April 07, 2004
Last fall, a boutique owner contacted me to do some cards to sell in her shop. I told her I would look into this but never really found the time. In the winter, I sent out a few handmade cards to family and one friend, who is an artist and a production designer on movie sets, told me I should really market them because they’re really good. I said I would look into this but never really found the time.
I did, however, find the time to shop dozens of times for all the materials I would need. I would lose myself for hours picking out card stock, ribbons, colours, punches, stamps. There wasn’t anything that would make time fly faster than mentally creating these cards. But, to actually make them, well, I kept telling myself, there wasn’t time. I had work to do instead.
I went through this pattern again last night, losing myself in a supply shop, happily bringing the purchases home, knowing exactly what I want to do with the cards then saying, �when I have a spare moment in the evening, I�ll do it.� That�s when I realised that this is work, it just feels like play and that isn’t wrong � that�s exactly how it should be.
When people ask me for direction I always reply with the wise words of Carl Jung:
Somehow, I seemed to have forgotten that for myself.
With so much writing projects going on, tight deadlines, revisions, new ideas, trying to finalise books, the idea of play has been slightly lost on me. That’s not to say I’ve been working unhappily, on the contrary. I love my work and what I’m doing; I can’t imagine doing anything else. But it’s all been structured work, no free form like drawing, creating, or making cards.
I had begun to think of anything unstructured that didn’t have deadlines or a direct benefit as play and useless. If I sit and create cards during the day, there’s no guarantee that anything will come to fruition. That if I just do something that is fun with no direct pay off, it must not be work. It’s just too much fun to be work.
And that’s where I was wrong.
The one belief I’ve held very strongly is that creative people cannot do just one thing creatively. A writer cannot just writer, a painter cannot just paint, and a designer doesn’t just design. Creative people like to have messy hands dipped in many inks. We aren’t satisfied otherwise and this is OK. In fact, it’s more than OK because creativity inspires creativity. Doing many things help us to create in the different areas. Designing cards will help me to design, to write, and to remain creative. There is a benefit. It is useful.
One of the biggest struggles I’ve had working on my own is not feeling guilty about the freedom I have. The freedom to work the hours I want, to take days off when I want, to lay in bed in the afternoon or break for tea. This is a common struggle for artists and I thought I was pretty much over it. I no longer apologised for working at home while friends and family went to a cubicle. I no longer felt sheepish about saying I napped frequently in the afternoon and I could take days off without having work on my mind. But I hadn’t come to terms with the fact that play was good and useful. That creativity doesn’t have to be structured; it just has to feel good.
That’s why I called this site Girl at Play after all; I wanted my work to feel like play. It just took me awhile to get comfortable with that.
November 12, 2003
In the fifth grade I was given an art assignment to draw any picture I wanted for a calendar project. At the time I, like most eleven year old girls, was fascinated with unicorns and drew a spectacular scene involving one.
When I showed it to the teacher the next day, she told me to stand in front of the class so that they could see what a cheat looked like. She went on to say that I must have traced it all because I had no talent whatsoever. She told me that I was wicked, a liar and could never, ever do any good artwork. She ripped up my picture in front of the class.
For the next seventeen years, that day would affect me. I would always believe that other people were artists, not I.
After a few years of being in a high level, corporate position, I knew that pantsuits and meetings weren’t my passion. I wanted to do something else, but didn’t know what to do. I wanted to find my heart, my passion.
With great, great fear, I purchased a small watercolour set for $5 (I didn’t want to spend a lot, too scary to invest!) and for the first time in seventeen years, I attempted to create. I sat down, let go and painted how I felt. The result was this:
Afterwards, I sat in shock. Shock that not only had I painted, but that my fifth grade teacher was wrong. I could do something.
I posted that image on my web site later on and to my surprise, people started to ask to buy it. I hesitated. I wasn’t an artist. I wasn’t someone who could sell artwork. I wasn’t real. I kept saying no.
After awhile of inquires I asked myself, who is to say who is a “real” artist or not? Who is to say who can or cannot sell artwork? If someone loves it, if they find value in it, who am I to make excuses and reasons why they shouldn’t? The nerve of me.
So, I made a limited set of prints to sell and a year later, I have sold almost every single one. This has amazed me. It makes me smile. It makes me forget about that fifth grade teacher.
I think everyone of us has something we want to do, to be, but have held back because of someone saying we couldn’t. I say, prove to them, to yourself you can. Because if I can sell artwork after failing art 3 times, anything is possible.
Nov. 27, 2002
Since October, writing has been my last priority because I, like everyone else, sometimes has the need to take a holiday from the daily grind.
Without any writing to do, I found myself with an unsatisfied life as I had ignored all my other wants and passions for the sake of “being a writer.”I didn’t realise how much I had resented not doing other things because I was hiding behind the comfort of what I had become. Even when you’re doing something you want to do, Being “just a writer” or known as “the girl who writes” didn’t satisfy me because I feel more than those titles. However, I didn’t know how much more because I was hiding behind the comfort of what I had become. Even when you’re doing something you want to do, you can still get trapped.
Art has always been a huge passion of mine but I’ve been a shadow artist for so long; gladly encouraging my very artistic best-friend while feeling like I could never do what she does. However lately my desire to get active in art has been outweighing any fear. With no writing to be done, it seemed like now was as perfect time as any to dip the brush in ink.
When I mentioned this to a friend I did so with a slight tremble – was I really ready I asked her. What if I sucked.
As any good friend would do, she gave me brilliant advice. She said, “My assignment for you: do the SUCKIEST painting you can possibly do!”
And I did.
Without the need to perfect my work and no obligation to show others or write about it, I realised that it didn’t matter that in the end my drawings were unrecognisable because I was completely mesmerized with the process of creating them.
So I drew more.
Over time as I became more and more comfortable with drawing, my drawings became more and more recognisable. And instead of fearing a blank canvas, I feel in love with it and coloured pencils.
This lead me to creating Christmas cards for friends and family, cross-stitching my Christmas stockings, playing Go-Go girl to the radio and writing silly, useless stories just for the fun of it.
I’ve been able to finally get over my fear of participating in art and calling myself an artist. I don’t worry about judgments or outcomes, I just worry now if I have enough paint.
