A Zen approach to reconnect with the creative self after a long hiatus
In our current day and age of overloaded video recordings and selfies, I would think that looking at video footages and photo archives of my previous work could inspire new work. However, watching footage of myself paint, dance or write calligraphy feels more like vanity, and on top of that I feel as if I am watching someone else, for I could not replicate the art piece nor connect to that ‘person’.
When my present day self is out-of-practice, looking at a past footage not only fails to call out my inner creator, it brings about a sense of guilt and frustration because I have yet to make anything new. Instead of consuming the archives of artwork, I go back to the basics.
Whenever I go back to the studio after a long hiatus, the studio feels unfamiliar again. First, I would reacquaint myself to my paint brushes and my paint mediums — I would notice how they feel in my hands and I would make a mental note of their ‘geographical’ location(s). Then I would rearrange my tools and furniture and adjust them according to my present comfort level. I usually do not start creating immediately.
Secondly, I set up a ‘kitchenette’ of snacks, beverage, incense, music playlist and plan for my break-time activities. Yes, comfort is everything. I do not want to pause and search for something in the middle of a creative session (Where’s my coffee?). Oh, I also make sure I have not obligations or appointments to attend right after.
Then, I have to tell myself that I am not expected to create anything good or final for the first few sessions. This is an important step, as it forgoes unwanted stress and pressure that comes from the judgmental self. When the session starts, I proceed to the first thing that comes to mind — whether it is journaling, reading, writing, doodling and picking my music playlist. I would then prepare my canvas, hooking it up to the wall or the easel, fill up a bucket of water, clean my tools etc. Usually in the middle of it, I would already have a few colors or themes that I want to work with. I start mixing the colors, creating different densities and opacities of everything.
When the first stroke is placed on the surface, I would enter a zone of oblivion to my ‘outside’ world. Not a falling brush, a spill, a text nor the boiling kettle. My subconscious brain is making decisions ahead of me, asking me to pick up the brush, make a big splash, dip my hand into a chunk of paint then spatter it all over, start dancing or nodding my head profusely to the rhythm I hear.
A light year later when I come back to my senses, my creation is half done. My rationale self kicks in. What does it look like? What references could I be making? What are the relationships between the strokes and colors? I would observe the effects of each pigment’s contact with the surface and its texture. Sometimes they float and other times they sink deeper into the painting. I notice the brilliance and dull moments and how they make me feel. Is there a clear path forward? Sometimes there isn’t, and I would have to restart a session in a few days/weeks time. Sometimes there IS. I rotate the canvas, I take pictures, I make notes. When the path is shown albeit a foggy one, all I have to do is follow the voices in my head, “go look up images of deities and the symbolic meaning of water”, “ Pick up i-ching when you go home and do a reading”.
The next day, I would have sores all over my body. The middle finger on my painting hand would hurt because the callus that was once there was gone. Like my out-of-practice art-making brain, my body as the servant to the brain is also having a moment. My neck, my knees and my lower back would complain for days.
Weirdly, this aching body energizes me. It signals a great effort and that I should be pleased with the fact that I initiated something! I look forward to continue my subsequent sessions since I have now been properly calibrated to the latest creation in making.
My adrenaline kicks in when I could see something is shaping up when I return to the studio and I would excitedly make finishing touches. Sometimes when my eyes catch my unskillful hand running behind of my vision (is this a pun?), I started to talk aloud to myself, “this ought to be straighter, do it again!” “ Your strokes need to be more uplifting, have you check your sitting posture?” Often I would find things to adjust, whether the chair is too close to the table, or there’s an obstruction on the table that affects my ‘flow’. Gradually, I would be on a much tighter ship because my motor and sensory functions are finally in synced.
This whole “me observing me” process is in itself a Zen practice. The more we observe, the more we notice even the slightest change in our body, frame of mind and various feelings, memories and emotions that come in and out of us reacting to our act of creation. Even this piece is a result of that, born after catching myself ‘instructing’ my hand during a calligraphy session. The ‘self’ is made out of so many components and I am grateful to be able to clearly(subconsciously at times) communicate and trust all parts of me that continues to drive this able body to create and experience the universe within!
