On artists block
Is it always a bad thing not to be working?
The redwings are back, which means winter. I know because I saw them in the garden, and also, there are no holly berries left on the bush. It’s always an abundant display of berries at the start of November, and they are always gone long before the Christmas wreath is cut, but I don’t regret that. I’d rather have redwings.
I have a sketch of them drawn up, but I won’t be printing that any time soon. It’s not next on my list, or second, or third. I’m not, I realised, a person that suffers from artists block. I have a lot of sketchbooks with ideas in, a result of having a good sketchbook practice (if you don’t, you really should) and being quite old. I can only print a tiny fraction of the ideas I have, so it’s good to sit on the ideas a while and make sure they are good ones.
My son was complaining during the half term holiday of artists block, but it seemed to be less of a block, more of a feeling of guilt, that, having free time, he should be using it productively. This is a problem in western thinking, that we should always be doing, that our worth is tied up somehow in our productivity. My son had been nonstop busy at school, and I saw no reason for him to carry on the frenzy at home. A few days resting would do him good.
Periods of high and low productivity are built into me, living on a school where my life is governed by term times, and as a manic depressive person. I’ve always taken my ability to work to be a fluctuating thing. I stockpile ideas, and I try to start a new project before the old one is quite finished so there’s no dead time in between them; starting a project is the hardest bit. I’m printing the snake, but I’m also cutting the next block (It’s an apple tree, which seems fitting after a snake, in some way).
Some times are just fallowtimes. Monday (the 7th of November) was the cross quarter day, marking the halfway point between the equinoxes, often celebrated as Samhain, the end of the Celtic year. I often feel celebrate is the wrong word for this occasion, and took time to commune in the gentle ebb of the year. It’s not a time of frenzy, but gentle reflection. The snake has one last block and he’s finished, but he can wait.
Sometimes, I told my son, the best thing for your artistic practise is to rest. Pause, allow thoughts to settle. Don’t chase any idea; they are not all good. Allow things to ferment, let them stew, let the flavours develop; you’ll get a better product in the end. We can be working hard while we’re resting, because things are composting. Is it really artists block? Or should we simply trust that when the spring comes, the rich soil we’ve created will be ready to feed the spring flush? Art doesn’t come from a vacuum, after all.
Ps There’s sure to be some hard sell of snakes next week, so enjoy this quiet post.