So what killed off this magical creativity you sparkled with as a child? Why don’t you fingerpaint on the walls anymore? I think the answer lies in 3 things that are interrelated: consumer culture, the school system, and the experts. Really, these are all aspects of the same entity that produces fear in us. And fear is the slayer of creativity. I’ll take each in turn.
Consumer Culture
The intuitive mind is a sacred gift and the rational mind is a faithful servant. We have created a society that honors the servant and has forgotten the gift. -Albert Einstein.
In a culture which values only what can be easily quantified and bought and sold, creativity of the kind an artist or writer possesses makes little sense. Artistic creativity does not live well alongside consumer culture, which values goods over time. It’s sole purpose is to make money and it must do so by convincing us that we need to work many hours to purchase consumer goods to make us happy. If it does not meet these demands and on a tight schedule too, it has no place.
Contrary to this, to express ourselves takes time. Time spent contemplating, experiencing, idle followed next by time spent joyously painting/writing/singing. To consumerism, spending 100 hours on a painting seems a waste, and the days spent daydreaming and thinking ahead of the actual painting utter madness! Art, to industry, should be salable or usable to sell stuff and be “realistic”. Utterly misses the point. When you were a child painting that lovely mural on your bedroom wall were you trying to be realistic? Likely not. You were trying to express what you saw, what you felt, what you imagined it was like to be a tree. Your only concern with realism or mechanics was as a tool to express what you were trying to express. If your parents were like mine, this was totally lost on them, who only saw that you had covered the wall with a mixed media wash of finger paints, crayons, and glue.
We risk as artists buying into false notions of productivity and salability and valuing our work solely in monetary ways. This often has the result of creating fear of not being able to support ourselves, or fear of judgment from others, guilt that we are spending all this time on something that may be doing little for us financially. And then the ideas dry up! Sweet, merciful crap the dreaded creative block. Now I’m afraid I won’t have any good ideas for a while. Or ever.
I remember hearing Joyce Carol Oates speak when I was in graduate school. Someone had asked her about overcoming “writer’s block” so that they could continue to produce brilliant salable work on a tight schedule. She spoke then of the nature of what seems to be writer’s block. She talked about the concept of “lying fallow”. Coming from farm country I knew precisely what she meant. To keep soil fertile, crops must be rotated as different plants take and give different things to the soil. After several years of rotating, the land needs to be fallow, or rest to be fertile for a fresh planting. If we fail to let the land lie fallow it produces smaller amounts of less tasty produce.
So when we sit down to our computers and canvases and stare into a big blank idea void it’s not necessarily a bad thing. We may simply need to lie fallow for a while, recharge, become fertile once more so that what grows creatively from us is fresh, alive, and vibrant. But a consumer culture does not want to hear that. Time wasted moodling about thinking and being fallow is a guilty pleasure at best! And your editor needs those chapters or that painting NOW. Creativity does not really work this way.
I don’t know about other artists, but my ability to create absolutely has no schedule. In fact, the more tuned in I become to my own ebb and flow cycles of creativity, the more I chafe at my day job schedule that continually pulls me from my work, or interrupts my imagination. I feel like I just get going, I am walking in Faery or in my own little world, the clay flows through my fingers. Then the reverie shatters at the thundering sounds of the financial obligation trolls as they break down my door, chuck me unceremoniously into the shower and usher me off to my desk so far from where I want to be. A bit like jumping into a cold pool after a hot shower.
As I write I have not sculpted very much in weeks. Right now the thought of picking up that clay feels miserable and heavy. I have felt this way before, and it is usually in the winter when all seeds are slumbering in dark places. My creativity and joy in working with the clay tends to quiet during this time as well. When I began to sell my work this panicked me! I needed to produce and NOW if I was ever going to make this my living. And I did produce. And the work sucked. It sucked bad. The production of this suckitude was grim and joyless, and the irony is that it didn’t sell either! This created the precise self-judgment and fear that dries up creativity. My only way out is to accept this and lie fallow for a time!
“If I create from the heart, nearly everything works; if from the head, almost nothing.” – Marc Chagall
I’ll turn to the school system next….