The Seattle Artist's Way Center

There are few things that get my blood a boilin’ and my heart a racin’ more than one particular phrase.

“I am not an artist.”

Usually delivered in a wilting voice, shrunken shoulders all while scurrying away. Recently, I saw one person declare it in a group and then another said "me too" and then another one: "I'm the same". They then ran to each other, embraced and formed what looked like an amoeba like pod almost to say “don’t ATTACK us you-artist-professing-person-you.”

My sense that they seemed to anticipate an "attack" might give me a clue to what they might be feeling.

Somewhere down the line someone or some thing might, just might, have given them the message that they were not an artist. 

When I facilitate our Artist's Way classes, I think of "artist" and "artistry" in the broadest of terms. One of the many definitions of “artist” includes this nugget: "Someone who is a creative person (a person whose creative work shows sensitivity and imagination)." 

I have seen people who display true artistry in doing accounting, in their gardening, in how they parent, in how they tell a story, to how they put together an outfit.  It is an incredibly beautiful thing to see the artist in every single one of my students and it is often very individual and unique.

The origins of the "I'm not an artist" mantra seem to vary.  I’ve heard from some students how they were shamed by others or they shamed themselves when they couldn’t match up their art with someone else’s vision of REAL art. 

Who hasn’t had that experience in school of trying to draw something and seeing some art savant wiz kid next to you draw a perfect tree while yours in comparison shouted to you: “Charlie Brown tree anyone?!”  

And then it begins.

The mantra begins to seep in “He’s an artist, I’m not.” 

Or maybe someone looked at your painting and sneered and we thought “yup, not going to experience THAT again”.  Thus the no artist tattoo got burned into our brain.

Maybe we bought into the cultural definition that “artists” are solely those select few other folks who draw, act, sing, or dance. Maybe we didn’t get seen for the amazing artistry we bring in the gifts we were bestowed with or have developed (thank goodness for others who can recognize those gems in us!).

But I’ve learned how to respond.

Not always perfectly.

My first inclination? To want to pounce on the clump of the 3 professing “non-artistry” pod and scream at the top of my lungs while shaking my finger “YES, YOU ARE!!!!”

Yeah, that’s definitely going to help.

Not so much.

Instead, I try to remember what might be behind it and instead smile and reflect on when I used to feel the same way, because I did. Heck, there were things I claimed not to be even when I hadn’t tried them. For example, “I’m not a dancer.” Mind you, I had never even TRIED to dance apart from the trauma-inducing 9th grade dances at my high school. 

Confession: Stairway to Heaven still causes me to break out in a cold sweat.

But then a friend gently introduced me to swing dancing and now I’m a swing dancing enthusiast (albeit a constantly learning and imperfect one which I am learning to embrace.).

Now after remembering how it felt to not see myself as artistic, I now reply: “Boy, can I relate.  I used to say that about myself a lot.  Now? Not so much.”

Then I can let it go … mostly.  Instead of needing to hit them over the head with “you are too an artist” baton, I make a point of seeing the artistry in them and maybe even take a minute and name their gifts (because BOY are they!).

“WOW, you are a great story teller.”

“I LOVE that you moved your door in your house so that it faces the street. Fantastic!”

“That is one STYLIN' dress.”

Gifted, every single one of ‘em.

Now, THAT can really get my heart a racin’.

I had almost convinced myself that I had not stopped writing on purpose.

Me to myself:  “It’s not that you are ‘not writing’ but REALLY … your students could benefit SO much more from an Elizabeth Gilbert talk or some wisdom of Brene Brown’s.”

And while all that may be true, the fact remains.

I used to write pretty regular blog posts.

On purpose like.

And then Botta Bing, Botta Boom. Nada. Zip. Notta’ one. 

For WEEKS people … and not even a desire to do so (“I used to write?")

Then Week 8: Recovery A Sense of Strength comes along and I read Julia Cameron’s words on how artistic injuries can inhibit our creative work.

Criminy.

And then I remember. 

