I know a place where ideas go to die.
Buried between its walls is a pile of promising ideas that may never see the light of day. Some are long dead, as lifeless as the piece of paper they were birthed on. Others, barely surviving.
That place is my bedside drawer.
These ideas, diverse as they may be, all have one thing in common: on paper, they seem perfect—untainted by the constraints of execution, shielded from the scrutiny and criticism of others. But once I dare to bring them to life, the perfection fades away. And I’m left to face the stark disparity between the flawless idea in my head and the not-so-flawless outcome in my hands.
Small surprise that I lock my ideas up where the sun doesn't shine.
So, when I initially came across the book, Art and Fear, it felt like a jab at me. It was as if David Bayles and Ted Orland had my picture hanging on their wall as they wrote.
Alas, my “unique” struggles are not so unique after all. The challenges that have kept me from sharing my ideas are not only common to all creatives, they are part of what makes great creatives.
Here are five nuggets from the book that stood out to me the most:
You are not your work
I’d be the first to admit that I struggle to find the line between myself and my work. Uhm, excuse me, I created this thing; it has to be an extension of myself. So criticisms can sting hard sometimes. If they think my work is crappy, does that mean I’m crappy too?
“If artist equals self, then when (inevitably) you make flawed art, you are a flawed person, and when (worse yet) you make no art, you are no person at all!”
Authors’ take: Success as an artist doesn’t follow a single prescribed path. By refraining from overly identifying ourselves with our work, we free ourselves to explore our unique path amidst the multitude of possibilities out there.
Only a tiny fraction of your work will soar (and that’s okay)
Do you have the courage to keep sharing your work even when no one cares? Well, don’t ask me. I’ve quit creative projects in the past just because the “crickets” were cricketing a bit too much for my liking.
“The function of the overwhelming majority of your work is to simply teach you how to make the small fraction of your work that soars.”
Authors’ take: There’s really no good reason why anyone (but yourself) should care about the work you create. A difficult pill to swallow, eh? The best you can do is to keep doing what you love—lots and lots of it. In the process, you get better. And eventually, when your ship comes in, people will find ingenuity in even the “crappy” work you did at the start.
Hard work trumps talent
I used to see writing as a sacred art only an anointed lucky few could pull off. You know, the likes of Shakespeare and Chimamanda. Well, I’ll tell you what: I was wrong.
“Even talent is rarely distinguishable, over the long run, from perseverance and lots of hard work.”
Authors’ take: The ability to make art is not an “innate” gift. In fact, talent alone doesn’t count for much. The world is filled with people who were bestowed with great natural gifts, yet they never produced anything. Moreover, talent is a constant, and those who rely upon it alone without developing it further soon peak and fade to obscurity.
So, the “perfect” work you see from your idols isn’t just talent. It’s the result of years and years of hard work and perseverance.
Vision is always ahead of execution
You know that feeling of euphoria when a brilliant idea pops into your head? You grab your pen and paper (or the equivalent) and effortlessly weave together the perfect first sentence. Then the second…and then a few more. And…boom, you hit a stonewall. Your piece looks nothing like what you imagined in your head.
“The poem in your head is always perfect. Resistance begins when you try to convert it into language.” —Stanley Kunitz
Authors’ take: When we start a project, the potential is at its peak: that first sentence, that first brushstroke. At that point, the creative possibilities are endless. But with each step of execution, the possibilities diminish, and the piece becomes more specific. Until it reaches a point where the piece could be nothing other than what it is. That is the end.
The form your work takes at this point relies solely on how much you were able to hold on to your imagination as the project ran its course. (It’s not uncommon for some parts of the initial idea to fall off by the wayside…and that’s okay.)
Choose progress over perfection
I’m no stranger to the struggle with perfectionism. We can get so caught up in the quest for perfection that we end up not creating anything at all.
“To demand perfection is to deny your ordinary (and universal) humanity, as though you would be better off without it. Yet this humanity is the ultimate source of your work; your perfectionism denies you the very thing you need to get your work done."
Authors’ take: Good work isn’t synonymous with perfect work. In fact, imperfection is not only a common ingredient in art, but very likely an essential ingredient. These imperfections (or mistakes) are valuable guides to matters you need to reconsider or develop further. They are what makes your work unique and authentically you.
Final words
Making art is hard.
Even harder, are the early days. These are the caterpillar days. They are unpleasant. They are prickly. They are…brutal. However, succumbing to their challenges means resisting the process that transforms you into a butterfly.
I’m lucky to have found this book in my caterpillar days. Through its pages, I’ve found permission to explore the many sides of my creativity, even while afraid.
Piece by piece, I’m breathing life into the long-suppressed ideas that are nestled within my bedside drawer. And maybe, one day, I will revisit this book and not find it so damn relatable. That, to me, would be the epitome of growth.
“Moreover, talent is a constant, and those who rely upon it alone without developing it further soon peak and fade to obscurity.” - I love this, and it is so true in all of life. A lesson I learned the hard way as a kid growing up playing sports.
Obviously I love the reference to imperfections at the end 😉
“If artist equals self, then when (inevitably) you make flawed art, you are a flawed person, and when (worse yet) you make no art, you are no person at all!”
This made me chuckle. So true. This is completely illogical. 😅