I can’t do that. I’m not talented enough. If only I was…
As a child you didn’t bring logic into your creative pursuits. You simply played. As responsibility and the governance of life grew, you forgot how to wonder and believe in magic. You were taught by teachers logical thinking, by family proper behavior and your peers how to fit in. Creative thinking was wrong, foolish, and just plain silly.
Although I had never actually seen a professional production, I created lavish theatrical shows as a child. My family garage became the theater. A rolling chock board transformed with paper and crayons into a backdrop. Toys from the playroom toy box were the props and my parents closets served as the costume shop. I wrote fantastical stories and cast the rag tag neighborhood gang. I even created beautiful programs from old construction paper and sold ten cent lemonade at intermission. These shows weren’t logical. They probably didn’t even make sense, but I was unafraid. I believed in possibility.
In Sussical, the Musical, the character of young Jo Jo’s imagination creates a world of beauty in the pool of his bathtub. He builds a land far greater than anyone has ever known. He simply believes anything is feasible. In Cinderella, the title character trusts that a pumpkin can transform into a carriage, and mice her footman. She accepts this solution which allows her to attend the glorious ball.
To be a brilliant artist you must let go of “should” and “must” and expand beyond what the logical mind can fathom. Can you allow yourself to be like Cinderella, Jo Jo and Little Nick?
Exercise: Cut out pictures of items you love from magazines and newspapers and paste them on to a hard cardboard surface. Try a unique flower, an amazing animal, the Rocky Mountains, a tropical island, or anything that inspires you. Perhaps it takes you to a place you’ve never been. Display the creation in a highly visible space and return to it daily. Call on it for expansive guidance.
Exercise: Keep a dream journal. Each morning immediately after you wake, write down your dreams. They become harder to remember later in the day, so straight away is best. Choose one of those dreams and write a poem or story or create an art piece based on the dream. Don’t edit yourself. Allow it to be as fantastical, zany and as nonsensical as your dream.
I ask a simple question of my Facebook community. “What is the biggest obstacle or block to your creative passions?” I receive an overwhelming number of answers that all share a similar theme: fear and money.
With the boob tube in front of me, I gape at the current administration’s attack on the arts. As they viciously call for the elimination the NEA, it isn’t surprising that fear and money are taxing the minds of my colleagues and friends.
In childhood I was taught being an artist was frivolous. My father repeatedly advised me to become a lawyer as “I loved to argue” and “I’d make good money”. Similar to his wish for me to learn to play golf, that wasn’t going to happen. To be fair, he has since recanted, and is incredibly proud of my accomplishments. So, why haven’t I come around? I have always made a living as an artist, but there is a fiscal ceiling that I have not allowed myself to penetrate.
This month I’m chanting the Lakshmi mantra. Lakshmi is the hindu god of abundance (Wealth, fortune and prosperity). In a financial transition from a steady stream to the unknown, I’m taking a leap of faith and have been calling on the energy of abundance to support it. Is that magical thinking? Maybe it is. Does it help? Yes, it does. It allows me to focus on a spiritual perspective of my finances. And the meditation practice has provided insight.
In many spiritual and artistic circles we have collectively bought the narrative, “If you are truly spiritual or truly an artist you should live a life of poverty and suffering”. I know this idea is bullshit, but a part of me must still subscribe. In acts of “generosity” I often impart my knowledge and skills for free. Or I down play my worth and undercut my fees to secure a job. Money is energy exchange. As such, this is a self worth issue. My biggest obstacle is overcoming me. The best way for me to break through this ceiling is to believe I am worth it.
Exercise: Write down everything you take in and everything you spend in a notebook. Even the $1 for parking and the $2 pack of gum. You might be surprised by what you discover.
The Empty Screen...
I sit at my desk and scooch my chair to the exact distance I can comfortably place my hands on the workstation without feeling suffocated. I pull the tattered throw pillow from behind my lower back, and fluff it, so it can offer the precise amount of lumbar support. My spine elongates beautifully like a giraffe. I inhale a deep “pranic" breath while opening my laptop. The reassurance of the start up noise is a morning seed sound igniting my system. I am prepping, reminding my spirit that I am ready to play. After offering thanks to the Great Creator, I ask that all spirits both known and unknown gracefully guide me through the forthcoming process. I gaze at the screen. Fidgeting in my seat, I look at my iPhone and check for Facebook messages. I stare back at the computer then close my eyes and draw an additional breath.
I am terrible at this. I didn’t go to school to write. What oatmeal will I eat after my morning session and should I have apples or blueberries in it today?
I fidget more attempting to locate the correct support.
How old is this chair anyway? I’ve gotta get a new one. New sheets would be nice too. Why did I study theater?
I look back. I write a sentence, and then another and another. I pause before reading them aloud.
These are shit! Ahhhhh! Keep going. Allow. Allow. Allow.
Looking out the large picture window beside me, I peer into my neighbors’ cluttered office littered with old chocolate candy wrappers, forgotten newspapers, and a lifetime of dirty clothing.
Why don’t they ever pull down their blinds? I want apples, definitely apples with cinnamon, today.
No one is listening except the Great Creator. I place my hands on the keyboard and let them type with wild abandonment, not worrying about punctuation, sentence structure, or even content. I abruptly stop, gape into space momentarily, take another breath and review what is written.
It is brilliant, sort of. Actually, it is shit, but there is one sentence that is worthy. This affords me the confidence to continue. I write another sentence; I check Facebook again; I fidget. Then write another lousy sentence that might eventually become satisfactory. My stomach growls loudly as I press away from the desk and stand. Knowing that tomorrow I will return to face that decent sentence, in that horrible paragraph, and begin the meditation again.
Exercise: Set a timer for 20 minutes and write without stopping or editing yourself. Record whatever comes from your brain, even the negative thoughts. Allow it to take any form or shape it desires.