Today is the 12th of July, one of those days smack in the middle of summer where all I can think about is how much I’d rather be doing anything other than working in an office for a living. I’m supposed to be writing about an object from Frederic Remington’s studio, but the place is so packed with stuff it’s hard for me to focus. There are saddles and chaps and spurs, seven paintings of a single horse standing on a Kentucky blue grass lawn, mounted antlers, a mounted rifle, a hat, masks, a bed with Mexican blanket bedcover, chair, easel, desk. I am overwhelmed, and it’s not so much Remington’s space as it is my own filled-up brain.
There’s an analogy that’s been bobbing around with the other flotsam in my head all day. It has to do with physical space and buildings. I want to say that if my brain were real estate, it would be a multi-use complex. Or an outdated apartment building with rooms that are too small; some empty, most filled to the brim, none orderly.
I have an urge to evict my biggest tenant, Work. Remember, this is my brain I’m talking about, and so what I’m really trying to say is, Work, you take up too many floors. You are at times an over-bearing tenant. You demand all my attention, value efficiency over creativity, and you use way too much white paint. What’s your problem? Can’t you try just once using eggshell or antique white or a velvety cream?
Ah, she longs to work with People of Color, you might be thinking, and while it’s true I wouldn’t mind working side-by-side with a blue woman or a green man — I’m not afraid of aliens — I’m really using white paint as metaphor for lack of curiosity. My main tenant — with its miles and miles of gray cubicles (gray is the new white where I work), its Outlook calendars and inboxes, Blackberry pagers, and snazzy teleconference calls — is boring. Even my United and Southwest frequent flier miles have lost their draw.
My heart’s desire is to turn over the whole kit and caboodle to Art and its roommate Writing. Let them spill into the entire building. Give them free rein to paint the walls whatever colors they want. I trust Art and Writing’s aesthetics so much, I’d even let them gut and renovate the place. Make it into a single-story loft with lots of light and natural woods.
But then I ask myself, what am I thinking? I don’t have money to renovate. That’s my Catch-22. The job I’m hating this very minute is the whole reason we have shelter to begin with. Which means my brain’s going to resemble an overcrowded shopping mall for some time to come. Work and Art and Writing, and I haven’t even touched on Mothering or Being Daughter To My Aging Parents or Friendship or Gardening. I won’t mention the three pieces of furniture I want to refinish.
Just now it dawns on me, it’s not work I mind. In fact, when I’m producing art and writing, that’s all I can think about. I’m consumed by it in a way no other job has ever held my attention. I always tell people that if we gave the same amount of energy to our passions as we give to our day jobs (which, for most of us generally are not our passions) then we’d be wildly successful financially speaking. I honestly believe that.
So what’s holding me back? How do I get from here to there without the aid of an art patron? (Art patron, if you’re out there reading this, I will have no compunctions about accepting your generosity.) And here I have to admit, I’m stuck. People keep asking me, when are you going to do art full-time, or when are you going to write full-time? My only answer is, I don’t know when. All I know is to keep producing, one piece at a time. Just keep putting it out there.
–Related to Topic post, Remington’s Studio.
Ah, I am grappling with a full brain today, too. You’re right… one foot in front of the other, one piece at a time.
LikeLike
Do keep producing. You can tell yourself that the producing you’re doing now—under duress, while you carry on your day job—is getting you ready (or making you ready) for the moment it becomes your single focus. And think what you can accomplish then.
LikeLike
That’s so true. That’s what I keep telling myself. And we pass through time so quickly, I know it will be here before I know it. Right now I have so many things pulling me away from a full-time dedication to art and writing, yet I still manage to do a lot of art and writing, so I know I’m getting somewhere. I think I’m frustrated, though, on the heels of last week, when I was able to spend the entire week working 100% on art. It was great. It made me realize that’s how I want to spend my life.
LikeLike
When you have the opportunity to focus on art/writing with very few limitations, there can be a great sense of Flow. On the other hand, when art/writing IS the work, as it is for me, it is difficult to create Flow. An experience such as you had, and I have had, too, is important to reset the creative applications to the work situation. I will try to focus — be conscious of this tomorrow as I start work on an article for a trade publication. Can you bring the sensitivities — ways of seeing, hearing, feeling, touching, adding gilt and glitter — of last week to your work in any way?
LikeLike
I know I can add gilt and glitter to my work in *some* way, such as the way I relate to people or the quality of work I produce. Intellectually I know this, but emotionally I have a wall. I think it’s because I don’t want to. It’s not the right answer, perhaps.
I had a boyfriend who used to say that being an artist is more about how you see life, how you touch others, how you live your life. He talked about a janitor he knew who was an artist in his day-to-day work. I want to achieve that interior sense of artistry. But I’m frustrated by my exteriority, if that’s a word. When I picture myself, I am standing behind an iron gate, my hands and arms through the bars, groping for what’s beyond. I’m just being truthful. It’s where I am right now.
LikeLike
I like the image of the gate. There is a gate — another gate — before me now. There hasn’t been a gate for awhile, because I have been very content to be where I have been — had that “interior sense of artistry.” But that is changing. The best job, most creative. supportive work environment I’ve ever known, is being changed to “grow the company.” I am still there, but the passion is fading. I am looking at the gate and trying to see what’s on the other side. In the meantime, I will keep my hands on what I know and look for ways to add a little of the glitter that I brought back from GR to stoke my creative spirit.
LikeLike
That is a great creative challenge: grow the company. And to not be told how to do it.
Your positive thinking is infectious, and I will hold it in my belly, along with my energy for creating beautiful art.
LikeLike