The one critical recent writing feedback/comment, likely not meant to do harm, but harm it clearly did.

So I excavated the comment - like a paleontologist on his knees gently oh so gently brushing away small bits of sand – writing about the feelings that had caused me to feel immobile.

And slowly I started to get that feeling.

That gnawing semi-frantic GRRRRRR feeling causing me to run to my computer like I have writing diarrhea and the computer is the receptacle for the gush.

I'm such a purdy writer.

I love how Julia says that “when we get something down, there is no strain” (leave the earlier metaphor alone) as opposed to trying to “come up with something” which is THE WORST!.

So up it comes and today I write.

Not because I think what I have to write rivals B. Brown or E. Gilbert.

But because my writing has a purpose … if only clear to me.

And that is good enough for me.

So what is my writing purpose?

To let the grrrrr-writing-monster roar his rocket fueled words.

To shout to the world “I failed!” and (most importantly) I survived AGAIN!!

To muddle over the words “writing purpose “and only be able to see “writing porpoise” and then wonder what is a “porpoise’s purpose?" (still working on that one.)

*To laugh at words like “porpoise’s purpose” and say them over and over and start giggling … really … YOU try it! (and if the gods are shining on me) to get others to laugh along with me (yes I said “with” me - and my porpoise query isn't just because of all that time I spent watching Flipper as a kid.  "What's that boy?")

*To get something down simply because it is moving through me and to quote Elizabeth Gilbert (I knew watching her would come in handy) “Please note universe, I did MY JOB.”

So what’s YOUR job?

And don’t tell me all of them have been filled.

I know better

.

So does he.

When I first read The Chapter 3: “Recovering a sense of power”, I thought “I like the sound of that.”

What’s not to like?

When I first read this several years ago, feeling powerful sounded great to me – it conjured up images of my taking control, grabbing the reigns of my life and taking off at full gallop down the path I KNEW I was to go down.

I smile a slight bemused smugly smile at myself now when I think about it now.

Here’s why.

Julia says that in this chapter “you will be asked to consciously experiment with spiritual open mindedness.”

“Wha-huh?”

I wasn’t as sure about that one but I slowly became willing.  One thing I could do was take direction (most of the time).  And Julia had some clear directions.

She told me that all I had to do was write my morning pages, go on an Artist’s Date and read the chapter and do some tasks.  In the process she saw that when students did this they often experienced new clarity and synchronicity coming into their life which helped them recover a sense of power.

“Uh-huh.”

I was still not convinced but I WAS desperate enough to get unstuck creatively so I became very willing to do as instructed.  And over the years, as I revisit the material time and time again I am awed by the process of doing so. 

Julia says less in this chapter about “grabbing your power” and more about allowing yourself to really listen to the things that tap at your heart/mind or make your heart sing, pound or jump for joy.  She suggests that you allow yourself to ask for what you want … “to commit to our own soul.” 

And then to stand back …

The smile that bubbled up surfaced because the things that I conjured up were not anywhere near as amazing as the gifts I’ve received – those gifts were even more satisfying and brilliant.  

And the best part was, I didn’t need to “figure it out” first.  (What a relief!)

I didn’t need to make huge jumps that would freak me out.

I just took baby steps, teeny eeny baby steps and then a door would open sometimes in the guise of a stray thought or an opportunity literally placed in my lap, then another door.

Or maybe one path would be closed off to me, the one I thought I was SUPPOSED to go down (because you know, I KNOW where I’M supposed to go!) and another door opened, then another door, then another door – taking me into magical “rooms” that were truly extraordinary. 

Sometimes they were as simple as discovering that I love to play guitar and sing with friends, or to ones that felt huge like finding a spiritual community that finally felt like home. 

I appreciate that Julia encourages her readers that it is not like if you miss one opportunity you’re out of luck a la “Sorry your creative train has already left the station!”

Instead she cheers us on with ...

“We like to pretend it is hard to follow our heart’s dreams. The truth is, it is difficult to avoid walking through the many doors that will open. Turn aside your dream and it will come back to you again.  Get willing to follow it again and a second mysterious door will swing open.”

