GraceNotes

stillness, indeed! two full days of jury duty.

visiting the courthouse = not my favorite thing. (i’m also a CASA and so go to this courthouse for more than jury selection pool hell.) hanging out at the courthouse = a particular kind of inertia hell.

in this grand exercise, i bump up against people with whom i don’t regularly associate with, who have what i perceive as little awareness of much i identify with, much less my precious artform that i’m writing about here.

so. two full days, during a crunch to a deadline, thank you, to have no access to my li’l laptop and its contents, email, anything. the government cut off my umbilical, and it was. . . uncomfortable. aside from taking a design book to read on breaks and visiting the bookstore at lunch to thumb through publications, no design was accomplished, and no creative ideas (okay well, one) bubbled up.

but what i did get was one big window into several types of humanity. from the jury selection to the jury group selected to the trial itself, i got an eyeful of types of people whom i don’t get to have an extended conversation with in my daily routine.

you know how we (creatives) work: we work with visionaries in some operation or corporation or enterprise; people who have ideas about how things should go forward for the business they’re in. we talk colour, we talk concept, we operate on this high plane of ‘what if’.

what we often DON’T see firsthand is the audience. and i got a good cross-section of ‘audience’ in my jury duty stillness: old. high school-young. lower-middle class. educated. uneducated. over-educated. simple. ethnic. blue collar. executive. trade occupation. you get the idea. and you know where i’m going with this.

HOW in God’s name do we as creatives consider the vast differences in the audience we are tasked with reaching, with this logo or that slogan or this piece of copy or that image? is that why Burger King commercials or the (name that) beer commercials are so banal? or the Intel ads are so austere? the audience? with no taste other than their circuit board memory or their willingness to make asses out of themselves in the name of a drunkgoodtime, or their . . . tastebuds?

yep.

i figure there are audience-players and client-players in each creative project and in each creative’s ethics arsenal. just like there are movies that play to the audience (Indiana Jones series) and films that play to the, um, artist types (No Country for Old Men).

what we as designers/copywriters, etc. have to decide is what the audience will really perceive, which leads to a whole other discussion, maybe to be picked up in these pages, about what & whom we associate our craft with, and how much truth is behind it.

but more than that, to realize these are people we’re talking to - not demographics - with  views and needs and circumstances that might not be terribly reassuring to us who get to play ‘what if’, but a personal audience, nonetheless.

but for now, i confess i got a good dose of reality in viewing the ‘general public’ in this jury experience, and seeing firsthand who my audience might be and a bit about how they think. and it’s a challenge. and it was good it got this break in my monitor madness to see it, consider it.

but don’t call me for jury duty for another few years, please.

. . . you thought you would be satisfied, but you never will - learn to be still. - don henley

things are getting busy - hectic, almost. that is my favorite place to be: spinning with all kinds of creative projects, ideas popping out of left field, the energy from each project punching on the others. i love it. but it will suck me dry if i let it, and so i’m trying to rein myself in a bit.

my morning M.O. is to rise early, read a little, make coffee and head for the studio, which is upstairs in the loft of our home, so i don’t even need to ‘waste’ time getting out of the Tshirt and fleecepants and slippers, if i don’t want, making the commute all the more speedy.

(rueful thought that i’m glad videoconferencing is not yet part of my workflow with clients.)

first thing, email. what happened overnight? anything new, happening, changing, requesting, informing? (pant, pant) background thought to be at the gym by 9am, or i don’t get a workout in at all. next thing, project: drawing, constructing, writing/editing, photo tweaking. . .and before i know it, i’ve been at or near the computer all day, and i’m not only brain-tired, i’m tense. resentfully, i feel. . . like there’s less of me, somehow. evaporated, into cyberspace.

sometimes i think creatives are more hungry than the average bear to look in on mail, voicemail, email, because it’s a validation of sorts - proof that someone is looking at our work and has interest in it -although as a society we’re all so hooked on it i’m not sure we’re exclusive.

so i’m trying something new. it is not my favorite thing and i am admittedly not very good at it. but i think it might make me and what i do even better. i’m trying to be still.

for the first hours of my day, i am reading, doing yoga, writing . . . doing something that has nothing to do with work and everything to do with me. (sometimes i still sneak upstairs and have a peek, but i try not to stay long, and not answer any email. always pushing that line, me.)

stillness appears counterproductive. so many things ‘want’ to be accomplished in that hour or two i am doing no-thing, and the itch to put pen to paper is pretty strong.

but it is an artist i am cultivating here, drawing discipline from this one thing, putting my mind into a four-dimensional gear that hopefully will build some creative muscle and keep my self-identity intact. and as this month cranks into high gear with a bevy of diverse projects, i am hoping this discipline will keep me focused and fresh.

