Maybe It’s Just Me

I spent the first several decades of my life thinking I lacked a creative gene.

I was skilled at following instructions, though, so I performed whatever role in whatever play my sister Connie conjured up in our basement. I was able to learn gymnastics routines, make any craft the teacher showed us how to make, and play the flute well enough to toggle between first and second chair in the grade school band. My handwriting was neat and my homework, always complete.

Depending on your perspective, you might say I was gifted with the gross- and fine-motor skills to be moderately successful at whatever I did. OR your Spidey-senses might have picked up an undercurrent of life-or-death-level fear and perfectionism that made failure a non-option. Either way, I was rewarded for being teachable and coachable, so I kept at it.

Outer Space, Out of Reach

The scariest thing I remember about school — other than when I had to miss a day or give an oral report — was a “creative writing” assignment. I don’t remember the grade level, but I do remember casting around wildly for a plot line that would qualify. By my definition it needed to involve aliens or child-eating plants or something fantastical that was far removed from regular life. That’s how I would know it was “creative.”

Whatever I turned in received a decent grade (my grammar and spelling surely carried it, and I probably used a few good vocabulary words) but I felt completely disconnected from the story. Like I had to step outside of my personality to do this “creative” task, and temporarily become some other kid with a vivid imagination. Make sh*t up that had nothing to do with me, in other words — stuff I wasn’t even interested in.

Nothing if Not Tenacious

In my defense, it was the ‘70s and movies like “Attack of the Killer Tomatoes” were in the zeitgeist. Still, I carried my sci-fi/surrealist view of what “creativity” looked like pretty far into adulthood. My life felt entirely too mundane, and my ideas too run-of-the-mill, to come anywhere close to being art. It’s amazing how far decent motor skills can get you, though, and how many people you can fool into thinking you’ve got artistic talent when what you’ve mainly got is a good eye for mimicry.

I am being self-deprecating, and I’m not.

If being creative means “putting something into the world that didn’t exist before”, then I wasn’t being creative, because I didn’t yet know how. I was copying, and this I knew like a dark secret. The important thing, though, is that I persisted. I was intrigued — obsessed, really — and determined to wrestle this thing called Art to the ground until I understood it and could be a part of it.

Thankfully, I’ve Revised My Definition

I don’t claim to have creativity all figured out, nor will I ever, but I’ve switched out the thing I wrestle with. What helped shift my perspective was a tiny little quote by Cynthia Bourgeault that I scratched onto a pink sticky note about 15 years ago, and kept visible in my studio. It says,

“Original” doesn’t mean “First in time,” it means “Closest to the origin.”

Just like that, I had permission to stop desperately looking out there for the creative ideas I thought I lacked. If originality (to me, synonymous with creativity) no longer needed to shock the world with its bizarreness, then maybe I stood a chance. According to this new definition, I was not simply allowed to source from my interests and my life, I was required to, if I wanted my work to be authentic.

It prompted a fresh list of questions and a different standard for evaluating what I was doing and making. Liberating, yes. Whole new set of challenges, yes.

Two Ideas to Dispose Of, Pronto

There’s a weird notion promoted by our capitalist culture, that there’s no point in making art unless you can “be the best” or make money at it or become famous because of it. We’ve been trained to equate creativity with winning competitions, or at least getting hundreds/thousands/millions of followers and likes and views. Art has been commodified like everything else, as though it’s just another industry filled with products needing branding and clever marketing strategies in order to find customers. Or to nab celebrity endorsements.

Let’s jump off that crazy train for a minute.

Whoever you are, you’re allowed to make art because it’s what humans are wired to do. The question is not “can you do it?” but “what kind of art will you make?” and then “how will you make it yours?” What original spin will you put on it?

This all takes time and effort and practice, though. That brings me to a second nutty and damaging idea out there about creativity, which says that if you don’t make a masterpiece the first time you pick up a paintbrush, somehow you’re “not good at art.”

Let’s leave that nonsense behind, too.

Four Tools I Use to Practice Honesty

Here’s how I work on staying connected with my source, my origin. These are not one-and-done events, they are ongoing practices.

