Day 212: Wonky art

Wotcha. I’m just home from work. I’ve not got much to say tonight, I did a load of writing this afternoon, but it was more the first delicately reaching fingers of a hand palpating a subject, feeling for the size, the shape, whether there’s anything there to necessitate further action. Maybe the words I wrote will coalesce into something later down the line. Maybe not.

But I can come here and just write this, and see what happens. I know eventually something will come out, because I’ve got my mojo back.

I had a confrontation with the negative voices in my head the other night, shined the light of awareness directly on them after a long time of them bubbling away in the dark, and they hissed and fled, and suddenly I was alone, myself, free to laugh and think and write again.

And, Christ, does it make a difference, believing in yourself! Who cares if this all is pathetic? It’s aflame for me right now. I’m where I want to be. Who cares if no one reads it? Write for the stars and the moon - and if the stars and the moon whisper that you’re a loser, give them the finger and write what you wanted anyway.

… Uhh, not that I’m bragging, by the way. About having my mojo back.

Why would that be bragging? Why would I be ashamed about having my mojo back? It isn’t shameful to feel good.

So why do I feel ashamed?

Because those negative voices haven’t truly fled. They’re just on the periphery of the light, looking for a way back in.

But not today, you pesky buggers.

I’ve got a lifetime of experience squishing myself up really tight, and trying really hard, and using stress and self-loathing and perfectionism to try to sort of trick people into thinking I have talent. Like if I obsess over a piece of writing for months then, provided it doesn’t implode under the weight, I can make it read pretty well.

But the secret to creating things is to just do them naturally, and badly, and not worry that they’re bad, but love that they’re natural, and encourage that natural element, the organic, artistic element - foster it, nourish it, and let it slowly develop and grow. And only when this instinctive joyful chaotic process inside you has parity with that squished-tight, try-hard process, that voice that criticises and frets - only when the two are equally powerful can you have a fruitful creative life.

The try-hard process hones and shapes. But it is the chaotic process that spews the clay initially that may then be honed and shaped. Be overly critical and the clay well will dry up (that’s a weird metaphor, but screw it!), and you’ll be left criticising an empty hole, and then, eventually, yourself.

So no more of that. No no. I’ve done that for so long. But I’ve also got 212 days practice just chucking out whatever clay I can find. The clay well got clogged (I’m not letting this metaphor drop) recently, but all it took was hauling out the clay blockage and slapping it into some sort of shape and saying, Hey, I made this wonky clay thing, and it might not be a Grecian urn, but it came from me, and that’s good enough - all it took was that, making a concerted effort to accept myself, and the clay was flowing once again, the beautifully flowing clay well… or maybe fountain... maybe this metaphor works better with the clay coming from a fountain, because wells don’t flow, do they? They just sit and wait for you to dip your bucket in them.

Do wells flow? Fountains flow. Or spray. Can wells be fountains? It’s too late at night and concepts have stopped making sense to me.

I don’t know. But I do know you should go away and make something, and love whatever it is you make, and when those negative voices come out to tell you that the thing you made is wonky and disgusting, well, tell them it does not matter.

Your wonky art is wonky because it’s true. And I believe Keats had a little something to say about what is true, whether Grecian urn or no.

So get to it.