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The Artist's Way ~ Week 12: Recovering a Sense of Faith

This journey ends, another begins; time to review where I've been. When I joined this group, it was with the intention of also working with Danny Gregory's The Creative License, which I've done only slightly. But you know, I'm feeling OK about that, in the context of all that I have managed to do over the past three months; and I know I will get back to it.

I've wrestled with my meanest demon -- the why do they like me/ why do they like my work/ I don't deserve it demon. I know that this nasty little thing will keep dancing around the edges, but I know it better now; I see it. I've also acquired some peace around the issues of faith and religion. Not the resolution Cameron might prefer, but one that works for me.

As my life filled up, I became less focused on this project, and a quick review of the AW Bloggers list shows me I am not alone in this. I wonder if this is just human nature -- we begin something with high expectations, and then fade; or the season, which in this northern hemisphere is calling us outside; or part of the process itself, which is designed to bring new things into our lives, and new attention to what is already there.

In looking through old notebooks -- just one of the activities this process inspired  -- I came across this dream, from October 01991 -- about four years after I began writing:

I am gagging, stomach heaving, trying to throw up. A child tells me: This is how whales are born! I must have swallowed a whale sperm/ embryo, which grows inside me until it's ready for the next phase -- to be thrown up into the sea. Most people who carry the whale (the child tells me) don't survive the birth; they either die immediately or bleed to death slowly afterwards.

My note to this entry says: This dream was in the middle of the night. I woke to escape it. I thought: The whale is the writing. I thought: I will survive it.

On January 14, 02006, just a week into this project, I had the dragon dream, which I think is the same dream, only more hopeful. Spirals.

I did have some problems with the book, mostly around issues of class, which I wrote about when I became too annoyed to take what I liked and leave the rest -- but I'm glad I took this on, and want to thank Kat once again for initiating and organizing it. I would have been unlikely to do it on my own. Some of the group are continuing at Contagious Creativity; I may join them now and then.

There have been some great pleasures for me in these past months: my dear friend Niki's participation in this project; time with Linda; visits from old friends; discovering new ones. I took a whole month of photos. I know that I lost some readers, and gained others.

Let's see what a poem-a-day will do.

The Artist's Way ~ Week 11: Recovering a Sense of Autonomy

Well. Hmmm. I've done almost none of the tasks (except, of course, the morning pages) but I did get myself some flowers, and I'm doing gentle yoga almost daily with my visiting friend, who happens to be a yoga instructor. And I've managed a photo every day for the 30DayPhoto Challenge.

OK, I confess -- I've barely thought about AW this week, even though I highlighted a lot when I read this chapter. For instance:

As an artist, I may need a different mix of stability and flow from other people.

And:

When we are not creating, artists are not always very normal or very nice -- to ourselves or to others.

Also:

To be an artist is to recognize the particular. To appreciate the peculiar.

It is this willingness to once more be a beginner that distinguishes a creative career.

. . . the Artist's Way is a spiral path.

Cameron talks about the Zen of sports, and quotes Eve Babitz:

"Swimming," she says, "is a wonderful sport for a writer." . . . That rhythmic, repetitive action transfers the locus of the brain's energies from the logic to the artist hemisphere. It is there that inspiration bubbles up untrammeled by the constraints of logic.

Swimming was my sport, before I got ill -- except for me is wasn't a sport. It was a moving meditation -- the breathing, the stretch. And this makes me grieve for it, and may push me back to the water, even if I can do only five laps at a time. One of my first attempts at a sonnet was about swimming:

Swimming Sonnet/
a nautical metrical exercise

The pool is long and blue and cool. I dive
into the soothing depth, the wet. I cut
the water, arms a knife, a curving slice,
a turn, another lap, a breath, a pull
and earth below is not allowed to hold
my body down and I am flying free
of ground, my cells expand, my spirit grows
and melts into the chlorine blue, I feel
the stretch of spine and soul, I reach to touch
some goal, it’s just beyond my fingertips
at last, another lap, if I could just
not need to breathe...
      now slow, I gasp and kick
           against the heavy claim of land-locked life,
           so hard, so harsh, so shallow, short, and dry.