Doodling: In a society that worships productivity, doodling is counter-culture. That’s partly why I do it — to be completely useless to capitalism*. Plus I’m curious to see what will emerge from my pencil today, and again tomorrow when I’m in a different mood. (Full disclosure: I took a class about seven years ago to learn how to doodle! The opening paragraphs of this essay reveal why that was necessary.) Doodling is one way I learn about myself: what I like; what feels natural or awkward or easy or adventurous; what’s on my mind; what my critic voice sounds like today. I make marks and practice accepting what I’ve made. All of this learning is available, right at my fingertips, anytime I wish to access it. (You can, too! Info about the Doodling Lunatics 🖍🌙 — including the Zoom link! — is below.)

Dancing in front of people: Propelling my body into the flamenco improv circle, when I’m not sure exactly what’s going to happen there, feels revolutionary and extremely brave. For me it’s not as “free” as doodling because there are shapes and steps that make it flamenco as opposed to salsa or hiphop; there are rules and I don’t know them all. That means I’m wondering “Am I doing this right?” a lot of the time. I’m still learning to inhabit the dance, embody the movements, and make them truly mine. But for now I’ve agreed to let my soul drive, relegating my ego to the back seat where I can barely hear him asking, “Why didn’t you do that more perfectly?”

Singing: Opening my mouth to sing for other dancers in the improv circle, knowing that I will forget some of the words and I may slip out of tune or out of rhythm or both, is one of my newest and boldest brands of courage. Since moving past my initial terror a few years ago (which you can read about here), I’ve started to enjoy the power that resonates through my whole being when I sing. It feels really good in my body. Who knew that was even a thing? And because I don’t identify as “a singer”, I judge myself less harshly than when I’m dancing. I can easily give myself a beginner’s pass and allow the experience to be raw. It’s an honest effort, even when I don’t 100% understand the lyrics I’m singing en español.

Blogging: When I’m writing these paragraphs, while editing for spelling and word choice and general flow, I’m also putting the sentences through the Honesty Test:

Is this what I truly believe?
Does this accurately capture my memory of the experience?
Do I fully stand behind this, or am I trying to impress someone?

It’s not always clear “what is true” versus “what I wish were true”, but with practice, I’m learning to recognize when I’m fudging. Just as I have critical voices on duty in my head 24/7, I also have what I’ll call voices of integrity. You do, too. They’re the ones whispering, “Are you sure about that? Is this aligned with who you are?”

Recalibrating the Dials

Maybe what I’m doing when I doodle, when I dance and sing in unscripted situations, and when I write these messages to you, is reversing the calibration of my inner dials. Cranking up the Integrity Monitors and shushing the Fear-of-Being-Seen-Mongers. I expect to be struggling with both dials for the remainder of my days on Earth, and I’m ok with that. It feels like an excellent use of my time here.

Maybe that’s what creativity is. What originality consists of.

Small acts of creative courage build muscle memory. Each time we experience the thrill of having been brave, we gain a bit more confidence, which might be enough to override the fear we feel the next time we’re faced with having to risk being imperfect in front of people. The idea is that, over time and with practice, showing our humanity — our originality, our creativity — becomes a way of life.

Even better news? It’s contagious.

Pass it on. 💫

With big love,
Pam

*I’m grateful to Tricia Hersey, founder of the Nap Ministry, for the life-affirming concept of “making yourself useless to capitalism” as a form of resistance and liberation.

P.S. The Doodling Lunatics 🖍🌙 meet tomorrow — Friday, March 4th at 5:30 pm Pacific time. What an absolutely perfect venue for exercising your creative courage! 🤓📝💪🏽You can have your camera on or off as I guide you through the easiest, lowest-stress “art class” you can imagine. I promise it will be fun and not horrible. Or your money back. 😉 Find more info here.

I will NOT be sending another reminder, so here’s the Zoom link:

Pam Consear is inviting you to a scheduled Zoom meeting.

Topic: Doodling Lunatics --

Time: Mar 4, 2022 05:30 PM Pacific Time (US and Canada)

Join Zoom Meeting

https://us04web.zoom.us/j/71860267654?pwd=pAp0hAP9JuXwrIKDvidK3JcwsqoHjW.1

Meeting ID: 718 6026 7654

Passcode: u9EYG3