The Artist's Way

My hands were shaking, clammy. My stomach in knots. I approached the podium in the basement of the Sheraton hotel where over 100 faces stared back at me. I extended a warm welcome and proceeded to introduce the three people who comprised the artist’s panel at the FOCUS conference. Rachel Ross, a museum curator from DC and culinary artist; Tom Stroka, an architect who graduated from Notre Dame and now worked at a world-renounced architecture firm- Duncan Stoic; and Father Peter Musset- a graphic designer, potter, jeweler, and photographer.

Each possessed portfolios and experiences that were far beyond the scope of anything I’d done. I was honored to be participating in this panel as the MC, but utterly dwarfed in terms of creative output.

Growing up, my mom- a water color painter and all around creative force- encouraged me to be creative. She was the kind of influence you’d hope for,  warm, encouraging, delighted in anything I’d make with a sincerity and enthusiasm that was totally undeserved. Despite my mom’s encouragements I could never get beyond my own short-comings, lack of skill, and imperfections. Plus, I’m not very good at drawing so I thought that ruled me out as an appreciator of art but not an artist myself.

Being that I was a self proclaimed appreciator of art and not an artist, I couldn’t explain what I was feeling sitting there in that low lit basement room, hearing these artists speak about their creative endeavors, making claims about the possibility that art and beauty can save the world, and speaking specifically about the benefits of making art yourself. I was moved, inspired even, to try and begin creating. I felt as though a single flimsy match was being lit- by no means the fire that you can warm yourself by, but the potential for a beginning.  As the panelists made their final points, Father Peter extended an invitation to the group- “if you are interested” he said, “I am beginning an artists’ group to start reading the Artist’s Way.” I didn’t know what the Artist’s Way was, but I did know I was interested in meeting with artists – even if I wasn’t one.
  
We began meeting – 7 of us in all. Ranging from writers to painters, landscapers, to undeclared like me. We went through what Julia Cameron deems the “basic tools” morning pages, 3 pages of free hand stream of conscious writing first thing each morning. The Artist Date- a one hour date each week with just you and your artists doing whatever your inner artist (often described in the book as a little child) decides to do, and the creative cluster – that support group that helps you to wade through all the muck and get to the pure gold of creativity.

These basic tools are the building blocks for recovering your artist self- and I made a commitment to my group and to myself to employ them all for 12 weeks. Morning pages EVERY DAY, artist date and Creative cluster each week. Somehow I was hoping that being involved in this group would connect me with that artsy thing. That thing that would help me to express myself, to communicate that pint up feeling of being unheard. That’s not exactly what happened, but what took place was more than I could have imagined.

In addition to the basic tools, each week focused on a theme. These themes each seemed to correlate with the goings on in my life. When I was feeling less than fiscally responsible I read the chapter on recovering a sense of abundance. When I was challenged at work beyond my strength the theme was recovering a sense of power. And each week the themes served as sculpting tools – removing the access material from the clay mass that was my heart. Safety, identity, power, integrity, possibility, abundance, connection strength, compassion, self-protection, autonomy and faith- each week a new theme each week a new challenge, each week a new breakthrough.

This is a piece from my recent art show.

As this process continued I still had no clarity about what I wanted to make, how I wanted to make the world a more beautiful place. In fact, I still believed I belonged in the “appreciates art, but is not an artist” camp. I maintained the grueling task of waking up 30 minutes early each morning and writing. I took my little artist on a date… and after 10 weeks of meeting with my group I realized that the masterpiece I was creating was me!! I was so much more in touch with my emotions and thoughts. I finally made time to do the things that refreshed my soul. I was free to be a little quirky.

It took many months before I was finally able to find my favorite medium – in my case collage and fibers, but the true achievement was the masterpiece of my heart.

I think when Julia Cameron wrote her book the Artist’s way she titled it that because it’s not about the art- it’s not about the creation- the final product… it’s about the path. Each artist takes to come to understand that when we create we are doing something powerful. We are breathing life into the world, we are inspiring hope and as artists- as people who are capable of creation it is not about the destination.. it’s about the journey. In other words, it’s about the “way.”

Art

I was struggling to feel that art had a viable place in my life. I mean, what is it really? What is it's role? How is it different from being just plain materialistic? I wrestled for almost a year with this question and then I got my answer. 

A few months back I journaled about my heart. A common topic for me to write about, but this entry seemed to articulate something that had not yet been said. This time I described the landscape of my heart. A heart that has been tattered and warn. One that has known love and war. I described the walls, the wild garden, the goings on there, and I even wrote about a single chair in the middle on which I sit. I had spent plenty of time thinking about my heart, but never quite described what it looks like. I had never made time to take a survey of its topography. 

