My son came home with a flyer for one of those ubiquitous self- help seminars, one where you get more in touch with your “inner self”. Hmmmm…..I’m thinking, enough already. I’m pretty damned familiar with my inner self, thank you. In fact, I think I’m maybe a little too “in touch” with her; right now she’s annoying me.
In general, I think of myself as a positive person, and always believed that hard work brings good results. I’ve been through other tough times and recognize that all those trite axioms are true- yes, this too shall pass, yes, there’s always darkness before the dawn. OK, we get it. But so what? Right now I’m tired, I want a sign that things are getting better, and everyone I talk to is feeling the same way.
When the immediacy of hard times makes me more conscious of the bottom line, I’ve often wondered about the value of my work. Art and design seem frivolous, the “peacock” whose purpose is questionable. But as I look for what feeds my soul lately, I see the value that creative thinking adds to our lives, maybe even more now than when it’s easy. It’s all about the outer expression of that interior self, and we all wear way too much black these days.
Leo Leonni wrote a wonderful children’s book called “Frederick the Mouse”. While all the other mice gather nuts and branches preparing their nest for winter, Frederick collects colors, thoughts, words and imaginings. Come February, when the mice have had just about enough of the grayness and sameness of the days, Frederick’s imagination brings light into their cave. That’s the power of art- in all its forms and permutations, it brings laughter and light into our lives. And it’s easy to forget the importance of that when we pull in our belts to hunker down through tough times.
But it’s also easy to hide from the realities of tough situations in pleasures, and that’s the other side of the coin. Strip away the extraneous and we can see how we’ve hidden from some of the challenges in our lives. The stark reality of uncertainty brings mistakes into focus, and the ostrich’s head is in danger of being permanently implanted in the sand. So it’s all about balance. As I finally managed to do a handstand after years of falling over, physical and metaphorical balance seem to be coming little closer. No accident that happens now, as I’m dealing with that merging of art and reality in my life and my work.
In these last couple of years, I’ve been fortunate to have work, but the shape of it has changed. Gone are the grand projects of the past- people just aren’t building those today. It’s a bit like going from full orchestra to soloist. But much like in music, there’s real pleasure in the immediacy of this new venue- less complex, more intimate, fine tuned and each note resonates. Small projects require a different kind of attention to detail; I’m certainly enjoying the immediacy of completion and results at a time when so much else is in flux. Like everyone I’m adapting.
I’ve thought a whole lot this week about transitions, about the changes I’ve experienced in this recession, about decisions I’ve made and fears that have kept me from growing. Instead of regretting my choices I’m learning from them, and thinking about goals. I’m using this time- freer than I’ve ever had before- to recalibrate; to research new ideas and fill in professional blanks that I’ve ignored. This time has been a gift, albeit one reluctantly received. In the past I blew through projects, tenacious, mostly organized and efficient, without really considering what I wanted at the end of the day, or a year from now, or five. I kept up, kept pace, reacted and responded, but never really developed clear direction. Now I’m thinking about what I want, where I want to be and how to get there.
As an art student in “the good old” days I worked in a darkroom, blindly rolling film into a little box by touch. I remember the feeling of detachment between process and results, and how much depended upon instinct and intuition. I’m a painter, and oil to canvas is immediate and tangible; I mix a color, smear it on and see how it works. The darkroom process was disconcerting for me- results seemed something of a crapshoot ruled by timing and practice. Right now my life feels a little like that- not knowing what will come from the changes of the past couple of years, I’m learning to count on experience and instincts. Fortunately, I have plenty of both- and when they fail, I’ve got yoga to remind me- and of my fallibility, because sure as hell, I’ll make lots more mistakes. Wax on, wax off…
Time out is a good thing, and this transition is providing that, if nothing else. Quiet time to sort through, figure out, clean house and reorganize; time to empty the proverbial closets and see what I’ve got stashed in there. Time for patience and reflection, and marrying those “inner” and “outer” selves. For someone like me who is used to results, to having a task at hand, to having an answer and solving a problem, that’s been a hard- and very humbling- lesson, but one I most certainly needed to learn.
It’s very easy to fall into the trap of cynicism when we’ve been working hard and getting ambiguous results in any aspect of our lives. And that’s a danger, because we miss the big picture. Truth is, it takes time for change, and right now patience and perseverance are hard to maintain, but most essential. And lest we get too serious, I’m thinking of that peacock, and how some “frivolous” pleasures help pass the time more lightly.
Some things just take time…
