As I work on revising my draft, I’m finding a useful counterpoint in the messy play I allow myself in a field I come to with limited skills and lower expectations.
To revise my writing is to tighten it, hopefully, to become as clear as I can about what I want to say, and then make the saying as precise and concise as I possibly can, while maintaining a voice that is as authentically me (however problematic that notion might be) as my skills allow. It involves a metaphorical x-acto knife as much as it does a pen . . . Sprawl is not what I’m trying to do there, and the time is past for sloppy indulgence. Discernment becomes tougher the closer I get to saying what is really important, but the work demands that discernment. My “Mean Inner Critics” — as I’ve joked about them before in regards to my sketches — serve a very usual function when Draft II must emerge from Draft I.
Hence the need for some messy play.
Evidence of mess above, my gear spread out across the dining table in the early morning — I muck away while he’s still sleeping. . . .
Below, two pages from my Illustrated/Junk journal as I turn it from January to February.
Transcription of my Snowdrops page from yesterday, the last day of January:
Across the top: Ran today, 5.5 km total, but that included a 5-minute walk as warm-up and cool-down
Perpendicular, to the right of the snowdrop: Reading: Paul Auster’s 4 3 2 1; Knitting: A pair of socks for Rachel. I’m on the second sock but spent 90 minutes tonight frogging what I’d knit in the previous hour; Watching: We’ve just started a Netflix series called Black Earth Rising.
Below the stamped word “snowdrops”: And that’s the only snow we’ve had in this first month of the year…
Trying to work out how to keep all the creative balls in the air without feeling I have to do each activity every day because that’s impossible. . . .
Also blooming on the terrace: One pink hellebore and one white one, the sarcococca — headily fragrant, the wallflower, all scraggly coloured scent.
And here’s the start of my February pages. My almost-four g’daughter gave me two paintings earlier this month after I’d let her use my Travel Kit of watercolours. She’d dismissed my foolish offers to show her how to use the paints and just dove in, soaking up pigment like nobody’s business. . . Compared to the fine-motor concentration I’ve seen her bring to colouring-in someone else’s drawing, her painting concentration had a more flamboyant, exuberant energy.
My supply of kids’ art is always greater than fridge or frames can accommodate, but I couldn’t bring myself to throw these pages away. And this morning, as I clipped the letters “P L A Y” from an Opus Art Supplies mailing, I decided this was where E’s creations belonged, but the only way to make them fit — and to make my art from her art –was to bring out the scissors and glue.
And that process spurred me on to some thinking about what I’m doing in this messy play, about why I’m wasting time doing something I’m not (yet?) good at. About whether it’s important to do things I’m not good at but that I might enjoy. . . .
And I jotted some of those thoughts down here.
Transcription:
Left page, top left: So we’re already into Month 2 of this year — it’s no longer the “new” one. And in January, I managed 23 journal pages in 31 days.
Bottom left: Some of my January pages really please me and others make me cringe. Some of my collages seem crude, messy, grade-school-ish. Some pages are full only of hand-written prose, no illustrations at all. . .
Middle right, then curving down to the bottom of the page and up the spine of the right-side page:
Compared to some of the wonderful journal pages I see on Instagram, so many of mine strike me as sloppy, messy, embarrassing, so I’ve collaged elements from E’s watercoloured pages. She took her play so seriously. So seriously and joyfully at once.
Top right: She completely committed, convinced that she knew how to paint, despite never having used similar brush or paints before.
Centre right, a quotation from David Bayles and Ted Orland’s Art and Fear: Observations on the Perils (and Rewards) of ArtMaking: The function of the overwhelming majority of your artwork is simply to teach you to make the small fraction of your artwork that soars.
Bottom, slanting upwards: So here’s my commitment to another month of making messy journal pages, of playing despite the fear of ridicule or censure.
Because when I get past my fear of ridicule (or simply accept it as a slightly irritating companion that I try to ignore), I find these efforts at something I’m not particularly good at (not false modesty, as you can see. I’d say I’m muddling-middling amateur) humbling, instructive, exhilarating, and liberating all at once. And I hope that they might be yielding results that can’t be seen on the page. They’re changing me in ways I can’t know yet; I need patience and faith in the unpredictable discipline of regular play.
So tell me, have you found time for pursuits you’re not especially good at? Do you think there’s any point to this, or would you prefer to save your time for those activities at which you’re more likely to excel? When’s the last time you did something with very amateurish results? Was that okay? Fun? Upsetting? At what point does the frustration of trying something new cancel any enjoyment? No right or wrong answers — awkward, messy, thinking-out-loud is allowed here, as in my journal 😉
Oh, I love this. The contrast of tight editing vs loose painting is a balancing act, a metaphor for life, perhaps. We can't be tight all the time and playing with your journal is something I admire very much. Children often show us the way, don't they?
It does always seem to come back to balance, doesn't it? And so often, as you say, to children showing us the way . . .
Am trying to learn to speak Italian…second class today. Fabulous professor but am wondering if I will be able to master this beautiful language.
We need to challenge ourselves and you seem to do so regularly. That probably keeps you energized and vibrant.