stillness to learn. stay tuned.

i felt it coming yesterday. right in the middle of the day, with business as usual, good weather and all that. no conflicts, no frustrations, not too many worries. but there it was, like i’d swallowed a cherry stone and it stayed lodged in my chest (well, esophagus, but that’s not very poetic), making it heavy and tight, at the same time. it was fear.

there were no tags for it: money, business, validation, inspiration, quality - and i couldn’t even decide what kind of fear it was: fear to respect, fear to achieve, fear of losing, fear of poverty - or even how to handle it: pay heed, ignore, decipher, ponder. it was just there.

i don’t know how often i feel this way: monthly, with each project, when there are no projects - couldn’t say. i just know that its discomfort made me pay attention, do a little check and balance of what i am about and with whom i am, er, being about.

(maybe it was the dentist appointment. i always get so depressed about my teeth when i have an exam. nah, too easy.)

i do know that the next time it comes to me, i’m going to use it. i can’t say for certain, but getting back to the studio after that dentist appointment, i was energized to make big strides on a project i have that has been dragging on, and i was quite focused and got a lot of work done.

when i admit to being a creative (see earlier post on channeling paul rand) , there seem to be certain things i get to accept about myself, as part of the gift i’ve been given. some of them are: low esteem about my talent or work, a bit of a perfectionist tic, a satchel of frustration, and fear (uncategorized, at this moment).

what am i to do with these? they seem to be here to stay, albeit not hanging out in my subconscious all at once, thank God. but they are constants, and i’m starting to think they aren’t to be “dealt with” to the degree that they go away completely, but, sometimes, heeded. used. for motivation, for inspiration.

some of the greatest and most well-known artists of the last generations i’ve always thought passed for pretty sick tickets, some of them. i can think of one who had jealousy down to an extreme science, one who was incredibly paranoid, one who hated human touch, several who had such low self-esteem they didn’t live to see their art appreciated.

maybe it’s because they gave themselves over to their artistic vices, swam around in them till they were all pruny, which made for fantastic art but not much fun at cocktail parties. do i have to get crazy to achieve “success” as an artist?

i choose not to. i prefer the balance of warm loving family and daily living amongst friends and strangers to the extreme sacrifice to achievel such “successful art” that i become a stranger to all and a friend to my vices. but i’m going to use them. i think they’re there on purpose. and so am i.

“SOMEONE who shall remain nameless, who sleeps beside me every night and is carrying the financial load while i rehearse the ups and downs of finding projects in the creative field, slipped and called my work a “hobby”. as in: something i’m doing until a real job comes along. it was a quiet day.

i pondered inside that maybe a bastion of support was starting to lean a little. i pondered that i would not be validated by anyone other than myself, because an artist secure in herself needs only her own validation, blah blah.

how does it look to someone on the outside? he chafes at the term ‘artist’ when it is used by everyone from a sports commentator (”look at that shot! the man is an artist!“) to the street kid with the blanket on the sidewalk, displaying leather chokers and clay beads. i let him vent, smug in my knowledge that art is subjective and it’s a circular subject anyway. he’s an engineer, and that term gets thrown around too.

this company of mine has been a registered, tax-deferring entity for several years, but it’s only been within the last two that it’s taken on more than a part-time, in-addition-to-a-job status. i work much more than 40 hours a week at it: promoting it, organizing it, proposing projects, working on the projects that come in, editing the shoots and so forth. but what’s the proof that it should go on (as a full-time endeavor)? applause? being published? a successful art show?

money. it’s starting to look that way. i know, mammon, filthy lucre, the American Way, all that stuff. i hate admitting it. it’s not what motivates me to create, and i think we all would agree we’d do art for no money if we could, but many of us aren’t dipping into a trust fund until the Big Thing comes along. a lot of us are hoping to pay off the business credit card, or get new carpet or keep heads above water with things like groceries and bills. and if we can do what we love AND the money comes in, that is, i’m sorry, a validation. one with butter and sour cream and chives on it. even the kid on the street agrees.

so with one foot on the dock and one in the boat, i’m going to keep going. the money thing messes with the creative half of my brain (i can never remember which side that is), but that’s an irritant i’ll have to live with.

he apologized later, by the way. he knows. he knows.

it’s been a rough week.  lots of work - which i’m very glad to be doing - and wondering if i’m billing out enough to justify the hours on screen and on the phone, managing projects to get the designs finished, instead of just getting to do the design, or the photography or whatever.  that lingering question as to whether this will be a viable full-time business at some point or whether the time to build it should be next year instead of this, and i should just go get a marketing job or something.

i’m so saddened this morning, by reading of the demise of a company that was so careful to maintain high standards, high global ethics and optimum sustainability practices, one i turned to for inspiration when i felt my own vision starting to slip; nau has pulled up stakes, due to a lapse in venture funding.

we in the pacific northwest boast a several headquarters of sportsgear and sustainable living companies: adidas, keen, green print, the new ENDoutdoor, underarmour, nike, et al. i think we like to believe we nurture their spirit here too, with our laid-back lifestyle, a finicky taste for great active apparel and equipment, a genuine love of the out of doors, awareness and care of our fragile environment.  so it’s a gut punch when one of ours doesn’t soar as we thought they certainly should.

