How Do We Get Better At Our Art?
The question that many creatives raise when deciding to heed the call of the Muse and step boldly onto the path of the creative life, is how to get 'better'.
Most of time, we think we know what we're doing.
There are some creatives that have refused to take a class or workshop about how to engage with their medium because they are fearful of being told what to do, or that what they're doing is wrong or, by some weird magic, if they learn how to create differently, then they wouldn't be able to create how they've always created! But we don't know unless we investigate.
Sure, starting out with playing, however it makes sense to us, is a place to begin.
In moving down the road to really understand our medium, or even how other paths may help us in developing our chosen one, then we do have to read, ask questions, attend a class or workshop.
I believe that what other creatives have to offer is like a buffet: we take what works, and leave the rest.
So, after we get comfortable with how our Muse speaks to us and we've investigated how other creatives go about their projects, then what? How we talk to ourselves can determine how much we enjoy our craft or how successful we are, however it is that we define success.
Are our comments positive? Or does our critic take center stage? An amazing thing happens when we create more, whether that's writing, painting, snapping pictures, cooking, or carving.
We get better.
We get more comfortable with our medium.
We understand what happens if we combine it with music or water or other artists or create outdoors.
And the more content we become with our art then the more the critic grows silent (at least that's one possible consequence!).
It takes time to get quiet, to listen to the whispering of the Muse.
Sometimes, the quietness comes with feelings of, "I should be doing something else, I should be more productive.
" The truth is, this time isn't 'wasted'.
It's just redirected.
It's only 'wasted' if we allow ourselves to play the game of either-or, and allow our art to lose.
We make time, and yes, sometimes that time seems like it's wasted.
But did time stop when work was happening on our project, while we played with our medium? Were their hints, or a giant tidal wave, of contentment and joy? Did we learn something about ourselves or our art? Then it wasn't wasted.
Most of time, we think we know what we're doing.
There are some creatives that have refused to take a class or workshop about how to engage with their medium because they are fearful of being told what to do, or that what they're doing is wrong or, by some weird magic, if they learn how to create differently, then they wouldn't be able to create how they've always created! But we don't know unless we investigate.
Sure, starting out with playing, however it makes sense to us, is a place to begin.
In moving down the road to really understand our medium, or even how other paths may help us in developing our chosen one, then we do have to read, ask questions, attend a class or workshop.
I believe that what other creatives have to offer is like a buffet: we take what works, and leave the rest.
So, after we get comfortable with how our Muse speaks to us and we've investigated how other creatives go about their projects, then what? How we talk to ourselves can determine how much we enjoy our craft or how successful we are, however it is that we define success.
Are our comments positive? Or does our critic take center stage? An amazing thing happens when we create more, whether that's writing, painting, snapping pictures, cooking, or carving.
We get better.
We get more comfortable with our medium.
We understand what happens if we combine it with music or water or other artists or create outdoors.
And the more content we become with our art then the more the critic grows silent (at least that's one possible consequence!).
It takes time to get quiet, to listen to the whispering of the Muse.
Sometimes, the quietness comes with feelings of, "I should be doing something else, I should be more productive.
" The truth is, this time isn't 'wasted'.
It's just redirected.
It's only 'wasted' if we allow ourselves to play the game of either-or, and allow our art to lose.
We make time, and yes, sometimes that time seems like it's wasted.
But did time stop when work was happening on our project, while we played with our medium? Were their hints, or a giant tidal wave, of contentment and joy? Did we learn something about ourselves or our art? Then it wasn't wasted.
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