Good for you — whatever you pick up will enrich your travels this year. I find the personal pronouns tricky in Italian, and I despair of ever rolling my Rs or bouncing those doubled consonants, but as you say, challenge is good for us!
I strongly believe that a play element, doing something for fun, something which answers a creative question, is important at any age. I can tell when this is so because of the degree of focus and concentration I bring to the task – not the focus of deadline or target, but of that part of my brain which was developed to make things and which we tend to ignore. My weekly sessions at the jewellery workshop are a case in point; I have been going for almost three years now and have made some pleasant items but every week I am astounded at what other people produce. And then I get back to cutting up re-purposed gold for something more within my capabilities. But those two hours of total focus are worth every penny and, at the end, there is something I have made, something within my remit of creativity. That is the best bit, even better than wearing it. Rather opens up the question of endeavour v reward. Hope the second edit goes well.
This is it, yes! I love the focus and concentration I recognise in myself when I'm cutting and pasting or trying to capture the curve of a nostril in pencil on my page. It's a completely different focus than I bring to writing or even to knitting, and I'm convinced it's having some sort of beneficial neurological or biochemical effect. . . Do you ever consider sharing some of your creations on the blog? Or would that be putting the emphasis in the wrong place (i.e.product over process)?
I haven't really thought about that. It might be an idea and seeing them together would be good, although a couple have already gone off to their new owners. Perhaps when I finish my present project?
i'll be watching 😉
I (re)took up knitting this week. I learned as a child, but as an adult gravitated towards crochet, which is somewhat more instantly gratifying. But I have lots of yarny friends and some not-so-inconsiderable pattern envy, and then a shawl pattern (Find Your Fade) spoke to me, so I decided to relearn to knit so I could do some stash diving and make a shawl. One the one hand, I am *astonished* at the muscle memory that has retrieved a skill from close to 50 year ago. On the other hand, I am incredibly frustrated with my mistakes, which is silly (see the intervening 50 years or so). On the third hand, I am delighting in a new skill, a new project, a new slant.
Good for you! I'm so pleased to hear from you readers who are willing to try something you're not sure of being good at. I just looked at that pattern, and I'm impressed you're tackling some lacework on this first project back to knitting. It's going to be a gorgeous shawl — be patient with yourself along the way, even though you might be expecting faster progress, what with your three hands and all 😉
I think playing like this frees the mind and unfetters the spirit. Go girl!
Yes! I do feel that play effects changes we don't see immediately — the loosening up we experience when we truly play, I believe, migrates into our other more "serious" enterprises.
To your "Mean Inner Critic":
Everything you need is already in your journal….PLAY….ENJOY…. follow the grandaughter's wisdom 🙂
I do more things where I'm good at and some where I'm very,very,very bad (like following my inner voice of Florence Foster Jenkins ;-)….)
Dottoressa
I bet you're being hard on yourself (or you have very noisy Mean Inner Critics!!) and you sing like a nightingale, if only in the shower 😉
Peeping into your notebook(s) is such a delight. Before I lived here, many years ago, I noticed just how much English people seem to use a notebook to organize themselves, take to meetings, etc.. A much more pronounced practise than where I am from. I adopted that practice and have since filled volumes with my scribbles. Oh how I I love a good scribble.
And I thank my lucky stars for Paperchase-a treasure chest of notebooks, adorned and unadorned.
For each of my girlfiends,I made a hand-decorated journal for their birthday in 2018, using mostly recycled leather scraps arranged in abstract designs on the cover. Their thank you notes, or feedback, told me what they were using the notebook for. All the delightful things, ranging from new home decorating ideas,(complete with glued in paint chips and pages from magazines), to planning their annual trip to Paris with their high school French students.
Seeing your journals, your sketching, your grand daughter's art is a warm welcome to look through the window of a creative person's studio and mind.
Isn't it the best when children dive right in…who cares if they have never painted with those supplies before-they just dive. The enthusiasm inspires.
A.in London
What a wonderful birthday gift idea! And I love the range of uses to which your GFs put their journals. I think, increasingly, the push to digitization, as helpful and freeing, has many of us searching for something more hands-on, some kind of "making our mark" activity, even if the marks are temporary or amateur.
Many of your blog posts really resonate with me, but none so much as this one. First of all, what a clever and creative way to preserve your grand-daughter's art; so much more permanent that displaying it on the fridge!
Secondly, concerning my own attempts to do something I'm not particularly good at, that could apply to almost everything I do! I seem to be a klutz at just about anything and it's only been lately that I haven't let it bother me. When I was in Junior High, our art teacher happened to be the same teacher we had had in Grade 4. One day he brought in some of our work from that earlier time to show us how much we had improved.I was mortified to see that I had not improved one iota! Needless to say, that was the end of any artistic notions I may have had, even though I've always wanted to be able to sketch while travelling. A few years ago I had a rather heated discussion with a good friend during which I insisted that I would never, never be able to draw. Well, your blog has inspired me to do just that and I finally realized that it doesn't matter what my drawings look like because I'm the only one who will ever see them. I can now enter the art supply store I used to admire from afar and pretend I know what I'm doing. My abilities are probably still at a Grade 4 level, but I'm having fun and that's the whole point, isn't it?
