Notes From 'The Artist's Way'
In March this year, for possibly the first time, I finished a non-work thing from start to finish.
I did The Artist’s Way.
Over a 12 weeks, there are three key things that the author recommends you do to recover creatively.
The first is the morning pages. Three pages of stream-of-consciousness writing, first thing in the morning, when your brain is still in theta state. You aren’t trying to be eloquent; you’re simply taking a morning dump, but for your mind. You’ll likely talk shit about your mother and husband or discuss the weird stuff in your dreams. And you wont get it, until you do.
I’ve done the morning pages for six months now, pretty consistently, and I find that it induces a subtle sort of metacognition. You're no longer feeling as tethered to all the potentially hysterical story-making that your mind does. As a result, these stories, which tend to comprise of the circumstances of your life, gently lose their hold on you.
For me, the result is better emotional regulation. My therapist even said it. I also find that the morning pages help me understand what I'm thinking about. I was surprised by how unaware I was of the broad themes that seem dominated my mind, until I started this exercise.
The second is the Artist’s Date. The idea is to indulge your inner child by going on a weekly playdate. By yourself. I finally did the things that my husband and friends would never do with me. I went to the planetarium. And to the Hijron ka Khanqah. And the flower market. I made a vision board. I sent two of my closest friends (unrequited) love letters. For twelve weeks, I fucked off by myself every other day to have some fun.
The third tool is a weekly list of tasks that you must finish. My favourite ones included ‘making up a delicious scent’ (I made a floral tea), writing about five imaginary lives and making lists of things that bring you joy. They are an eclectic collection of activities and journal prompts that help you learn about yourself.
Okay, I had fun for a few weeks, but how did it affect my life?
Truthfully, I went into this whole process with the secret hope that it would do for me what it did for Elizabeth Gilbert and Russel Brand and Alicia Keys. That I would be somehow unrecognisable by the end of it. That was not to be. What it did do, though, was gently shift some of my perspectives.
Creativity is an act of bravery: As a primarily passive internet lurker, for years, I’ve silently consumed content that others put out - opinion columnists, food bloggers, fashion influencers, skincare experts and the odd life coach. Throughout this time, I’ve silently judged some of these folks, being overly cerebral in my critique and rolling my eyes at how spectacularly un-self-aware they all seemed.
But I know now that all that was more about me than any of these creators.
Looking at life through the myopic lens of “is this cool” is essentially thought prison. It is not as fun or necessary to be serious and aloof as it is to do something scary and, you know, live a little.
Folk that feel second hand embarrassment don’t get it. We’re being mean to others, which likely also means that we’re being mean to ourselves. It’s a lose-lose.
There is no such thing as high-off and low-off art: The art market is tiny and extraordinarily consolidated. According to one study, over a third of the artists featured in highly prestigious solo exhibitions in the US came from just five galleries. To put it mildly, the art world has a diversity and inclusion problem. Like most artistic institutions, It is carefully gatekept. It makes the art world the uppity, pretentious clique it is, and it prevents us from conceiving of everyday people, ourselves included, as artistic and valuable.
At the heart of it, creativity is about self-expression, having fun, and bringing things to life. It does not have to be the exclusive preserve of the 1%. We can reclaim our power by rejecting this worldview. My way of doing that is to make my ugly ass art and put it all over my house.
We could all embrace frivolity more: As someone who works in public policy, I've become accustomed to projecting a serious persona in my professional life. I have to use obscure words a lot, and much of my time is spent on conceptual analysis.
So you can only imagine my bewilderment when Cameron makes a passionate case for frivolity. She writes, "Frivolity is an important part of the creative process. It is the play that leads to the work. We must have the courage to be foolish as well as the wisdom to be wise."
I had unwittingly started taking myself too seriously. But the veneers we all cultivate to make our way in the world should not come at the cost of our inner sparkle.
“Artists and intellectuals are not he same animal. This causes a great deal of confusion. Our schools educate us intellectually but not artistically. We learn to deconstruct art, not construct it.”
Mending things feels good: By week 3 of the process, in what was an utterly inexplicable side effect, I had re-organised our bookshelf and fully de-cluttered my closet. My husband, the more orderly of us, watched, astonished, as I started to lean into being helpful around the house. I finally got some stuff dry cleaned, had our couch re-upholstered and begged our landlords to repaint the house.
Oddly enough, the week after, here’s what Cameron said:
We can tend our plants today and, we can adopt that dog. Life is happening right now. This is it. This is as good as it gets.