She finishes by saying “Take a small step in the direction of a dream and watch the synchronous doors flying open.  Seeing, after all, is believing.”

“Getting willing to follow it again” has been my mantra over and over.

When I get willing to start singing again, not be on Facebook so much, walk in neighborhoods I’ve never been in, call a long lost friend because I have an itch to do so, bottom line: listen to myself and those internal whispers of “try that”, I am often rewarded in numerous ways for doing so.

In turn I am more open minded for the next time and the next time when I get willing to follow the next thing again.

I’ve learned that for me getting willing isn’t about directing the whole play but just playing my one part and listening to my impulses and then seeing where it wants to carry me.

Seeing after all is INDEED believing.

And “seeing” can resurrect recovering one’s sense of power. 

Something indeed to celebrate, clap for … Heck, maybe even deserves a standing ovation.

Of one recover-ing powered up person.

YAY!!!!! (for me and for you!)

I’m starting another Artist’s Way series and the wonder and gift of paying attention has been revisiting me lately.

It happens every time I work through the Artist’s Way but every time I’m a little bit surprised.

Even a little chagrined that I’m SO surprised.

Julia notes that “the reward for attention is always healing.”

There is just somethin’ about the process of doing artists dates, writing my morning pages and going through the Artist’s Way material that conjures up the “paying attention wee spirit”.

Paying attention to what I like, what I don’t like … that I’m bored, need to laugh more, tired (My usual first line in every morning page I write “I’m tirrreeeedddd.”;), that I feel shy embracing my new love of singing soprano after having alto-ed all my life, that I’d like a pair of striped colorful knee high socks, that the mountains are taking my breath away, that I need time every day for spiritual contemplation, that sometimes I make REALLY bad jokes (insert face-planting into hand), that I need, need, NEED bright colors around me in the middle of winter, that I crave seeing more of my friends face-to-face and not just through the phone wires (they still have those, right?) or Facebooking, that I can’t watch scary movies, that my body is screaming "feed me KALE" (who’d a thunk), that “loud talkers” in public spaces test my patience, that I can be impatient,  that I have amazing, supportive friends  …

And so on.

And don’t get me started on the synchronicity.

Ahhh, ok, GET me started …

Just this week …

**I have a revelation about a woman I know who is doing this incredible artistic work with those most underserved individuals.  In response, this warm feeling of awe and respect fills me and I think “now THAT is a woman who is practicing some grace and love”.  The next day I get asked to write a letter of recommendation for her.

It wrote itself.

**I was having some challenges trying to take care of a situation in my life and a friend out of the blue (and without asking or knowing about the challenge) provided an answer to the problem.

**I struggled with feelings of competition.  The next day I went to a function and heard someone give a talk on the importance of compassion over competition.  Then went home and picked up a book I’m reading and read this:

"Henri Nowen has remarked:  'When we take a critical look at ourselves, we have to recognize that competition, not compassion, is our main motivation in life.' This is a provocative insight.  We are caught up in the game of one-upmanship.  Our sense of self-worth depends upon how favorably or unfavorable we compare with others. ..The subtle spirit of competition, which reaches into the smallest corners of our relationships, prevents us from being compassionate."

A lot to mull over.

And those are just the ones I remember.

Julia says “attention is an act of connection.”

To review … this week because of paying attention, I found myself more connected to a colleague, more compassion for myself in the competition/compassion battle, accepted a gift from a friend, smiling more as I notice the beautiful bright colors around me. 

“Healing,” indeed.

It is a tradition.

At the end of every Artist's Way class, we do the failure bow.

And we document it with a photo.

It's something we introduce early on in the 12 week Artist's Way class.  The failure bow was introduced to me in an Improv class when the instructor said "Not failing in Improv is impossible plus it would be VERY boring if you didn't fail."  SO, he taught us that we need to get comfortable with failing and one way to do that is when we fail we need to celebrate the failing by:

Raising our hands over our head as we smile and shout "I failed!"

