So what does an artist do when feeling void of all inspiration? Like, for example, what can I do to update a blog on art, when all I can think of is nothing?
Take a day off, eat some ice cream, take up smoking cigarettes, quit smoking cigarettes...? Or,
Just do.
Write, write, write.
Then write something else.
How about...
the concept of the artist's MUSE?
I have some first-hand experience with this.
First of all, most people know that this idea goes back to classical Greece and earlier. Goddesses of the arts and literature. Nowadays, we use it to refer to just about any source of inspiration. Some artists and writers have been inspired by another person - someone perhaps that he/she is in love with, who fuels his/her creative drive.
But often, the term is used to refer to a more ethereal source of inspiration. One's muse might be that quiet (or roaring) inner voice that seems to come from nowhere, or perhaps from the subconscious. At any rate, the sense is that the person of the artist is not necessarily at the wheel, but rather is a passenger being carried through the act of creation.
I"ll describe my own personal experience with this notion of artistic inspiration as a way illustrating it. But how richer this would be, if, YOU, the reader, contributed your own ideas or experiences with your Muse in the "Comments" area below!
A few years ago I began writing music for children. I remember the day it began. A day like any other. I was doodling on my guitar, trying to fit in a little practice time, when my daughters began competing with the guitar for my attention. All musicians with children will recognize this phenomenon - my beloved girls were behaving like mosquitoes or blackflies, buzzing around me and insisting on either strumming to contribute to my music or damping the strings to silence my guitar.
Desperate to discover some sort of repellent, I abruptly hit upon a progression of three chords (Am, G, F, G repeated endlessly) and, without premeditation, began to growl out a fearful melody/chant: "Big, bad wolf, big bad wolf, everybody 'fraid of the big, bad wolf!" The girls were instantly dancing a circle around my chair, howling at the moon, and I was able to play my guitar.
So this came from nowhere, but I didn't think much about it, other than feeling thrilled that the pests were occupied for awhile. But I did think it was catchy and wondered if it could be developed into a song. The wolf led me to a fairy tale, which could have been one of many, though I finally settled on Little Red Riding Hood. "Once upon a time" seemed an apt opening line, and from that point on, the songwriting became, to my pleasant surprise, a process of what seemed like taking dictation from the air, followed by some conscious artistic effort at polishing the results. If you want, you can hear the recorded version of "Big Bad Wolf" by clicking here....
To expand upon the "dictation from the air" thing, I could rephrase it to say it was as if I were receiving radio signals consisting of fully-formed lines, one after the other and frantically writing them down before they dissipated. I was in a receptive state of mind, somehow. I had to keep running over to the piece of scrap paper to jot down the next line. Eventually, I had the entire story, and most important, a way to bring it to a close. Here is what the Muse fed me for the wrap up:
"Well, that's about it, we've come to the end,
'though Grandma's party went-on 'til 4 am,
I really want to end this story with a rhyme,
So I'll ask you all to sing with me one last time:
Big Bad Wolf, Big Bad Wolf......"
This continued to happen over the next months until I had written 8 songs. Sometimes, I would choose a folktale, start humming a melody and spit out an opening line. Then, again, it would happen.
The structure of the song would appear (I might write some rudimentary note symbols to remind me what happens in the melody), and lines would come spilling out. Sometimes I thought them, and then worked them a little to fit better or not repeat words, or to make a rhyme, but so often, they thought themselves, and I simply recorded them with the pen on paper. As the song assembled itself, I would eventually have to call on my education, my exposure to literature/writing techniques, the artist in me, to fine-tune the lines. Stepping back, I could see places for improvement or see how the structure made sense in one part and not another, and go in and fix it up right. So, I can take credit for helping write these songs. But I must give some to my anonymous ghost-writer.
That has been my surprising experience with my Muse. We can call it anything we like. The subconscious creative self, free from inhibition and thought distraction breaking through the surface into the conscious mind. We could call it an invisible naked Greek woman whispering into my ear. We could call it a dip into the universal mind ocean, we could call it, "you are hallucinating, Dave."
Anyway, it's been a pleasure, and after putting these first eight songs on a CD (See myspace.com/davidgoodrichstories for other samples from the CD), I have written a few more, yet to be recorded.
As for my artwork, the notion of the Muse behind it all isn't quite as tangible or present-feeling as it has been with the music. Although, there is that sense of Zen-ness that comes when I am so focused and lost in drawing - time disappears, the drawing takes shape. I have skills that I employ, but I don't know exactly what the end product will be. I have certain ideas, but the long process determines the final result.
I think the Muse takes the form of a deep confidence I have that I will get there, though I don't exactly know how. A faith beyond any ability or control I may feel that I have.
On the other hand, maybe the Muse behind the art I am currently doing is simply the source of inspiration. The beauty I see around me, the endless subject matter that the Vermont landscape presents.