. . . and on a more personal note, it’s discouraging to a degree to see a company i admired on so many levels - one where the participants truly walked their talk - not just in the carbon footprint sense, but in the way others (particularly others in 3rd world, manufacturing nations) were carefully considered and treated, go down.  it gives that fleeting thought that this type of ethics isn’t rewarded by the universe like we would like to believe.

maybe this is a step in failing forward.  the people at the helm of this company weren’t beginners, and they, i don’t believe, tried to reach so far to turn the business world on its ear that it didn’t profit something genuine in consideration of business ethics.  bringing such things to the table as executive pay, new take on shareholders’ return, opinion input from all workers, sustainability practices, giving to the efforts of several non-profits, careful treatment of workers in indigenous environments - those things have been spoken out loud, now and cannot be turned off in the ears of those who truly heard.  i also don’t believe this is their last rodeo.

me, i’m inspired to focus to make grace studio an effort of excellence, of forward-planning sustainability in its projects and its message, of compassion and encouragement.  and i have nau to thank for some of that inspiration.  i believe i’m not alone.

“There is no difference between a designer and an artist. They both work with form and content. I try to create art, whether I make it or not is not up to me, it’s up to God.”

(This is what I see, from my pillow, every morning when I wake up at home. Sucks, doesn’t it? Thought I’d share.)

this whole “artist’s way” set of exercises has left me uncomfortable from the start - which is not necessarily a bad thing - and i’m trying to figure out why. i think it’s because the underlying philosophy is that an artist is a channel, not an achiever. it sounds flimsy, flaky, excusable.

this is probably the first occupation in my menagerie of careers that seems to downplay the knowledge, the skill, the achievement that is required in other occupations to realize any accomplishment.

early in the book, the author suggests “basic principles” that sound like this:

when we open ourselves to our creativity, we open ourselves to the creator’s creativity within us and our lives.

when we open ourselves to exploring our creativity, we open ourselves to God: good orderly direction.

got nothing against God being in this. God works in and through me in a good many things (should be everything, i know. i’m getting there.). it just seems like there should be some more. . . grind to achieve good design or art than just kicking back on the futon and letting the flow happen. it sounds um, irresponsible, doesn’t it?

or maybe, just maybe what makes me uncomfortable about being a channel for the creative instead of somehow achieving it is that i can’t take any credit for it when it’s good.

the name Paul Rand is spoken in hushed tones in designer’s circles. he’s considered the father of modern design as we know it today, with excellent use of white space, placement, iconic form. he studied at pratt institute and the artist’s league, taught at yale, was art director of direction and esquire magazines at a young age. pretty accomplished guy. you’d think he would posture that one must push and reach and strive for an optimal message or image that speaks to the masses. that it is one’s own talent that brings one to the forefront of society and makes them a bright, shining example of all things visual and messaged.

the quote at the top of this page is paul rand’s. kind of comes full circle, doesn’t it?

the author of that “book i’ve been mentioning” has correctly predicted that the third week of this exercise will contain some highs and some lows. . . and two steps forward, one back. how right she is! what is she, an artist?? actually, yes. and more than i am, at this point: an author, screenplay writer, playwrite, author, all of that.

the highs this week have been in the ozones, perpetuated by a tiny bit of encouragement. and, adversely, the lows have been in the basement, inspired by the tiniest of rejections. i feel a slave to circumstance, and this is exacerbated (note: i said ‘ex-ac-er-bated’) by my being solo during the day. i am too social to work this way, unless i have much to fill my hours. . . things to learn. ah well.

it has been interesting to see how the universe gives to those whose hands are open and empty, and how quickly it can shrivel when one attempts to claim the booty as “all mine”.

when i email a link to my portfolio, on a whim and hoping-to-God-i’m-not-spamming, i get this response: l love your portfolio. I am probably going to want to photograph my own house once the remodel is complete. How much do you charge for residential?

frankly, it’s a little spooky.

also tempted between the projects that could be awarded to me and the projects that could be “mine if i bullshitted enough”, at which point i’d feel a fake, and whatever production victory would be one i could not, consciously, share.

so. back to center.

