Alchemical Cartographers of Art & Spirit

I am having a great time bathing in my own frustration ( could someone turn the hot water off?) and trying out my authentic voice in the metaphorical shower. That is to say, along with some other artists I am participating in a workshop called "Seeking Authentic Voice" offered by artist, coach and blogger, Leslie Avon Miller. We are exploring and mining some deep veins of artistic importance (hard hats are required, along with steel toed boots). In addition to my new work as a miner (no asbestos hazards here) I have dived into a new Dharma pool of brilliant sea green waters and refreshing Sangha breezes. This is a perfect combo pak, filled with richness and excitement and new things. New neural pathways are being forged and old trails through despair are growing over from disuse.

Over the past year I have moved twice, spent time on the road, done renos to the house I am living in now. It wasn't until I looked at this with new, kinder eyes that I realized why I haven't spent a lot of concentrated time in the studio. A lot of creative time has gone into re-visioning the home I am living in now, a creative process in itself. But until stopping to have a good look at this I created a lot of angst around the art making process. Art making needs space. Like any Dharma practice it needs room to breath and space to allow things to lazily and playfully percolate to the surface. So in thinking about my frustration, which I am now acknowledging as part of the process (gasp) I was drawn to the following quote: "The greatest opportunities for creative transformation are often lodged in our discontents. Art is an alchemical process that feeds on emotional energy. When we realize that a perfect equilibrium in our lives might not be the best basis for making art, then we can begin to re-vision our stress points. So rather than try to rid your life of tension, consider doing something more creative with it."

"Don't underestimate frustration and discontent. They are eternal wellsprings for artistic expression. After sustained periods of being stuck, your impatience with the situation might unloose a new phase of creation. You might boldly paint over the picture you have been fussing over for weeks and discover the basis for an original composition in your burst of emotion." I love the idea of finding opportunity in our difficulties, of reframing things (though I don't always get this right away!). It's like nothing is ever wasted (it's the ultimate in recycling, right?) we use even adversity. from "Trust the Process : An Artist's Guide to Letting Go" by Shaun Mcniff. It's a lot like any aspect of the Dharma really. We embrace everything, the ups, the downs. We become "a bigger container" as Joko Beck puts it. So riding the horse of frustration is a necessary part of the process, even if it's not much fun. Perhaps we can come to regard it as fun??

Another idea we've been exploring in the mine shaft is the role of creator/ editor in the process. In thinking about this I referred to an old friend, "The Zen of Creativity." The late John Daido Loori offers this commentary on the act of creating art: "In the creative process, as long as the energy is strong, the process continues. It may take minutes or hours. As long as you feel chi peaking and flowing, let it run its course. It's important to allow this flow and expression, without attempting to edit what is happening - without trying to name, judge, analyze, or understand it. The time for editing is later. The time for uninhibited flow of expression is now."

... "The editing process begins with reconnecting with the feeling, the resonance, that was present during the creation of the work of art. Then we slowly and deliberately remove the unnecessary elements, without disturbing the feeling of resonance. If the resonance weakens, we've gone too far."

"... Attending to chi and resonance can facilitate the process considerably, particularly if the mind is empty and you trust your intuition. ... Ultimately, all of the elements, ... muse, hara, chi, resonance, expression, editing - are really nothing but the self. It is important to trust this and to trust the process. Trust yourself. Your way of experiencing the world is unique. And what you're trying to do is give voice to this unique experience. Criticism in art is certainly valuable, but the creative process and developing your creative abilities is not the place for it. It is important, in engaging the creative process, to be able to work freely, without hindrance or judgment." These are important suggestions to work with I think, to make them your own. I find there is always a period of understanding and then adjustment as we work them into our own process.

So it is a rich and on-going exploration. I have decided I want to get lost in the "process" of creating. I want to forget about the end product. Considering outcomes is counter productive and stifling in the act of creation. As in the work of the Dharma and awareness we just want to be present to what we are doing, not constantly catapulting ourselves into the future.

I have decided that as part of the creation process I will conjure up an inner guide (I acknowledge the need for help) to offer positive direction and guidance. I need a road map through the creative wilderness. It is easy to get lost, to get off track. The automobile association towing service apparently doesn't service this area. I need an alchemical, cartographer type in my court, failing the service of a spiritual tow truck. Do you think I could advertise for her on Craigslist? I will know her when she answers my advert. When she comes for her interview she will be slightly eccentric, graceful, yet awkward, unusual, and bookish, homely, yet intensely attractive. If you were to peak into my studio you would see her there, a tall woman with dishevelled dark hair in a long blue skirt, wearing blundstone boots and a lacey shawl. She would be telling me some funny story and doing an impersonation of someone that would have me rolling on the ground. Of course I would hire her on the spot. The only fee she would charge is gingerbread cake and strong black tea sometime in the late afternoon. And as needed she would put on her dark rimmed glasses and turn her razor sharp sense of inquiry toward the canvas and ask me just the question I need to put me back to work. If you see her, tell her I'm looking for her.