Then everyone claps for you (and you clap for yourself too).

The first time I did it, the instructor said "Hey hey hey you didn't smile.  You need to smile."  I said "Can you fail at the failure bow?"  Apparently not.  Whew!

The cool thing is we've noticed it seeps into other parts of our students' (and our) lives so that when they are at work they do little failure bows (in their head mostly) when they fail at something and then ... move along.

We figure this is a great lesson to incorporate as we create - failing is a good thing - it keeps us open to the process of creating - whatever that looks like. 

Plus it is just fun.

Here's proof:

Fall 2011 Artist's Way Sunday night students:

Fall 2011 Friday morning Artist's Way students:

Fall 2011 Artist's Way Redux students:

"In any creative life there are dry seasons."

So opines Julia Camera in Week 10:  Recovering a Sense of Self-Protection on page 169 of her book "The Artist's Way."

When we encounter this chapter in our tenth week of class, I'm usually not in a dry season and in fact I'm usually flying high with the growth that I've seen in myself over the previous 10 weeks and in that of our students.

And then Week 15 and 16 hit. 

Ok, technically there is no week 15 or 16 in Julia's book (the book only has 12 chapters/12 weeks).  But after going through 12 exhilerating weeks, there is usually a little bit of a dry season or "drought" sneakily waiting around the corner for me as our students have gone off flying toward their creative dreams.

And the drought feels like a lightening bolt.  Appearing from out of nowhere.

And Julia confirms.

Julia:  "These droughts appear from nowhere and stretch to the horizon like a Death Valley vista.  Life loses its sweetness; our work feels mechanical, empty, forced."

Yup.

And the "work feeling mechanical"?

You mean if you can get to the "work".

Sometimes it's more along the lines of "what was I thinking that I liked to (fill in the blank) ... sing, take photos, write." Et ctr. et ctr. et ctr.

And then a "crash" often hits.  The cold hits, the back goes out - often the physical is the first reminder.

We ... ok, ok, ... "I" ... sometimes forget that "rest," times when things lie fallow is exactly what I need, that that IS part of the creative process.   OH to learn that without having to be sick to be reminded!  (Fallow defined: "Plowed and harrowed but left unsown for a period in order to restore its fertility as part of a crop rotation or to avoid surplus production."  LOVE this - restoring fertility indeed!).

I don't go gently into that good night.

I tend to prefer the part of the process where I'm running around being creative and have Ah-Ha moment after Ah-Ha moment.

The Ah-Ha moments of "I need to rest" or "I need to read trash books" or "I need to pause and not write right now" are not my fave.

Those feel more like Ho-Hum moments, but they are like dueling brother/sister creative connections that need to remind themselves that they are indeed family and need to reside somewhat peaceably with one another.

But then synchronicity comes to the rescue!

Just as I was wallowing in what felt like a flat lining creative week, an acquaintance talked about how she was needing to rest a lot that week and how she needed to remind herself that rest was in fact "doing" something.

I hear someone say "Keep it simple."

Huzzah.

And here's the other thing.

I don't have to like it.

But I find I often DO have to do it.

And sometimes the "DO" is "do nothing".

I think about what "keeping it simple" means.

I write my morning pages. 

Even if some mornings it feels like the pen is a 40 pound weight.

I recall Julia's promise that "the mere act of showing up on the page, like the act of walking through a tracklesss desert, requires one footfall after another to no apparent point. ... For all creative beings, the morning pages are the lifeline - the trail we explore and the trail home to ourselves."

I ask the basic question - what do I need?

And it varies.  10 hours of sleep, 4 nights in a row, going to the recent George Clooney movie only because I've been fantasizing about trips to Hawaii for months, steaming hot Tom Yum soup or practice getting good at saying "I'm resting."

And remind myself (again!) that resting IS doing something.

I may continue to read my light reading books and find some kernels of wisdom as I found in the book "Joy for Beginners" ...

"Adults need to have fun so children will want to grow up."