Because I have decided that I am an artist (see my first post, On Being An Artist), I can use my abilities to practice a true appreciation of it all.
That is one of the great benefits of practicing art: you honor your subject with the greatest attention. And not unlike a Buddha, you are attending the moment, not trying to dwell in the past or worry over the future.
Muse over that one for a while.
Monday, July 25, 2011
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
Art and Practice
I write about art, but according to the title of my blog, I'm allowed to write about other topics. I put that in there just in case I ran out of things to say about art. But I'm trying to stay on the subject of art for the time being.
I was driving from Vermont down toward New York City with my wife, and it suddenly came to me what I would write about next. When we arrived at our destination, I remembered with pleasure that I had stumbled on a writing topic, but, then, I couldn't remember what it was.
Which reminds me of a joke told to me by my good friend Andrew.
- As I get older, I find I'm thinking more and more about the hereafter. I walk into a room and ask myself, "What am I here after?"........
So I'll just babble until it what it was comes to me.
Here are some thoughts about the learning process. These ideas arrived in my brain in the context of learning to play a musical instrument. They might even apply to drawing and other arts as well, but today's subject targets music.
But first, let's talk about sports.
Sports are a big part of our culture. Both in adulthood and in growing up. I was an artsy kind of child, but I did participate in some sports while in school. So I can confidently say I am an authority in anything having to do with art and sports. For example, I know how many halves a football game has and can name the three primary colors.
What I do remember about sports practice was the constant repetition in drills. In lacrosse, it was: pick up the ball, pick up the ball, pick up the ball, or: pass the ball, pass the ball, pass the ball. These kinds of drills are key in developing the skills needed to play well in the game. It is the potentially monotonous repetition of specific movements that develops the ability to be consistent (and not to rely on dumb luck - "oh, good, when I threw the ball, it actually went in the right direction this time!").
In addition to finding the right approach, by making adjustments, etc., it is the fixing of those successful combinations of muscle movements through repetition that occurs. This is referred to as developing muscle memory.
What is happening, according to what I've read on recent neuroscience and brain research (my bedtime reading), is that
new neuro-pathways in the brain are being grown and strengthened through use. These strengthened networks of nerves, used repeatedly to make an accurate foul shot in basketball, are what constitute muscle memory.
It used to be thought that the brain develops up to a certain age and then is fixed in all its functions, with specific regions assigned specific roles. However, it has been found that there is more plasticity in brain development than had been previously understood. Yes, there are regions of the brain that govern specific tasks, but, the brain can grow new neurons and rewire old ones based on use.
An interesting illustration of this is the finding that, in many stroke victims, when irreversible damage occurs to a part of the brain that, for example, controls movement in the right arm, the slow rehabilitation process of physical therapy results in the "colonizing" of an adjacent area of healthy neurons by new networks that can begin to direct movement in the paralyzed arm. Same thing can happen when sight is lost through damage to the eyes - if the vision area of the brain is undamaged, it might be colonized by a network of nerves that work for the hearing function - which can explain why blind folks often have a more acute sense of hearing than others.
Back to Art. And Music, in particular. When I have shown both young people and adults how to form various chords on the guitar, their struggle and awkwardness at getting the fingers in the right positions reminds me of when I first started playing. It seems impossible to believe that you will ever be able to almost instantly form one chord, then rapidly switch to another chord, and then another, fast enough to actually play a complete 3 minute song in less than a hour. It feels clumsy. It feels impossible.
But it is possible, and the analogy to sports practice is something many people can grasp. Just about everyone, child and grownup, have played some form of catch and gotten more accurate with repetition. Many have participated in organized sports and know well the role of repetition in practice drills. There is something mesmerizing, almost meditative about tossing a baseball back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. In other words, it isn't necessarily boring, even though it is repetitive. And you get better.
So, with the guitar, you keep at it, and just like your hand/eye coordination gets better with catching all those pop flies, gradually, your fingers begin to know where to go, without mental and physical struggle. You strengthen new neuronal networks that guide the hand muscles in guitar chord formation. You develop muscle memory. And soon you can play a 3 minute song in 4 minutes, and then in 3 minutes.
For the young, music practice seems to be just another one of those demands that adults are always making, whether it be your parents or your teachers. For adult learners, the assigned task may seem futile. Can you really teach an old dog new tricks? (Yes, of course.)
So, I think that explaining the value of repetition and practice by relating it to the more familiar territory of sports experience can help the beginner visualize the end result, to imagine that it is possible to achieve. This can make the notion of "practicing"
more attractive and even enjoyable! Gosh darn it!
Now... Does any of this apply to drawing? Or other arts?
I have some thoughts on this, but I'll leave it hanging in the air for the time being. My dog is calling, says he wants to water the lawn.
