so maybe we will stretch our legs around the block, but maybe not.

Do you feel pressed to “do, do, do,” or are you letting this forced slowdown sink deeply into your bones?