Mindful Chickens #3: Taking Play Seriously
“Don’t think. Thinking is the enemy of creativity. It’s self-conscious, and anything self conscious is lousy. You can’t try to do things. You simply must do things.” - Ray Bradbury
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One of the best things I ever did for my creative life was take a week-long course with writer/cartoonist Lynda Barry. I’d been a massive fan of Lynda’s work since the 90’s. I’d first experienced her brilliance reading her weekly comic in the back of Toronto’s Now Magazine. There was something so raw and honest happening in those comics that it instantly drew me in. I then went on to devour her novel, sat gleefully through her play, and basically gobbled up everything Lynda Barry that I could. So nine years ago when I became aware of the writing course she runs annually at the Omega Centre in upstate New York I knew that it was something I needed in my life.
The gist of what Lynda does in her course is break down the act of writing with the goal of helping her students tap into creative states that all of us had as children but have lost over time. To take us back to a point where creation was an act that we just did for no purpose other than simply for the enjoyment of doing.
At the end of the class someone asked Lynda what we should do with all this writing we’d written over the course of the week. Her answer was basically, “Beats me!” For her this sort of meditative writing isn’t about the finished product. It’s about the moment of creation. As adults it’s easy to move from that act of creation to the act of judging. And it’s that judging voice, that voice that instantly wants to know if the thing we’ve just created is worth framing or burning, that is the enemy of the free flowing state that all of us intuitively knew as kids.
My wife was taking a painting course last winter, and as part of her supplies she needed a tiny paint brush, which I, being the dutiful husband, offered to pick up for her. I wandered into my local art supply store where the clerk pointed me towards the brushes. As I picked out a cheap and cheerful one the clerk also let me know, “You know, If you spend $100 or more you’ll get 15% off…”
The brush in my hand was only about three bucks, so the idea of spending an additional 97 dollars just to save 15% seemed ludicrous. But even still, I do likes me a deal…so I looked around.
It’s worth mentioning that I don’t have much training in any sort of traditional visual art. But I am slightly obsessed with fancy drawing pens, so I began to browse.
But what caught my attention wasn’t a fancy pen, it was the printmaking section where I spent more than half an hour looking at the carving blocks and colourful inks. Somewhat mindlessly I started loading things up in a cart, paid, and left the store.
Once home I unpacked my loot and stared at it. I didn’t know what to carve, and even if I did I didn’t know how to do it. But just thinking about idea of carving brought me pleasure. Even if I failed I still had to try.
Years ago when my wife was pregnant with our first child I bought a bunch of nicely stretched canvases from a similar kind of art store with the goal of creating 100 paintings of fish. Why fish and why 100, I’m not really sure. But at the time both the number and subject seemed incredibly important to me. I also had a vision that once I was done I would hang them all in a gallery where I would host a real live art show where everyone could gather and tell me how brilliant of an artist I was. The only problem with this plan is that I had no idea how to paint.
I never did paint my 100 fish paintings, I’m pretty sure that I didn’t even paint one. The stretched canvases sat in my room for years. Eventually I had to hide them in a closet because just the sight of them made me feel like I had failed. The whole idea became far too big, far too intimidating, and so in my paralyzing need for perfection I never even started.
But sitting with my printmaking supplies felt different. It didn’t feel like “art”, it just felt like a new toy that I could play with, and the stakes seemed super low. But still I didn’t know what to carve. And then it hit me. I needed to carve a picture of a fish.
There was a spark that I felt years ago when I first felt the desire to paint a picture of a fish. Before I chose the arbitrary number of 100 paintings, and before I began planning my fictitious gallery show where people could bask in my genius. This time there would be no fancy canvases, no allusions of a public art show, and no need to get to 100. I would carve just one, and just for the pure enjoyment of doing it.
And so I began. I sketched a weird looking fish onto the printing block and then I began to carve.
Slowly and carefully, late into the evening, sitting on the floor, I carved and I carved and I carved. Carving is a strange experience because even though you’re working on a whole composition your attention needs to be just on that tiny fragment that you’re currently carving. Just that one divot. It’s something that by design requires that you do it slowly and carefully. Failing to do so might just result with a carving tool slicing through your hand.
Then, when I thought I might be done, I sat back and took a look at the block as a whole and was completely convinced that I had just wasted a colossal amount of time. Judgment started to creep in. This thing I had carved looked weird and I wasn’t convinced would even be printable. I began to feel like this whole exercise was pointless, that I had no right thinking that I was an artist. It was a voice I recognized well, one that I’ve heard many times before on many different occasions. It’s a voice that dampens my passions and amplifies my fears.
My inner critic is a total asshole.
But then another voice inside of me told me to carry on. It told me that I had nothing to lose by finishing the process because the stakes couldn’t be lower. And so I carefully rolled some blue ink onto the carved block and pressed it face down onto a piece of paper. And what happened next was awesome.
I stood back and looked at the fish print I had just made. I had just created an image from nothing. And it was beautiful. I was so pumped that that night I actually had trouble falling asleep.
I’ve made a few more since then. I have no idea how many I’ll make, and quite frankly it’s irrelevant. To me it’s the process of creating them that’s just so delicious.
I got bored of making fish prints so a couple of weeks ago I made a self portrait. I’m not sure where the idea came from, and I didn’t ask too many questions. I just carved it, slowly, until it appeared.
I do these prints simply because I love making them. Every part of the process brings me intense joy. I have no intention of “doing” anything with them, no plans for a big splashy gallery show, they’ve simply become part of my creativity practice. Something I do regularly. It’s a practice that helps me tap back into the sense of wonder and play I had as a kid. It’s mindful play, a practice that Lynda Barry reminded me of when I took her writing class. Something to be done just for that feeling that only creation that comes from a pure and innocent place can provide.
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The “Rules” of Mindful Play
Go Towards Something That Gives You Pleasure. It doesn’t matter if you are “good” at it. Don’t overthink it.
Make Creativity a Practice. It’s like anything good for you in life, commit to it in whatever way that makes sense to you. It doesn’t have to be a huge commitment, but once you’ve found something you love, prioritize it and return to it regularly.
To Hell With Setting “Goals”. When I set a goal of painting 100 pictures of fish I failed. Not only because I didn't paint 100, but because I painted zero. Ultimately it was the goal that got in the way of my simply enjoying the journey. When I did my first print it was simply to amuse myself. I wasn’t even sure if I was going to make a second one. I just knew that I was feeling drawn to the process.
Do It To Amuse Yourself. This is key, and for me easy to forget. Even this newsletter is an example of that. As grateful as I am that you are reading this (and I truly am!), ultimately I’m writing it because I get a certain sense of pleasure organizing my thoughts on paper. This type of writing energizes me. Same with making prints. For me that absolutely needs to be the driving factor behind mindful play.
Take Your Craft Seriously, But Don’t Take Yourself Seriously. Seriously.
Also, Screw the Rules. Creativity and rules aren’t always a great match, so break ‘em all if you need to. The key is to make sure you're doing it from a place of passion rather than fear. If you do that, you’re golden.
P.S. I now have a pile of prints in my house that I’ve made and have no idea what to do with. Do you want one? Seriously. If you send your mailing address to gsiskind@gmail.com I’d gladly send one to you. It would be my gift to you for reading this. Plus it really amuses me to imagine them traveling the world.
P.P.S. This week’s Mindful Chicken drawings come from Tori and her three kids. I love them all!