Longing for Reflection
Why make art?
The gifting season lifted off early this year, right? I have no gift guide to share, except in the most philosophical terms.
An investigation of giving and receiving is persistent in my work with creative clients. Every artist and writer wonders about the legitimacy of a wish to see an impact of their work reflected by the world, whether through shock, appreciation or getting paid. They want to be seen and understood. It’s a longing for connection and reciprocity.
The celebrated author of a recently published book on creativity suggests simply bypassing this question of ‘why?’—why create art?—in service to the work, not allowing distracting queries about audience or market to interrupt the process. I haven’t seen that approach work well widely, though in the same way I’ve advised clients to allow other people to think whatever they want about their work, with generosity, giving permission like a gift. This works sometimes, but at other times it’s more useful to delve right into the fundamental question rather than repress it.
To start, allowing yourself to accept the irresistibly tantalizing allure of engaging with others though art, gives the whole inquiry a little elbow room. Artistic expression is one of the only ways we can share more of ourselves in this culture. It’s like art thins the membrane between inside and outside, making it more permeable, causing a charged differential that ignites movement and transformations of all kinds. Longing for that experience makes us vulnerable, too—and so that’s also allowed. We’re just letting it all be okay, to begin—wanting to be famous, wanting the gold star, wanting the loving recognition, fearing vulnerability. All fine.
Then, in this open space, we can investigate how feelings about a potential response to our work are related to habitual ideas of self-worth and worthiness. Gently, tug the string, check in with how your parents viewed art and artists, and your efforts. How did they respond to your creative endeavors? What were you told about your own talents? How did you feel about your own creative capacities as a kid? What were your parents’ beliefs about artists? What were you taught that it means when a person creates something ‘bad’? What did you learn it meant when a person received critical acclaim for their work? This bores down to core, touching into areas close to fears from way back.
If you find some cringing evidence that your gifts were not received in a way that makes it easy for you to continue sharing them now, nurturing these long-ago wounds is potent. Sit right down in the middle of the paradox, noticing that on the one hand, it seems impossible to create without knowing it will generate a positive response, and on the other hand, it’s impossible to stop wanting to create. Those two positions can be found somatically, mapped into your body, as two loci with their own expressions. You can feel the not-allowed-to-create place. What are its gestures, emotions or qualities? And then, what is it like to experience the part of you that wants to keep creating no matter what? What is the gesture, texture, sound or quality of that place in your body? Just be interested.
For my part, I keep making things—no matter what—because I feel sure that the universe loves to experience itself through millions of different forms and facets, reflecting itself to itself continually. I love to participate in the reciprocity through this cosmic call and response with beauty. That urge is a gentle, uplifting pressure that helps me to go beyond the rational into the tangled mystery. I can’t know why—but I can understand the why-not, and keep moving.
“The reasons to make things are really to have an experience of the process,” says Kiki Smith (1954—), who brings a loving nuance to the question of ‘why?’ “For my work I don’t try to set it in any path or any direction. I really try to follow it. I really believe in following it, and not questioning my impetus or my motive for doing it. I really wait. I just do it, and I see what happens. I’m not trying to get anywhere, or to have my work mean anything. Or stand for anything,” she explains. Smith describes the act of creation as a curious wish to experience the process, a willing release of control, and a reflection of cosmic beauty. “In another way,” she concludes, “it’s about celebration of being here in this form now.”
Creative Practice
Outside of the sit-down investigations described above, it can be illuminating to take a week to study giving and receiving more widely. There is so much nuance in this fundamental gesture of creating.
+Micro-level: What are the smallest units of reciprocity in your life? How do you give an email, give someone a plate of toast, receive a cappuccino, receive a compliment or receive some inspiration? What is it like to take a breath? Pour a glass of water? Where do things come from? How do you respond in receiving them? How do you recognize the smallest gifts you give in your day? How do you receive color from the sky? When you are in reciprocity, how does it feel? And, of course, ultimately, what can this tell you about your expectations around the way you give and receive your creativity?
+Receiving somatically: Many tantric practices revolve around receiving and giving, delving into the somatics of reciprocity. How do you receive what comes your way in your body? What qualities does that energetic exchange have? Where do you feel it? Are there areas in your body that feel numb to receiving or to giving? This is a more body-centered investigation of the above and can begin, even, with receiving gravity, or light.
+Hidden beauty: What happens when you dance and no one sees, or draw something anonymously in the sand? Try it, if you like. Is the world is a better place afterwards? What are your beliefs around the mystery of art? Why did artists paint the cave walls at Lascaux? What is your commitment to, as Kiki Smith says, celebrating “being here in this form now”? Is art solely an avenue for human-to-human communication in real time?
+Getting practical: Whatever project you are working on, would you do it if you knew it would not generate recognition? If not, then it’s also important to look into the passion you’re holding to fuel the thing. Is there something that you would do or make—no matter what? (And, of course, paradoxically the chances that the project will receive recognition we all long for begin to climb once you stop focussing on that aspect.)
+Discerning Judgement: Listen for the judgements you speak or think about the creative work of others. How do you receive art? What do your judgements demonstrate about the rules you’ve created for yourself? This is the gold! What is allowed and not allowed in your creative practice? Would you like to break those rules?
Did you write this directly to me? 😉 thank you for sharing and asking and inviting all of these questions in. Your timing is GOLD.