Finally, this chapter encourages us to build an artist's altar, which I needn't do, as I have them everywhere:

She reminds us that:

. . . the artist child speaks the language of the soul: music, dance, scents, shells... Your artists altar . . . should be fun to look at, even silly.

I'd say I've managed that.

One more week.

The Artist's Way ~ Week 10: Recovering a Sense of Self-Protection

In this chapter, Cameron talks about blocks -- the whats, whys and hows. She talks about the usuals -- food, work, and sex -- and the less recognized:

For others, an obsession with painful love places creative choice outside their hands. Reaching for the painful thought, they become instant victims rather than feel their own considerable power.

I've been in that place. Though I must observe -- it provides lots of material. This is a justified complaint of those who are not writers against those of us who are: everything is material.

. . . note carefully that food, work, and sex are all good in themselves. It is the abuse of them that makes them creativity issues.

Interestingly, to me, she doesn't mention shopping in this chapter. Or cigarettes, though I suppose they fall into the drug category. When I was working and had disposable income, nothing would soothe me better than a cruise through the antique shops, followed by a nice smoke and a lazy -- one might almost say creative -- process of deciding where to place the new treasure(s). Oh, for the good old days...

As we become aware of our blocking devices -- food, busyness, alcohol, sex, other drugs -- we can feel our U-turns as we make them. The blocks will no longer work effectively. Over time, we will try -- perhaps slowly at first and erratically -- to ride out the anxiety and see where we emerge. Anxiety is fuel. We can use it to write with, paint with, work with. [emphasis mine]

Oh, yes. Sit with it. So easily said; done with such difficulty.

Spirals

I see the spiral metaphor everywhere; the idea that we revisit the same issues again and again in our lives, but at different -- presumably deeper -- levels. A Flickr search found many spiral images -- this one at the left was my favorite -- I think because of that lovely blue marble, and the garden behind. And because the photographer allows use under a Creative Commons License.

Recently, on one of the Blogging the Artist's Way blogs (I'm sorry, but I can't remember who this was -- if you see this, let me know so I can link to you) the writer was discouraged to see, when she read a year-old journal, that she was dealing with exactly the same issues a year later.

I laughed, because I've had not only that experience, but the experience of having some wonderful, revelatory insight -- one of those Wow! moments -- only to find, soon after, the exact same insight written in a journal from years earlier. Written down with excitement, and apparently immediately forgotten.

My path is less a spiral than a tangle:

My 30 Day Photo Challenge Flickr Set

A very nice slinky gave its life for this lesson. Let us pause to mourn and honor said slinky. OK, that's enough.

On this path, there is no nice, smooth curving around and around, to the deeper, magic center. It's more like going in circles and retracing my own route; sometimes stepping directly from one level to another; sometimes stepping way back to a place I passed long ago. Sometimes it seems I step into another dimension altogether; a multi-dimensional tangle.

That's my life.

Yours?

The Artist's Way ~ Week 9: Recovering a Sense of Compassion

Last week one of the suggested tasks was to:

Choose an artist totem. It might be a doll, a stuffed animal, a carved figurine, or a wind-up toy. The point is to choose something you immediately feel a protective fondness toward. Give your totem a place of honor and then honor it by not beating up on your artist child.

Let me get clinical here for a moment. I have long understood that adults who were sexually abused as children feel an immense sense of shame; are intolerant of vulnerability, which means just that: vulnerable to abuse; and so have difficulty accepting the child-in-themselves who was so abused. I know this. I've worked with many clients on these issues, and worked on my own. But this intertwining of creativity and childhood is a new tangle for me - or a new level of tangle, which I plan to talk about in another post.

