So, what happened to me and art? That’s a long one. I’m still exploring it and looking for answers at this very moment. At the same time I can give you a summary of my times up until now.
The painting evening that I had set up and started doing last year went belly up in January. I was, and still am, reluctant to call it an art class or workshop. I’m a self-taught artist meaning that I’ve had no formal training at all apart from messing around to find what works best and the odd rare dabble on YouTube. To me the painting evening was more like a mindfulness session with art as the medium and help readily available for those who weren’t sure. What I learned while doing the painting evenings is just how easily people with no experience at all can pick up all the very basic joys of painting with a little encouragement. I went into the beginning of this year with high hopes of expanding on what could be done and three weeks later it all come to an end. It wasn’t my desire to stop, but circumstances beyond my control made it so that it was the best thing to do. I meant to bring it back as quickly as I could and half a year later it hasn’t happened. It simply doesn’t feel right to do so. The loss, albeit still only temporary I hope, left me feeling deeply upset and lost. I spent many months planning on how to expand and where to go with it only for it to all come grinding to a halt a few weeks in. I had no idea just how much it would impact my art, but it crept up on me and made me feel like there’s no point in painting if I’m not doing the painting evening.
At this point you’re probably thinking that there’s a billion and one places that I could run such an event. If I didn’t have the beliefs that I do you’d be right too. I could do it in a pub. I’d rather not do the painting evening ever again than do it in a pub. Besides the fact that I don’t drink, I also think the point of painting is missed if you have even a drop of alcohol in your system. My sessions are mindful, booze is not. Now you’re likely wondering about sip and paint sessions. I despise the bloody things. How are you meant to tap into the ineffable, the eternal creator within if you are drinking and doing a glorified paint by numbers..? You can’t. Simple as that. Also, I have no wish to encourage the consumption of something I feel to be as bad as any class a drug. So no, I won’t ever be holding my event in a pub. Rant over.
This brings me onto my second point. In light of the former paragraph I found myself starting to feel more and more blocked. I did the not-so-wise thing and ignored it in favour of trying to force myself to do things. I know that for some people the force yourself approach works wonders, not for me. I mean, if other people can’t force me to do anything then why would I force myself and expect it to work? Anyway, that’s what happened. I had started a painting and with all the will in the world I just couldn’t bring myself to finish it when it was so nearly done. I just couldn’t find the energy within me to do so. The magic spark that for me powers my painting had gone. Vanished. Disappeared. I literally ended up too scared to do art. I feel like this was compounded by contacting venues about moving the painting evening there and not getting an answer at all. It made me feel like there was something wrong with me and all that I stand for. Obviously I know that’s not true at all, but in my desperation to get my event up and running again that’s what it felt like. I often find that there’s a discrepancy between what we know logically in our heads and what we can’t help but to feel in our hearts. If you’re one of these companies who doesn’t respond to emails like mine when it’s no then I hope you take heed and start answering. Rejection is never easy, but it’s easier to hear it first hand than wonder what’s happened and only know through the absence of hearing anything at all. In my opinion it’s worse to hear nothing than it is to hear a no.
