It can be a lonely road, pursuing your art. Most artists and writers that I know work alone. For my best work, I need the peace and quiet of no distractions to help me drop into that inner space where the ideas start to flow.
That’s why I chose this little house in Throop, down near the river. No one’s ever passing through or stopping by on their way to somewhere else. It’s a secluded spot, away from the bustle of town.
My desk faces the window, and I look out across my small back garden to the little village green, with a line of stately oaks across the road, behind the old white house where they have the noisy parties on saturday nights in summer. It’s a pretty good spot for a writer, if you don’t mind being kept awake a little now and then, and I don’t.
At times, I have to fiercely defend my need for this creative solitude. At times, I feel a little ludicrous to expect to enjoy the luxury of it. If I was a published writer, if I was earning a respectable income already from these hours of writing that I do, the time spent painting and drawing too, then perhaps I would feel justified to stand my ground and demand my space. But I don’t. I feel like a whiny, selfish brat: “I neeed my space, man, I neeed my space.”
However, years of ignoring my artist soul have taught me that I just don’t have a choice. If I don’t have this time, this space, then everything else in my life starts to suffer. I’m somehow less of a functioning human being. I start to feel cornered, or caged; at any moment I might lash out or break down. “I did warn you,” I will say. But it will do no good. You didn’t see it coming and now you’re rather shocked. Reeling at the sight of me unleashed, teeth bared and growling.
When I get time and space alone to write, or paint, or just read and think, I’m a better woman, a better mum. And generally a nicer person all round. I have more enthusiasm for life–so it seems like an easy no-brainer to me. Carve out the time and do the work, then spread more joy and live in peace.
Yet there are people in my life who continue to misunderstand my artist’s need for space to create. They find my need for withdrawal disconcerting, even hurtful. They take it personally, when it is not a slight towards them at all. They may even go so far as to suggest that my art is ‘trivial’ because I don’t earn real money from it. “Yet,” I always add. I’m still putting in the time. The 10,000 hours I need to pursue towards mastery of my craft.
This kind of experience can be incredibly discouraging to the artist soul. Our inner artist is like a child: impatient and irrational in it’s demands, and in real need of attention and nurturing, if it is ever to do great things with it’s dreams.
If you have grown up in an environment that placed great demands on you to be sensible or responsible, then you have probably been ignoring your inner artist’s voice for years. Your artist soul could be so repressed and ignored that you do not even think yourself to be ‘creative’.
Of course, this is rubbish. We are all creative. It is the natural expression of our force for life, and when it is dammed up or diverted, we start to lose our joie de vivre and our childlike enthusiasm for all things new, for wild adventures and simple unimpeded fun.
Worse than that, it’s my belief that without an outlet, the force it takes to hold this natural energy in can cause depression and serious ill health within the body. But I’m not a doctor or psychotherapist, so don’t listen to me–you only need listen to yourself, and the little voice within you, calling you out to play. Is it there? What does it say to you now?
Defending our right to our artist’s time and space takes courage and conviction, especially if we are serious about pursuing our craft and making our dreams a reality. On the road to mastery, we must be able to stand up and say that we are committed to the journey that we have embarked upon, and allow no diversions or material distractions to get in our way.
In the face of lukewarm approval from those around us, this can take the kind of strength and resilience that our inner artist, in it’s childlike condition, probably lacks.
That’s why the metaphor of the Hero’s Journey is so compelling to many of us. It touches the artistic and creative souls most deeply, as they recognize an aspect of themselves in the protagonist: they know they are on a journey that may seem impossibly difficult at times, and they know they may be faced with great adversity along the way.
Now, I’m not talking about encounters with dragons and goblins and such, for juggling the combined demands of housework, paying the bills and raising small children is far more challenging than those kinds of battles with mythical beasts, as any modern parent will grimly contest.
In the face of discouragement from others about our art, we must find a source of inner strength and find a way to ‘take heart’ (literally, ‘encouragement’) about our creative work. We must become our own best champions:
If no one else is cheering us on, we must cheer ourselves on with tokens of esteem for work well done.
(Julia Cameron, Walking In This World)
And most importantly, we must carry on doing the work. We must keep turning up at the page. Keep filling the well. Keep defending our right to the creative solitude that we need. With time and discipline and practice, it gets easier to do. Take courage, and the investment will become the reward once the work is done. It’s a lonely road at times, but one that’s well worth travelling.