For the moment, let me just say that these issues interfere with my enjoyment of some of these tasks. I chose, reasonably, the above doll for my artist totem. This was made for me by a lost friend (where are you, Tracey Perry?) as a representative of my child self. The doll has been on a shelf for many years; I take her out for this, and put her on the chair my mother gave me, with the sock monkey from my childhood. Or one I bought to replace that one; I no longer remember which.

So now all I have to do is be kind. To myself.

Not a small order.

Beginners & Experts

Via Lifehacker, I've found a great new blog (as if I could keep up with those I've already found): Creating Passionate Users. It was a post there -- How to be an expert -- that gave me just that little push I needed to jump into the 30 Day Photo Challenge:

... the research says that if we were willing to put in more hours, and to use those hours to practice the things that aren't so fun, we could become good. Great. Potentially brilliant. We need, as Restak refers to it, "a rage to master." ...

... there is some thought that to be, literally, THE best in the world at chess, or the violin, or math, or programming, or golf, etc. you might indeed need that genetic special something. But... that's to be THE best. The research does suggest that whatever that special sauce is, it accounts for only that last little 1% that pushes someone into the world champion status. The rest of us--even without the special sauce--could still become world (or at least national) class experts, if we do the time, and do it the right way ...

Not, mind you, that I plan on becoming an expert, professional photographer; I don't. That kind of energy I save for poems. But I suspect that working creatively in one medium enhances work in another, and I would be pleased to see both my photographs and my poems improve.

The Artist's Way ~ Week 8: Recovering a Sense of Strength

First, a few links:

I found this first one (a Yahoo group) because I got a hit from there; someone in the group linked to my very first post on The Artist's Way: artistswayplay · The Artist's Way Online Playgroup.

Then I found a Flickr group! How could I have missed this? Flickr: The Artist's Way & an associated Yahoo Group: FlickrArtistsWay · Flickr-Artist's Way

This one has book excerpts: SpiritSite.com - Julia Cameron index

An official site, which I am probably the last to discover: The Artists Way - the Official Julia Cameron Website

I haven't explored any of these yet, but wanted to share them before I forget all about them. Maybe this will help me remember to check them out. Which reminds me -- those of you who are interested only, or primarily, in my posts in this category can go directly to my artist's way category and thereby skip everything else.

So. Week eight. I had a lot of resistance to this one. Very conscious, determined resistance. I even skipped a day of morning pages.

Cameron writes that

Artists and intellectuals are not the same animal.

At first I resisted (again) this idea, thinking of the creativity required for science, for mathematics and physics -- but she is, I think, on to something here. The difference between poems and poetics.  

. . . most academics know how to take something apart, but not how to assemble it.  

Niki has written eloquently about this, as a teacher, an academic.

The Artist's Way ~ Week 7: Recovering a Sense of Connection

Last week's topics included listening, perfectionism, risk, and jealousy. Risk is an interesting one for me. I realized quite young that I was risk aversive; I like comfort, and safety. I recognized that many people settle into a job or a place early on, get comfortable, and never move -- physically, intellectually, emotionally, or spiritually -- and that I could easily become one of those people.

So I have, many times, grit my teeth and jumped -- into some job or place or work -- or relationship -- that was new and frightening for me. I have few regrets. Especially now, that health limits my options so severely.

Jump when you can, I say.

Perfectionism and jealousy have been issues for me at times, and I suppose there are remnants (especially of the first) (no, wait -- I envy people who are old and healthy and strong) -- but I've had a long time to live with my shortcomings; a long time to remedy, modify, or accept them.

And then there is listening. Here is another quote from Ted Kooser's The Poetry Home Repair Manual:

Jane Hirshfield wrote: "A work of art defines itself into being, when we awaken into it and by it, when we are moved, altered, stirred. It feels as if we have done nothing, only given it a little time, a little space; some hairline-narrow crack opens in the self, and there it is." She goes on to quote Kafka: "You do not even have to leave your room. Remain sitting at your table and listen. do not even listen, simply wait. Do not even wait, remain still and solitary. The world will freely off itself to you unasked. It has no choice. It will roll in ecstasy at your feet."