Around about the early spring I decided to try to draw again. I did a lot of drawing when I was teenager. You see, when you’ve not got any money a bog standard set of pencils are dirt cheap and provide endless entertainment when you’re bored. I decided to work on what I enjoyed back then and started by drawing fictional characters. I kept my drawings very brief at about five to ten minutes per sketch and if I felt extravagant I’d colour them in too. I used pencils, charcoal, fine-line markers, whichever took my fancy on the evening when I’d sit down to do it. It was going well until a few weeks later it took a metaphorical hit and I found myself back at square one again and not able to do it. It’s a shame because there was a marked improvement in my drawings for just spending five to ten minutes everyday practising. I guess I lost my mojo. I decided to spend some time reflecting on it and I realised that despite having completed the Artist’s Way (by Julia Cameron, I highly recommend it) a few years ago due to being blocked then that I was now locked in a fresh duel with my inner critic. I had come down with the difficult to cure affliction called “Scathing Perfectionism”. I say that, but in truth it had been there all along and I had only just realised it. Healing goes in an upward spiral, you know? I spent more time reflecting and I came to realise that in the last year and a half I had gone from doing art for myself as something I enjoy and show to the world when it suits me to doing it for others. To doing it for social media (ironically I said I’d never do that), exhibitions, people whose names I don’t know, people whose names I do know, etc, etc. None of it was fun and none of it was for me. I kept forcing myself to do things and forcing myself to improve on my skills rather than just enjoying what I already had and letting the process and progress unfold a more naturally. I always had to do more, be more, do better, be better, schedule things, work harder (why can’t oil paint dry as quickly as acrylic?!?!), the list goes on. In light of my diagnosis of scathing perfectionism (note; not a professional one because it’s not the type of thing a professional would ever diagnose) I decided that I would try to paint it to express how it feels to me. This was a few months ago. I’m yet to finish the painting because I don’t want to finish it. Hell no. What I noticed in trying to paint that was that it was merely scathing perfectionism trying to come through the back door. The only positive that I got out of that is that I’ve improved a lot at drawing hands. To be quite honest I’m not the kind of artist who is into exploring themes with different mediums and the such. I’m also not the type to use art as protest. I do art for the sheer joy of it and in all of this the joy of it was lost for me by my own seeking.
All of this takes me up to now. It’s the middle of 2024. We’ve celebrated the Summer Solstice and now the days are starting to get shorter again, albeit slowly. I have no idea where the time has gone and sometimes I think it’s best to not try to understand it either. I’ve been working on a novella and toying with some short stories. The novella was going to be a short story and then out of the blue it got a bit long to be a short story. I’ve also wrote a tonne of prose and poetry. Wait for it… I’ve recently started doing some paintings again, but all of this is on my own terms. I don’t know if anyone will ever see them, and I don’t care either. This time I’m doing it for me. I did say last year that I would like to do Art on the Prom this year. I haven’t been anywhere or done anything in an artistic sense since January and I don’t want to. I feel that this year, because I gave so much in the wrong direction last year, I need to recover. I need to recover my sense of joy in art and let my authenticity shine through in my work rather than trying to do art to please others. What I found was that even if it did please others, and the public can be fickle, it never felt good enough for me. I could’ve painted the greatest piece ever and it still wouldn’t have been enough. I feel like that as artists we walk a very fine line between looking to fill in the blanks and give them life and tearing ourselves apart for the life that we just created.
As a few of you reading this will already know I am a very spiritual person. I’ve taken this year to double down on my spiritual practice particularly meditation. This has included staying for four nights at a Buddhist monastery which I hope to tell you all about at some point. I’ve found the silence and stillness (both inner and outer) to be of immense benefit to me. I’ve also taken this year to crack on with my writing, I know I’ve got at least a book or two in me somewhere! While at one point I may have been afraid of a paintbrush I’ve certainly not been afraid of my pens. As for the future of my art? I don’t know. What I do know is that as a painter don’t expect to see me too soon. I may post some things here and there on my art pages, but I wouldn’t take that as a sign of anything special. I wouldn’t expect to see me exhibiting or the painting evening being back up and running somewhere new. I’m slowly making peace with the fact that being an artist isn’t my end goal. I feel that art is part of my journey towards what that end goal is (Buddhist joke; Death?). Don’t get me wrong, art is an important part of my journey. I’m sure it will always be there in one form or another. Even before I made a commitment to being and artist I always turned to art for many reasons, enjoyment always being the number one reason. Meanwhile I am learning ways to be gentler towards myself and demonstrate kindness and empathy towards what it is that I need to feel my best so that it can permeate my entire life. A sincere wish of mine is that we abolish the scathing perfectionism causing inner critic in all of us and set ourselves and the world free. What are your experiences, complexities, etc, with artist’s block? I’m keen to know.
(A painting that I did last year)
Thank you for your honest and authentic share. I hope it helped you to exorcise some demons. I’m looking forward to your novella.