Take your art seriously | #15

I am going to show up in my full, eager, authentic and hardworking self for my art, and I am going to do it in a way that my art deserves.

This is a public announcement

I am going to stop belittling my efforts with my art. I am going to stop downplaying what I am up to with my art when people ask about it. I am going to stop acting like it is not a big deal – because it is a big deal. It is the source of inspiration and an important pillar of truth in my life. I am going to stop brushing it off like it is nothing, and instead be earnest and forthcoming with my ambitions. I am going to show up in my full, eager, authentic and hardworking self for my art, and I am going to do it in a way that my art deserves.

If art is my life’s work – and I feel that it is – then doesn’t it make sense that, for the time I have and with the resources I have, I need to come to it with vigour, rigour and conviction? That I do it justice? If this is the thing I find meaningful, then this is the thing I need to do seriously and consistently.

I implore you to take your art, whatever that may be for you, seriously too.

Today, while I meandered the streets on the hunt for dinner, I gave myself permission to stop and watch two buskers. One was a yogi contortionist who first put himself through a circular tube, folding his body in half. He then closed himself in a really narrow square box. He was his own hype man, asking the audience to cheer for him and to keep clapping while he performed his tricks. He was his own cheerleader, pitching to the audience that he was worth £10 or £20 in donations. And at the start of each performance, he was his first believer because out there in front of hundreds of tourists and amused Londoners, everyone was sceptical until he performed his tricks. And he was the only one who knew he could and had done so before.

The second was a singer who seemed so at ease sharing her songs, her beautiful voice and her guitar strums. She played a few covers with grace, and weaved in her own songs like they belonged at the precise moment she shared it with the world. Watching her courageously put herself out there made me think that so many of us have creative ambitions we feel too scared to express. 

It is natural to want to create and share our expressions with the world.

We don’t have to be award-winning artists or the next Frieda Kahlo for our art to have meaning and value. And yet it is so much easier to think that creativity isn’t for everyone than to embrace putting one’s art out there seriously.

On a daily lived-experience level, it is easy to think I will never make it as an artist - here defined as making a living out of my art- so why even bother starting?

It is easy to feel scared that other people are judging me as I film myself longboarding in public or as I lug frames of my artwork for yet another local art exhibition. It is easy to feel not good enough and not worth it because my follower count is low. 

Watching her sing brought me back to catching up with my friend the night before. She asked how I had the courage to do what I was doing and wasn't I scared? While it was clear she admired me, I imagine she couldn’t quite understand my mental model. Perhaps I was being a bit idealistic? After we both went to a prestigious business school, we entered the corporate world where she still is. To her, leaving that for a startup was normal for our sphere, but to leave the startup altogether for a sabbatical focused on making art? Potentially for a living, too? I think that she wonders if I will really sustain my livelihood as an artist or if I will eventually go back to my old job. And if I do, whether the departure would have been worth it in the first place. 

Like my friend admiring in head-scratching awe, I had a similar admiration for the two buskers who showed up in the heart of London’s tourist hub to perform and share their gifts with the world. And more than that, despite not knowing how big the crowd will be on any particular day or how much money they will rake in, they don’t question whether to show up. They are there regardless. This more than anything ricocheted my world. They not only create and share their art with the world, but they show up without question. I’d love to know, for every artist who shows up, how many others are hiding, wishing they’d have the courage? 

I realised that we could do anything if we felt courageous enough to be serious about it, if we were willing to keep showing up for ourselves. 

I took part in my second art trail this weekend just outside London. Art trails are a weekend-long event where the works of local artists are shown across public halls and other venues that agree to participate. These venues can be anything from church halls to restaurants and lettings agents to bakeries. In the leadup to this art trail, I was a bit half-arsed about it. I guess I didn’t want to seem like I actually cared. So if nothing came out of the art trail, I could act like I didn’t really care anyway! But the thing is I do care a lot about my art and yet I kept belittling it. I’d paid an entry fee to be part of it. A group of people had liaised with all the venues to make it possible for thirty or so of us to exhibit. But when people would ask if they could come and support me, the judge inside me would instantly cringe. It said “I don’t want to make them come all the way and see that it is in some out-of-the-way pub and worse still, out in the stables in the back.” I was ashamed of it and I projected that onto other people’s earnest and sincere enthusiasm to celebrate me and my work! 

Such a dichotomy to act that way, because I actually do believe in my art. I believe that I am an artist with distinct potential. I already believe that, even for the work I have produced in my currently nascent era – I haven’t even crossed my one-year anniversary of painting! I believe that if I keep going, my work will keep improving in a way that feels special and dignified. I believe that my art is beautiful and I am proud of what I produce. I say all this not in an arrogant, narcissistic sort of way but in a self-convicted, this-is-my-natural-talent sort of way. I have been told I have a good eye, I compose a picture well and I know that with hardwork and dedication I can keep making beautiful work. 

I see my art as a spiritual act of devotion.

It feels so true and real in my body. When I paint, the whole world knows to quiet down. The spaciousness between each breath in and out grows, my perception of reality no longer a question as the solid mass of me as a human being strengthens. I know that I am more real than ever. I feel the depths of my emotions, my tears flow like a river or my elated heart sings and twirls. There is nothing quite like this almighty act of devotion that has chosen to possess me. 

Whenever I mix colour, it feels instinctive -- a morsel of Cadmium Red, a dot of Prussian Blue, a bit of Lemon Yellow. I know when I’ve been too generous with the Titanium White and because there is no going back, the mixing has to begin again. It is an ongoing experiment where speed of accuracy refines and refines.

Colours have infinite permutations so it is like play but it is still serious.

When the colour on my palette knife finally matches what I am trying to depict, a little spark of joy erupts in my heart. It celebrates my ever growing ability to observe closely and accurately. And despite all these words, it is still one of those things that words cannot quite convey the totality of. I wish that, through touch, I could transmit the sensation of how absolutely and fully it feels in me. 

What I am coming to realise is that this is both a public announcement and a reminder to myself.

Here I am vowing to stop belittling my hard work and efforts. I want to stop judging myself and others for our efforts. I want to divert that energy to show up earnestly and seriously for my own work. I want to stop deflecting compliments or excitement about my art, especially when I exhibit, even if it is a local exhibition and even if I think it is no big deal. It will take time, but I want to start remembering that I am worth being recognised, seen and celebrated. 

Thanks for reading!

Caryn