Notes on a creative practice.
"Now keep in mind I'm an artist, and I'm sensitive about my sh*t." - Erykah Badu
For the past few years, I’ve been trying to figure out what it means for me to have a creative practice. I’ve taken a chunk of Domestika courses, followed a ton of challenges on Instagram, and read advice from countless sources about how to fill a sketchbook.
Really, I’m just scampering from source to source, desperately asking - Please… show me how to do this right way!
Yes. I know there is no “right” way.
Having a creative 9-to-5 can be draining on the personal creation tank. There is so much mental energy spent managing deadlines, meetings and other people’s whims. So by the time I get to the question, What do I even want to make?, I’m spent. It’s a paradox — one that is a privilege to have, in some ways. And — it feels disorienting to be a creative who finds it difficult to create for herself.
So I find myself in fits and starts, wanting to make something, but not sure that I have something to say. How do I get back to me?
Truth is, it’s hard to hear myself when there are other people’s opinions, advice, techniques, etc etc etc, swimming around in my head. Therapy has helped me unstitch why I felt like I needed constant guidance and validation. (Something something something about being a woman, imposter syndrome, and social conditioning to not trust oneself.) And as much as I love my podcasts when working on production art, it’s hard to get in touch with my own ideas with the latest true crime narrative piping through my headphones.
Months ago, my therapist challenged me to take note of the objects, practices and rituals that bring me comfort and provide grounding in my day-to-day life. I figured I should sort that out for my creative life as well. What helps clear my head and prime me for play and exploration? So far, I have these:
Meditation
I’m an anxiety/ADHD girlie, so there are million ✨sparkling✨, unrelated thoughts swirling around at any given time. A moment of meditation clears the day’s worries and obligations away so I can be more present with paints, colors and shapes. Sometimes it’s a guided meditation from a favorite app, or a body scan that pulls the different pieces of me back together; sometimes it’s just the ritual of making a warm and comforting tea latte before I sit down at my desk.
Morning pages
I can’t argue with Julia Cameron and The Artist’s Way: three pages of stream-of-concious writing in the morning does wonders for helping me sort out thoughts, make connections, or, at very least, clear my mind. (Seeing a pattern yet?) Even if I don’t do it first thing in the morning, I still find benefits by sitting down with a journal at different parts of the day, when I’m looking to transition from one state of mind to another. Cameron says the writing isn’t for later consumption and doesn’t even need to be terribly coherent, but some incredible personal and creative insights have come out of me dabbling in this practice.
Music
A few years ago, I saw a professional illustrator suggest that aspiring artists should shut of all sounds - music included - because their work will “improve” in total silence.
Come again?
Between growing up the daughter of a radio host, being raised in a Baptist church and having dance as a beloved lifelong hobby, music’s been part of my universe since I was born. I can attest to its transportive and transformative power, whether in a pew or on a stage. Science backs this up - music affects the emotional centers of our brains and lights up the limbic system. It can soothe a baby, comfort a person in pain, and spark motivation. When I’m ready to make something, it can put me in a state of flow and affect what comes out onto the page.
When I’m in the sketch stage of a project, I listen to instrumental jazz or lofi beats to assist in generating ideas without editing or judgment. Back in 2018, I created a series of ink and watercolor abstracts while listening to songs about waters and currents. I also have a playlist inspired by the cosmos for when I finally sit down with my idea about celestial bodies. I promise I will get to you, stars. I promise.
One of my favorite artists, Alma Thomas, created her incredible, large works while listening to gospel, rock and R&B on records, cassettes and the radio. It’s easy to see music’s influence while watching Alma’s signature brushstrokes dance across the canvas. Wild to think that someone would suggest not using something that’s been a source of inspiration for humans for millennia.
So… what to make?
That’s the question, isn’t it? I’m getting comfortable with the discomfort of a blank page. When I don’t have a specific idea in mind, my go-to is playing with color mixing and making color palettes. For what? Eh, who knows. And in the moment, does it really matter?
The funny thing about drafting this post and looking at past work is seeing that the bones have been there all along. It’s a matter of getting out of my own way — and not privileging so much outside opinion over my own. Getting back to self is how I get back to that joy of putting pen, brush or pencil to paper.
I’ve been ruminating over a nugget of wisdom that Jason Reynolds shared at Kweli Conference this year: “Your practice will never fail you.” Something I make today may come in handy tomorrow, next week, next year or beyond. Or maybe never, and that’s just as valid. The point is to simply position myself so I can get something on the page.
Or “butt in chair,” as James Ransome would say.
What about you? What does your personal creative practice look like? What does it desperately need? Do you have a favorite place, tool or piece of inspiration? Tell me about it in the comments. :)