It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye.

-Antoine de Saint-Exupery

ah, the trials of working solo freelance!  today i have a song in my head that won’t go away.  and it’s not a hip song, or a sentimental song or even a current one.  it’s “Pink Elephants”, from the “Dumbo” soundtrack. (hippity hoppity.  they’re here, they’re there. . . what an unusual sight!)

this song is significant because, when i was a child, my mother, who had sworn off movies herself and therefore couldn’t see why us kids would want to see any, bought the record for us, BUT WE NEVER SAW THE MOVIE.  imagine: kids listening to a whole record of upbeat and juvenile songs about elephants and crows and circus animals, and my good imagination making up images in my head to go with the lyrics.  this worked fine until i was about 30, and Dumbo was aired on TV.

my own kids were about 6 and 7, and i remember my son poking his sis in the ribs and saying, “look at mom”, where i stood staring at the television with what must have been a stoned look on my face, trying to rectify the images i saw on TV with the ones i’d had in my head for 25 years, as the songs played and my cognitive dissonance grew. (i seen a needle dat winked it’s eye!  but i be do see, whatevah seen, when i see an elephant fly-yyyy-yyyy!)

maybe this has come about because the “artist’s way” book i’m working through has asked exercise questions about my own creativity in childhood.  that’s got to be where it’s coming from.  but i’m going to take a break from my solo day nonetheless.  this is just too weird to be humming to myself. . .

Whatever you can do, or dream you can, begin it. Boldness has genius, power, and magic in it. - von Goethe

the first basic principle the author of “The Artist’s Way” recommends for the artist, after doing a stream-of-consciousness writing exercise every morning, is to show up at the page. and it is this showing up that i’ve been procrastinating on for awhile. i want the idea, the vision, the colours, maybe a little layout hint to be in my mind’s eye BEFORE i sit down at the “page” to start work. kind of like having key words in mind before composing a song.

but showing up, in heart if not in mind, is essential, i agree. or maybe she means show up expectantly, waiting for mind, heart and blank page to conjure something up. anyway, i’m good to show up, but i haven’t gotten to the point where the magic happens from nothing.

’showing up at the page ‘to write in the morning has been interesting, though. she recommends requires the students of this 12 step (yes, twelve!) program to write 3 pages of whatever is in one’s mind, first thing in the morning. sometimes it goes like this: “i dreamed i was terribly critical of my stepson. did the cat go out last night? i am frustrated that my client can’t make up her mind.” stuff like that.

i have to say, that even though i’m cheating a bit by using steno-sized pages (remember steno??), writing down dumb stuff or even slightly enlightening stuff clears my mind for the rest of the day. i can put down the little irritations, and surely, they stay there and i don’t think about them much after that. and, in a series of fits and starts, my ability to focus has improved over the last couple of weeks. [journaling is different. journaling teaches me things.]

getting back to the daunting project, now. much needs to be accomplished in the next week, and i’ve just finally gotten the logo and layout begun.

the book, “The Artist’s Way”, that i mentioned in my first post refers to one’s artist as their ‘inner child’.

i never really wanted to see my creative side that way, because ‘child’ to me means i’m not taken seriously. not sure where that prejudice came from, perhaps that most of us, after we leave childhood behind, don’t see children as the forces of nature they are, and think of them as “unfinished” or “unpolished” or “immature”, all of which are probably true. of course, it occurs that one needn’t be a child to be all those things either.

anyway, i’m finally seeing that this is where creativity begins, in that little person who is impressionable, and he/she continues to live in us that way, as childlike. otherwise, critics’ comments wouldn’t hurt and damage the way we see ourselves from time to time, or we wouldn’t feel so embarrassed about the possibility of someone wrinkling their nose at our work, and thinking it’s not only “not good” but “not good enough”.

side thought at the horror of discouraging children from having ideas and exploring, and the newly realized importance of having art in schools. we are raising the next Da Vinci, out there somewhere, not just providing play-time entertainment.

i’m grappling with that child-concept, coming to understand it. i’m seeing, indeed, that childhood has perhaps not disappeared entirely, in me or anyone, and the childlike freedom to create needs to be protected, somehow, as much as the bad memories of it being quashed need to be expunged.

i was in such a hurry to grow up. grown-ups got to do so much more than have a bedtime and restrictions on TV. i got the notion, somewhere, that this was where living began - maybe because my childhood had a good deal of restrictions on it - and i couldn’t wait to be a grown-up. married young, had children young, up, up and away. so i have some homework to do: finding that little girl who struck out and wrote a poem in first grade instead of a paragraph about her career choice as a nurse.