"Over the years, she had forgotten what it felt like to walk with the delicous purposelessness of going nowhere."

So in this period of rest, I'm going to keep my eye open for mini-fun moments, may go for an aimless walk and recall the final promise in Chapter 10:(

"Droughts do end."

I think I feel the water a-comin' as we speak ...

So we'd been confessing.

"It's been 5 days since my last check-in/confession, and these are my ... I haven't had an Artist's Date in x days."

Ok maybe not a "sin" exactly but we were noticing that the 'ol artist's dates were sloughing off. 

This is not uncommon when we hit Week 10/11 in our 12 week Artist's Way class. 

An Artist's Date, for those not in the know, is time one spends solo, usually planned (at least an hour but not could be less or more) with the focus being something that would be fun for YOU ("you" being the operative word here).  Could be just about anything ...  but the one rule is "let it be fun."

It got me thinking.

And the class talking.

What's the benefit of an Artist's Date?

It fills the well.

The creative well.

The artistic well.

The inspire-me-please well.

The students lamented that what was keeping them from doing their dates was forgetting that the date could be just FUN.  It didn't have to be "good art" dates (i.e. museums, and more museums).   In fact doing something that called to you in that "woo hoo" way was probably the most important thing to listen to when signing on for an Artist's Date.

I'd been inspired to have an Artist's Date a few days before after listening to the "pull over and check out that shop" voice.  I went to this cool little shop on top of Queen Anne Hill - Charley + May and saw this bird made of wire that was attached to a rock.

Inspiration struck.

"Our students could have fun with this."

Off I went to my favorite of all time hardware store Hardwicks and got some wire. 

And they got working.

We love our little wire/rock creations.

We thought they were very Seuss-ian.  And that made us very pleased.

Thank YOU Artist's Date.

Elizabeth's creation:

And the whole class' work (mine is the dolphin with no tail - inspired by the dolphin tale movie!).

And our Friday morning Artist's Way students' contributions! ...

The exercise was to write down things you loved.

No limits except do it in 4 minutes.

I love these exercises.

For the smile it puts on my face when I do it. 

For the tickle I feel when I hear fellow students giggle as they air their “loves.”

And the responses? Glorious.

The smells, textures, ideas, and feelings that surface are enlivening.

The discoveries from some students that “… and all of these are free!”

But best of all, I love the surprises.

My surprise this time was remembering the perfect salad.

I love a perfect salad.

And there was ONE perfect salad that came to mind instantly.

I’d turned 40 and gone off for 3 weeks by myself to Ireland to travel around and have an adventure. It was a wonderful trip, full of new friends, green filled sights, images of dolphins on the west coast and of course … the salad.

I’d been craving vegetables. For those who’ve been to Ireland “back in the day”, searching for a PCC/Whole Foods version for vegetables was “challenging” to say the least (or maybe I didn’t know where to look).

The fact was 2 weeks in and counting, I was seriously craving a salad.

Greens, and the crunch of small carrots, nuts, olive oil/balsamic vinegar dressing, ripe tomatoes danced in my head.

Food was always serious business (and comfort) in my family.  Homemade breads, hand kneaded pizzas, fresh soups ... all courtesy of the chef gene my Croatian grandfather had handed down.

So I was very excited on one very rainy (shocking, I know) day in the north of Ireland somewhere up near Donegal,  I came upon a pub sitting on the blustery coast. I scanned the menu and became downright giddy when I saw “salad.” 

A Caesar Salad, no less.

The king of salads.

I ordered.  Salivating a little. Then some more. And even more.

It finally arrived without king fanfare except for my “thank you thank you thank you” horn blaring.

It wasn’t exactly what I expected. 

It had greens alright, but apart from the tomotoes that was about it on the vegetable front. 

I almost thought to send it back but then heard the “Come ON… when in Rome …”

And I took my first bite.

The lettuce was loaded in what seemed like a pound of hot bacon, crunchy homemade croutons, roasted walnuts, tomatoes and smothered with a homemade Caesar dressing.

Did I mention it’d been really cold outside?