The same goes for knitting. I first learned about 10 years ago but went straight to socks with disastrous results! Now I'm spending a fair bit of time at the hospital while my husband recovers from surgery and I've gone back to knitting simple things as I can't seem to concentrate to read. I'm on my third dishcloth and still haven't managed one without any mistakes, but I keep plowing on, enjoying the process and even the less than perfect results.
Frances in Sidney
Frances, this comment delights me! If my blog has inspired you to enjoy drawing for yourself, it's done something useful! (and being able to enter an art supply store and pretend we know what we're doing is a big deal — those places were so enticing and so intimidating for years).
I'm also glad to hear you're enjoying knitting and I suspect you'll soon be leaving the mistakes behind. I hope your husband's recovery proceeds apace.
The list of things I am not good at is long and laughable (…and you've got to laugh before you toss those creations into the bin). It doesn't mean I don't keep trying to improve (or simply accept) my skill level if the skill is something I enjoy, but if it makes me feel bad or doesn't engage me then I simply stop and move on. So much to learn, even at my age.
I think it is good to remember that very few (any?) people learning a new skill are immediately considered "good". And who decides what is good enough? Those Instagram (defeating) photos don't usually represent anyone's first attempt at a learning a new skill. And didn't we tell our children growing up not to compare themselves to anyone else? "You are unique and enough!" I would invite you to take as much joy in your own creations as you did in your granddaughter's painting. Both of you are newcomers to a new kind of playing. The process should be fun– even challenging. The product? Secondary, at best. Perhaps laughable. So what?
As for your second draft writing, I came across this article last week and found myself thinking about these things in my own writing: lithub.com/are-these-bad-habits-creeping-into-your-writing/ Good luck and have a great weekend.
Thanks, Mary. sounds as if we're on the same page. . .
I have thought about this post a lot since you wrote it. Two things. One, I am always, always astonished by how many different skills and achievements you master/juggle/manage. I swear I do maybe 20% of what you do and am tired by myself:). Second, the role of the visual arts for someone who spends most of her "getting good at" energy on writing. I used to really enjoy the photo and graphic design stuff on my blog – I got good enough on Photoshop to do what I needed to do, I liked learning fonts etc. But then I was done. I tried doing a few little sketches with pencil, which was fun, but I had no interest in practicing. What feels different about your painting/sketching, at least to me from here, is the looseness and "mess" of the color washes. That appeals to me, as do your, what are they, paint pens?, and I think of trying it just for the as you say fun and mess and play of it.
Your thinking about this resonates with me. I think I'm lucky at the route I found toward expressing myself visually — one that's offered me some techniques that make room for exactly that looseness, mess, play. I've tended to pursue activities to a certain level of mastery, but I don't know that I could have tolerated those demands of myself in a new endeavour. In fact, the effort to let the process, the play, the fun — mess and all — be okay, be enough, is at least as much the challenge here as any acquisition of skill.
And I think the blog has given me some of that as well. . .
“Trying to work out how to keep all the creative balls in the air without feeling I have to do each activity every day because that's impossible.”
As so many times before, you have hit the nail on the head.
I grew up with the conviction that I was unable to draw and a complete failure at all types of needlework. I blamed my left- handedness and some rather severe teachers. I also could no play an instrument, in spite of several years of piano lessons. Being the grandchild of an architect and a pianist, I have always felt ashamed (and even a bit guilty) on both counts. For many years, I concentrated on my intellectual and verbal skills, writing and researching, teaching, editing and translating, with a bit of choir singing and knitting on the side. It is only now that I dare to pick up a pencil, an embroidery needle, or my accordion. Although… (see above).
Wow! The narratives that shape us (and shame us). Amazing that you could have been convinced you were incompetent at needlework.
Isn't it wonderful to have this time to play now, standing on the foundation of years of work that lend us confidence and daring 😉
I always love seeing your journal pages and illustrations, even if I don't read all of the notes each time. It's fun to see your "mind at play" and it's a fun reminder to carve out time (or just allow time) for the wheels to spin freely, without self-censorship. There's a quality to your illustrations, a gentleness and quizzical element that reflects so well the Frances I know.
This is a lovely comment, Sue, thoughtful and insightful. Yes, that's exactly what I want to remember, that play repays the time spent and we should be generous with it, to ourselves. . .
Maybe another reason why art is so important to you–as a writer. Read article this morning. Reminded me of you. lithub.com/how-learning-to-draw-can-help-a-writer-to-see/
Thank you.
People describe themselves as creative—and indeed may be so in some realm—but I prefer the word “imaginative,” as it is, in my mind, utterly different. To sketch, mix paints, experiment, PLAY, opens us to seeing differently, anew, nourishing our hearts and skills in the process. I say, Brava!
For me, creativity involves a material result –not necessarily of a concrete object, but at least of a project manifest to others, movement, interaction–which begins with imagination, but there's obviously much overlap between the two. And I believe increasingly that Play is imperative. . .