For those interested in brain science reading material, I recommend this book:
Train Your Mind, Change Your Brain, by Sharon Begley
The title and cover makes it look like one of the many self-help books out there (I suspect a deliberate marketing decision). It is one, I guess. But I view it more as a fascinating look at modern neuroscience with interesting parallels to elements of Tibetan Buddhist practice as well - written by Sharon Begley, science columnist for the Wall St. Journal. Highly recommended.
I was driving from Vermont down toward New York City with my wife, and it suddenly came to me what I would write about next. When we arrived at our destination, I remembered with pleasure that I had stumbled on a writing topic, but, then, I couldn't remember what it was.
Which reminds me of a joke told to me by my good friend Andrew.
- As I get older, I find I'm thinking more and more about the hereafter. I walk into a room and ask myself, "What am I here after?"........
So I'll just babble until it what it was comes to me.
Here are some thoughts about the learning process. These ideas arrived in my brain in the context of learning to play a musical instrument. They might even apply to drawing and other arts as well, but today's subject targets music.
But first, let's talk about sports.
Sports are a big part of our culture. Both in adulthood and in growing up. I was an artsy kind of child, but I did participate in some sports while in school. So I can confidently say I am an authority in anything having to do with art and sports. For example, I know how many halves a football game has and can name the three primary colors.
What I do remember about sports practice was the constant repetition in drills. In lacrosse, it was: pick up the ball, pick up the ball, pick up the ball, or: pass the ball, pass the ball, pass the ball. These kinds of drills are key in developing the skills needed to play well in the game. It is the potentially monotonous repetition of specific movements that develops the ability to be consistent (and not to rely on dumb luck - "oh, good, when I threw the ball, it actually went in the right direction this time!").
In addition to finding the right approach, by making adjustments, etc., it is the fixing of those successful combinations of muscle movements through repetition that occurs. This is referred to as developing muscle memory.
What is happening, according to what I've read on recent neuroscience and brain research (my bedtime reading), is that
new neuro-pathways in the brain are being grown and strengthened through use. These strengthened networks of nerves, used repeatedly to make an accurate foul shot in basketball, are what constitute muscle memory.
It used to be thought that the brain develops up to a certain age and then is fixed in all its functions, with specific regions assigned specific roles. However, it has been found that there is more plasticity in brain development than had been previously understood. Yes, there are regions of the brain that govern specific tasks, but, the brain can grow new neurons and rewire old ones based on use.
An interesting illustration of this is the finding that, in many stroke victims, when irreversible damage occurs to a part of the brain that, for example, controls movement in the right arm, the slow rehabilitation process of physical therapy results in the "colonizing" of an adjacent area of healthy neurons by new networks that can begin to direct movement in the paralyzed arm. Same thing can happen when sight is lost through damage to the eyes - if the vision area of the brain is undamaged, it might be colonized by a network of nerves that work for the hearing function - which can explain why blind folks often have a more acute sense of hearing than others.
Back to Art. And Music, in particular. When I have shown both young people and adults how to form various chords on the guitar, their struggle and awkwardness at getting the fingers in the right positions reminds me of when I first started playing. It seems impossible to believe that you will ever be able to almost instantly form one chord, then rapidly switch to another chord, and then another, fast enough to actually play a complete 3 minute song in less than a hour. It feels clumsy. It feels impossible.
But it is possible, and the analogy to sports practice is something many people can grasp. Just about everyone, child and grownup, have played some form of catch and gotten more accurate with repetition. Many have participated in organized sports and know well the role of repetition in practice drills. There is something mesmerizing, almost meditative about tossing a baseball back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. In other words, it isn't necessarily boring, even though it is repetitive. And you get better.
So, with the guitar, you keep at it, and just like your hand/eye coordination gets better with catching all those pop flies, gradually, your fingers begin to know where to go, without mental and physical struggle. You strengthen new neuronal networks that guide the hand muscles in guitar chord formation. You develop muscle memory. And soon you can play a 3 minute song in 4 minutes, and then in 3 minutes.
For the young, music practice seems to be just another one of those demands that adults are always making, whether it be your parents or your teachers. For adult learners, the assigned task may seem futile. Can you really teach an old dog new tricks? (Yes, of course.)
So, I think that explaining the value of repetition and practice by relating it to the more familiar territory of sports experience can help the beginner visualize the end result, to imagine that it is possible to achieve. This can make the notion of "practicing"
more attractive and even enjoyable! Gosh darn it!
Now... Does any of this apply to drawing? Or other arts?
I have some thoughts on this, but I'll leave it hanging in the air for the time being. My dog is calling, says he wants to water the lawn.
For those interested in brain science reading material, I recommend this book:
Train Your Mind, Change Your Brain, by Sharon Begley
The title and cover makes it look like one of the many self-help books out there (I suspect a deliberate marketing decision). It is one, I guess. But I view it more as a fascinating look at modern neuroscience with interesting parallels to elements of Tibetan Buddhist practice as well - written by Sharon Begley, science columnist for the Wall St. Journal. Highly recommended.
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