Go talk with Jane here.

I decided, on impulse, to go out on an artist date -- and the car wouldn't start. Mysteriously. So I called Kris and asked if, sometime when she was out and about, she could drop by her battery charger. She came the next day, with the charger, and the harp she has built (from a kit) for Abigail. This harp has a big, round voice. Kris was going to play just a little, but I wheedled.

When I asked, Kris explained that the reason recorded music does not turn my bones to butter, like live music does, is that recorded music lacks overtones, especially music recorded to compact discs. This, apparently, is the essence of the debate about vinyl vs. cd's.

So. Abundance.

Poetry

what is poetry for?
this              silence

A reminder: Jane Hirshfield is engaged in a conversation about poems, poetry, and other matters at The Well. This conversation is open to the public, and you are invited.

I've been reading Ted Kooser's The Poetry Home Repair Manual: Practical Advice for Beginning Poets. Yes, I've been doing this for nearly twenty years, and I'm still a beginner.

I do recommend it for beginning poets; he offers lots of technical reminders they will find useful. He also offers some observations and opinions that I think apply to almost any creative endeavor -- and since I like what he says, I'm going to share some of it with you:

Journals & Notebooks

Blue Dog asks: What do you write in? And many, many reply, with photos and thoughts on journaling and writing that are worth sharing outside the Blogging the Artist's Way list, I think. So I have many links below the cut, and will add more as I find them. This gives me an excuse for another cute dog photo, the doglets tempting me from my writing in the morning:

Here is this poet's notebook, from a post last year on just that: Poets' Notebooks.  Sitting on the cover is the stick I was trying to draw:

   

You can see the poem that came out of these jottings here. My notebooks are Circa notebooks, from Levenger. I love this system -- I have a punch so I can add computer-printed pages (or anything else) to the current notebook; and file folders specifically designed for Circa pages for all my old notebooks.  Levenger's paper is great -- wonderful to the pen, and heavy enough that even wide fountain pens don't show through on the other side. It comes in graph and lined paper, as well as the plain you see here. When funds are tight, regular paper works just fine.

I prefer them because they fold completely open to provide their own hard backing, like a spiral notebook, but can look very spiffy and professional with the leather covers or folios (which are optional, and spendy.) The covers have pen loops and pockets. There are tons of accessories to tailor it to your needs and design preferences.

These notebooks come in different sizes; I have a smaller one I can carry with me when [if] I go out, and the pages can then be moved to the larger, main notebook. Pages go in and out of this system with ease. I do suspect these are better suited to writers than to artists.

Though the materials are nice, my notebooks are not 'beautiful' -- they are not artist's notebooks. They are 'compost' -- seeds and nurturance for future work. The handwriting is variable, from neat to illegible. Thoughts range, without clear boundaries, from dreams to description to fiction to long internal monologues that are some mixture of it all. The one consistent thing that I do is  try to write my dreams in green ink, so that they are easily found.

The pen you see with the dogs is a Sensa fountain pen -- these are lovely for sore hands, especially the gel pens. Beautiful balance, not heavy -- they float across the page. Of course, I discovered all these treasures when I was working, and had an income -- but I'm well-supplied. Also, I do believe that the things one uses every day should bring pleasure. Abundance, remember?

I want to mention that one thing about doing the Artist's way for which I am grateful, is that it has brought me back to my notebook. Since I started blogging, two years ago, my time with paper and pen has diminished, and I am glad to have it back again. There is a kind of physicality that is very different with the pen than with the keyboard.

One more thing, before I move on to the words and photos of others. In case some of you are nearly house-bound, as I have been; or even just like to carry your writing and reading supplies from room to room -- this idea may be of use -- my basket:

   

Click the photos to go to Flickr and see larger ones. These photos have notes, too.

Now, on to links, links, links (and one more cute dog photo):