Mara's Been Dipping Into The Paint Pots

I know you've seen this image before.  It's kind of like I'm serving you leftovers.  Last time you had the whole thing and now you're getting just a small portion, an ear, an eye, a bit of leaf.  And why leftovers you ask?   It's not that I haven't been cooking up anything new in the old paint pot, it's just not quite ready for public consumption, half baked, perhaps?

This painting is called "Buddha Cries A Leaf".  And even with the tear  it doesn't feel sad to me.  This Buddha feels connected to and concerned for the world, for the forests and trees, for the natural world.  The tear drop leaf is a tear of compassion and concern.

I'm thinking about the creative process tonight.   I'm going to throw a quote out to welcome you, like a little red carpet.  Here let me unroll it:  "And often the process of creation is unenjoyable, tormenting, and frustrating, just as a prayer may open to the difficult and confusing struggles of life." -Shaun McNiff "Trust The Process."

I have been watching this phenomenon of the creative process as a source of torment and frustration over the last two weeks.  I have been  looking over my own shoulder which makes me sound like a strange 2 headed zen monster.  In getting some paintings ready for submission to the Art Gallery's summer show, here's what I've learned.  For me painting is a long windy process.  I don't usually know where I'm going and there are often detours and dead end roads along the way.  I need lots of time and space to navigate all the unknown curves.  And so it goes that a reservation at a nice hotel that needs to be claimed by 4 pm, doesn't really work for me.  I knew that before I started but thought I would just take the trip and everything would work out fine.  Ha!  My studio became a dojo where instead of quietly and meditatively taking up the paint brush I engaged in a few rounds of wrestling.  Killer Kowalski put on his best blue leotard and stopped by for a round or two.  Most of the time I had myself all twisted up in a figure four leg lock and was pulling my own hair.  Killer thought this was pretty funny stuff!

When I go to paint, usually I am just going to paint, if that makes any sense to you.  On a good day I explore the materials, muck about and hours can pass.  I am happily engaged and sometimes something pleasing emerges.  But because I "needed" to produce something by a specific date for a specific audience I made myself all crazy.  What would the curator like?  And  of course, it must be really good, after all this is the big, public gallery here in town.  So by now I am really twisted up like a psychotic pretzel.  But I know better right.  So I try not to do this which some how gets me deeper into the doodoo.  I am struggling with what I should do, what I shouldn't do.  Those thoughts which I know are unhelpful are hiding there in the back of my mind, slinking around in the dark.  I can hear the little paw prints on the hardwood floors.  So it's me, some paint, some canvas and Mara.  There she is stirring the pot.  She is in her element.

I can see what I do and yet I spend days wrestling, feeling defeated and getting nowhere.  Maybe I should give this up.  Maybe I'm not really supposed to be doing this.  Maybe, maybe, maybe.  Mara stirs a little doubt into the yellow paint.  Then she smears a little attachment across the canvas.  A big messy dark spot of desire.  I wash it all off,  sit down in my chair and close my eyes.  After a while I start again.  I ask the painting to tell me what it needs.  I try to listen.  Have faith, I say to myself like a little mantra.  And so some days I take a few steps forward and a few steps back.  I am not really pleased or smitten with anything that emerges but I try not to tell the paintings they are ugly.

And so I see how all this simply reflects age old habits of how I operate in the world.  I look at myself (like my paintings) through the eyes of some imagined curator and always find myself (like the paintings) not quite good enough.  So I get all crazy and try and make myself (and my paintings) measure up to some imagined standards.  I see how counter productive it is as I work in the studio.  I see how this little room  strewn with brushes and paper is really just a mirror of the bigger rooms that I live in.  I see where the work is to be done. 

And so instead of giving up or getting mad or depressed, or winging something out the window, everyday I get up and start all over again.  I make the effort to relax and just be.  I try to forget that  I am working toward an end.  I make it my aim to focus on the process.  Some days I am more successful than others and some days I find myself lying in a knot on the floor.   But it is the willingness to reorient and to learn that is important: the ability to add a line or two to a paint smear and make it beautiful, to rework what seems unworkable.   I am "Going, going, going beyond, always becoming Buddha" - from  "The Scripture of Great Wisdom."