I was in heaven. 

It may not have been what I had been calling out for, but it scratched my itch for something comforting.

Sometimes I forget that what I think I want isn’t necessarily what the universe decides to provide.

And sometimes.

Often.

It’s even better.

So today my artist date was to create the perfect salad.

Armed with the ability to improvise ... in addition to the bacon, tomatoes, homemade croutons, and Caesar dressing, I added goat cheese, olives, pepperoncini, and sunflower seeds.

I had my first bite and I savored it.  I could feel myself back in that pub – outside - the cold, sideways wind blowing to and fro, the fireplace blazing in the pub and me with my toasty, tasty, fatty salad.

And I loved it.

All over again.

One of our fall Artist's Way students suggested us doing a photo blog entry ... great idea, Sharon!  Here it is:

Candle idea stolen from Crate and Barrel:

Like rose petals:

Tree ...

Meditation ...

Red ...

It's all about perspective ... lucky birds ...

Artist's Way student fleur goodness ...

It's got it all ...

And the leaf end zone ...

"Just a little bit more" ... 

I'm reminded of the great response by Will Rogers when he was asked "How much money is enough?"  He replied (say it with me people) ...

"Just a little bit more ... "

As I've been pondering abundance lately it doesn't surprise me that this is the line that has been haunting me. 

It's easy to feel a lack.

A lack of time. Of money.  You name it.

Especially these days.  

Especially when you're laptop goes belly-up (don't get me started).

Especially in this consuming culture we live in.  I can buy into the marketers' message (those wiley marketers!)  that I won't be happy until I get the new ipad/ipod/itouch/ishuffle.

I-whatever

I-know it.

It's I-nsane. 

On top of all of the messages we get around us that we need to get more and more, to hear the word "abundance" during a time of extreme financial woes can be like pouring salt on the proverbial "wound".  

And then synchronicity struck.

I saw the purse.

More a satchel really.

Reddish brown, sitting alone in my creative space like a high school girl standing nervously alone at her first dance wanting to be picked to twirl around the dance floor.

The only twirling this satchel has done in the last year was being moved from "here" to "there" when I vaccumed around her.  (She is SUCH a "her").

Then I read Julia's chapter about noticing what feels abundant.  

A box of raspberries.

A new favorite pen.

Or for me - looking around the items I already own and truly appreciating and using them.

I also REALLY heard a comment an Artist's Way student made in class. She noted while on vacation she imagines some of the clothes that didn't get worn are disappointed. Imaging that it actually matters that we appreciate what we have is one SURE way to be more mindful of the things we actually are so very lucky to have.

I was also reminded of a comment my pastor made about an orphanage his daughter runs with her husband and son, Yohani in Mozambique.  He said "you have never seen such happy children."  

It stopped me in my tracks.  Still does.  And I'm glad it does.  

It makes me grateful. For the comforts I have around me - both material but even more so in the friends, colleagues and family I am honored to know and have in my life.

Here's who is getting my attention and love this week:

My dear friends who make me laugh so that I snort. Yup, the truth is revealed.

The digital piano that seen more dust on its keys than my fingertips

The kind comment from a total stranger.

The pretty green scarf hidden behind my other scarves ("come out and shine you little wallflower you").

The group of musicians who ask me to play guitar with them on Sundays who I haven't strummed with in months.

My funky clunky (and favorite) brown/black boots who have a new life when paired with knee highs (who KNEW??)

Actually sit and look at the gorgeous artwork Annya Uslontseva made and I now own. (see below)

I'm going to take my purdy satchel, throw my knee highs on and go pluck some strings of my guitar with my strumming friends.

I am going to be mindful of the abundance right in front of me. Without having to spend an extra penny. What's that?  It's this little brown, round thing that most people step over on the street ...  

Maybe I'll even stare at a penny today.

And I'm going to rework the joke:

"How much money is enough?"

Exactly what I have.  Exactly what I have.  Exactly what I have.

I think Will would approve.

Dorcas and Yohani, Mozambique residents