Two days later, on a cool afternoon, I took a little walk through my neighborhood. Per usual, I admired the architecture, the colors, and the gardens. I moseyed by victorian tutors and modern duplexes, vacant lots, and overgrown ones with broken windows. And then, almost suddenly, I found myself walking with a spirit of purpose- like I was looking for something, but with no idea what. I passed by a cafe and a man walking his dog, and then a construction zone. My speed picked up as I completed the stretch of sidewalk where the beat of hammers echoed and power tools declared their presence.  I emerged past a chain-link fence and saw to my right a beautiful scene. On a large corner lot, surrounded by wispy greenery, was my heart. Three walls, crumbling and ready for collapse. Some wild flowers in the distance. And with impecable placement- the chair. I was moved almost to tears to see for myself the exterior scene which I knew to be real interiorly. I climbed up the small hill and gingerly sat down on the rickety chair. I took everything in as the chilly breeze caressed my face. In a matter of days the walls would be torn down, the land repurposed, and the chair gone. But for that moment I just sat. I was sitting in my heart. I was thinking about how grateful I was for the structure that once stood there. Grateful and yet sad for what had taken place and for all those who visited. And then, perhaps carried by the breeze, I experienced hope for what was to come. Hope for the structure. Hope for new visitors. New experiences. New life. And then, because it was time, I got up and walked home. I left my heart to be reshaped and repurposed. 

As I reflected to an artist friend on my stroll he shook his head and uttered to me, "now that is art." I think he's right.

Friday night and the lights are low...

It's Friday night at 6:21pm and I'm sitting in my bedroom wondering what to do tonight. Obvi I'm not going out on the town, but I have a good few hours before I hit the hay and I'm just not sure what to do with them. I think the problem is this- I'm caught between two worlds. One  world of carefree, creative, right-brain, timelessness and the other of structured, efficient, accomplished, left-brain, achievements. These two worlds make up my world, but neither seem to exist at the same time. I just can't seem to unwind after an intense week at work and I feel that I can either get a few things done around the house and be bound by time or go down to my studio and allow time to pass unnoticed while I make a new creation that will not help me to "check anything off my list." In light of the other, neither seems appealing.

Currently, I'm reading a book by Betty Edwards called "Drawing on the Right side of the Brain" which sheds light on crossing over between left and right brain. It's delightfully insightful on the topic and gives plenty of exercises and tips to make the switch. I've already seen my drawing skills improve and had a great time learning about the psychology on the topic.  The problem is that I can't seem to have both at the same time. Either I have zero awareness of time, cleanliness, or other normal restrictions and I'm wildly creative or I am structured, clean and bound to time like someone receiving an hourly wage and have no creative inklings.

What's a girl to do? Is there a middle ground? Can creativity and order exist simultaneously? Can life's metronome aid in the conception of new beauty? I don't know the answer, but I am going to test it out tonight. I'm going to do a couple of quick chores and then set the timer for two hours, pour another glass of wine, blast Astrud Gilberto, and head down to my studio. I'll keep you posted on the fruits of my labor.

It turns out art matters

Yesterday I faced a giant fear. It wasn't really the public speaking. It wasn't the pressure from what people would think of the four of us in front of them sharing experiences and answering questions. It wasn't even the thought that the artists panel wouldn't "go well." The fear I faced was that no one is interested in art anymore- at least not as it relates to the Church &/or society.

I knew people care about art. I knew they want to express themselves. I knew they think beautiful things matter. I just didn't know they (especially college students) believed that art matters to our church and our society. Thankfully, my fears were assuaged. Even if not explicitly, the panelists and attendees revealed that art changes things. It matters to our Church, our society, our Lord.... and we have a responsibility and an opportunity to be a part of it. Through their attendance, their questions, their answers, their response. I was shown that others are thinking about the role of art and beauty and the church and it's a large role, as it turns out.

I have no idea what the fruit of the panel will be. I don't know who has been inspired or who has been empowered, but I do know I was built up and reminded of my identity as a co-creator with God. As Rachel told me, I have an artists soul and I know that soul will not be content without living out creativity and without the suffering and joy that art inspires. Father Peter said that "without a renewal of the arts there will be no renewal of the culture" and I couldn't agree more with him. I just hope I have a role to play.

Preach it, Papa!

From Pope Benedict's address to artists November, 2009:

Saint Augustine, who fell in love with beauty and sang its praises, wrote these words as he reflected on man's ultimate destiny, commenting almost ante litteram on the Judgement scene before your eyes today: "Therefore we are to see a certain vision, my brethren, that no eye has seen, nor ear heard, nor the heart of man conceived: a vision surpassing all earthly beauty, whether it be that of gold and silver, woods and fields, sea and sky, sun and moon, or stars and angels. The reason is this: it is the source of all other beauty" (In 1 Ioannis, 4:5). My wish for all of you, dear artists, is that you may carry this vision in your eyes, in your hands, and in your heart, that it may bring you joy and continue to inspire your fine works. From my heart I bless you and, like Paul VI, I greet you with a single word: arrivederci!

Photo: AFP/GETTY