Blog

I love breakfast—you never know what's going to be cookin' in the Inspired Conversation Department!

This morning the talk was about a documentary my husband Roo watched after I went to bed early last night. The film was about Stevie Nicks, the singer/songwriter of Fleetwood Mac fame. The author of many tunes, Roo tells me her lyrics are born from poems Stevie had written as journal entries over the course of her life.  These poems weren't particularly profound—she wasn't trying to write a hit song each day—she just wanted to get her everyday thoughts and feelings down on paper. In the process of her daily practice, however, she created a treasure trove of possible songs. Some of these went on to become the hits we've enjoyed.

I know a lot of promising writers and artists who get stuck on the notion of creating a bestseller, a masterpiece, or even somewhat harmlessly, a "good" painting. Trying to attain an ideal, they'll overwork an idea in one painting or poem until all the flavor's gone out of it.  Then, exhausted, they may not paint or write for weeks or months. Creative ideas, however, are like broccoli—better lightly steamed than hard boiled. Writing a poem each day or painting a series of studies takes the heat off getting things perfect, freeing an artist to make gentle, steady progress in a desired direction.

When so-called Sunday painters come to my studio, many of them bemoan the imperfection of their efforts. (Usually they've been working on one painting for a very long time.) At such times I'll bring out examples of my early work. When they see evidence of my initial efforts, you can see the relief on their faces. Clearly I wasn't gifted with unusual talent. But then I tell them how from the beginning I've painted lots—lots of lemons, that is. It's sort of like kissing a number of frogs before  your prince appears .... If you will paint a lot of lemons, or pears, or whatever—you too will learn what can only be learned only in the process of making many painting attempts. Unfortunately, many would-be artists stop doing their art when they fail to produce their idea of a good painting.

Paradoxically, progress occurs when you're not trying so hard to produce a certain outcome. If you can get past the need to create a masterpiece each time you pick up a brush and simply paint, then you can get into the deeper process of creating where real learning takes place.  It's not a big mystery, it's simply the work of art: endless hours looking at things in an attempt to see them more clearly; time spent, brush in hand, translating vision onto a canvas with paint; and, many days engaged in a struggle to overcome stubbornness, resistance, fear and other uncreative habits. This is the stuff of an artist's life. Any recognition or award assigned to your efforts becomes, by comparison, an afterthought.

I'm writing this as a reminder to myself. (No one really needs my advice but me.) So, here's what I need to be reminded of today: Whether or not you have luck or talent, invest in the process of doing your art and progress will likely ensue. When you work at your art every day and not just when you feel like it, luck takes a back seat to diligence. Notions of creating a hit or a masterpiece on the first try—or ever—fly out the window. Just make that journal entry. Just write that poem. Just pick up the brush. Just do it!