Untangling 'process.'

In 'Why Not Now,' we try to notice the rules we have about our projects.

We all have rules.

Noticing them doesn't obligate us to break them. But it does give us more information.

As I began to untangle my own rules about my project, Permission to be in the Studio, I found a thread connecting my life now to my life back then -- when I was a practicing artist.

And that thread is process.

Ding-ding-ding!

I mentioned it in this post, about the creative activity that's supposed to happen in the Studio.

It's this rule (and please know that these absurd rules apply only to me):

 

Time in the Studio needs to be doing -- actively creating -- rather than percolating, or filling up, or moving, despite what I say I want from this time. And doing in a dynamic, creative way rather than a process-oriented way.

And my brain went, ding-ding-ding!

What do I know?

So, what do I know about process? 

Now, I believe that process is everything.

We are never done with processing. That's not a depressing thing. If we could be done, we wouldn't be human.

Processing is not about eradicating problems.

It's about discovering who you are, how you think and react, making connections, and learning how to work with your you-ness.

What do I know about process? 

There is a richness in process. It is so full and rewarding, even as it can be frustrating.

I know that processing one thing is simultaneously processing other things, because they are all connected. The issue you're examining is echoing through other parts of your life.

Process is all.

Embarrassment.

What do I know about my old associations with process? And I don't, by the way, think these are painful memories at this point, but rather, habits of thought.

In my old life as an artist, process was an important part of my work, as it is for many craft artists.

But part of me believed that it was embarrassing, and that I needed to justify and defend it.

In my mind, there was creative work, and there was process (never mind that creative work without process often means that nothing is brought to fruition).

One had nothing to do with the other. And one was inherently better than the other.

I believed that I was judged by how I spent my time (I wasn't).

I believed that I was giving in to a propensity for busy work.

I believed that Time in the Studio needed to be active, creative time. Not preparation. Not process.

I had no concept of the need to process ideas and inspiration. I thought I needed to be all creative, all the time.

The process-oriented work was work I felt called to do, and yet I felt guilty. I believed that it wasn't the right way to make art.

Process in art practice can be meditative. It can be rhythmic.

It gives me time to think, to decide my next move.

Filling up.

What else do I know about Time in the Studio?

There is also the need to fill up, to find inspiration. That takes time, too.

In my old life, I was okay with going out to see art. In fact, I felt obligated. I was supposed to want to go and see it.

But I was not allowed to go down rabbit holes. That would be a waste of time, and I had very little time.

Never mind that other artists can be inspired by music or film or commercial art or toys or games or decorative arts or people or fiction or poetry or sports or landscape.

I knew it was okay for them, but I couldn't connect it to me.

I wasn't allowed. There wasn't time.

So it turns out that this is a really important piece of the puzzle.

I thought my project was about making time to make art, but really it's about permission to do what's needed to make art.

And allowing process to be a legitimate part of the picture.

And allowing myself to make whatever I need to make, however I need to make it.