Reflections on The Artist’s Way, Week 8: Recovering a Sense of Strength
This is the eighth post in a series on The Artist’s Way: A Spiritual Path to Higher Creativity, a book and a self-study program developed by Julia Cameron in the 1990s. I’m looking back on Week 8: Recovering a Sense of Strength.
Survival
‘One of the most difficult tasks an artist must face is a primal one: artistic survival. All artists must learn the art of surviving loss: loss of hope, loss of face, loss of money, loss of self-belief. In addition to our many gains, we inevitable suffer these losses in an artistic career. They are hazards of the road and, in many ways, its signposts. Artist losses can be turned into artistic gains and strengths—but not in the isolation of the beleaguered artist’s brain.’
— Julia Cameron, The Artist’s Way, Week 8
Like many people, I’ve suffered losses during this year of the pandemic.
These include the loss of an art studio, loss of friendship, loss of a sense of safety at home, indefinite postponement of my retreat program, and cancellation of what would have been my first art fair. I’ve had to mourn these losses.
My plans disintegrated, turning to piles of ash. Instead of clinging, I did my best to let these things go. These were my sacrifices.
I surrendered my hopes and I made space for other things to arrive.
And they did. A new studio space, more aligned friendships, moving into a co-living space where I feel safe, an expanded hypnotherapy & coaching practice, doing more 1-to-1 work that will prepare me for running an even better retreat program, and not worrying about art fairs. I let the space be empty, and welcomed in new things.
Before space opened up so beautifully, I mourned what didn’t happen.
And I still do my mourning, like a ritual. I cry. I pout. I get angry. I lay in bed in a puddle of despair. I feel pathetic, like an over-tired child begging for attention. I parent myself. I love myself unconditionally. I trust the feelings that come through so they can be witnessed. I see them so they can move on.
I let myself feel weak so I can feel strong again.
First I’m the storm, then I’m the reed in the storm. It’s how I keep going.
The Ivory Power
When I want to make art, I find my supplies and I make something. There’s no agenda. This is how I survive, how I keep going. It’s just something I do.
I look at my meditation and self-care practices in a similar way. They are always there for me if I want to pick them up. Sometimes I do yoga, sometimes I lift weights, some days I go for a walk. If I want to meditate, I set a timer and close my eyes. If I want to journal, I pick up a pen. My practices are always available, to be used as needed.
I used to worry about what other people think, relevance, being good enough. Perversely, these worries got in the way of making good work. Taken to an extreme, they got in the way of doing any work.
‘Surround yourself with people who you respect you and treat you well.’
— Claudia Black
My survival as an artist and a put-together person is supported by ease, by letting go, by feeling my feelings, and by making sure I connect with people who are kind and respectful. Not by struggle, by avoidance, or by clinging to people and things who do not show up for me. It’s not always easy, but I do my best.
Gain Disguised As Loss
Cameron talks about loss, about finding the silver lining, to be open to walking through a different door.
She quotes the film director John Cassavetes, ‘In order to catch the ball, you have to want to catch the ball.’
She interprets this to mean, ‘Stop complaining about the lousy curves you get thrown and stretch, reach for what you really want.’
I hear a quiet determination in this quote, a patient persistence. In order to be happy, you have to want to be happy. In order to feel peace, you have to want to feel peace.
In order to do it, you have to want to do it, to step through what exists between you and what you desire. Will there be a battle, a struggle, a challenging negotiation? Possibly. Will it take an occasional failure, learning new lessons, and dealing with loss along the way? Probably. That’s the path, and it has to be walked.
Age and Time: Product and Process
Occasionally, people will ask how long I’ve been an artist. When did I start? The answer is high school. When I was a teenager I took studio art in my freshman year, then continued with courses until graduation.
I’ve always loved making art. I like to draw and paint. I’ve made art on and off since then. I pick up painting for a few years, then put it down.
A few years ago, I decided to keep going. To admit that even if I take time away, it’s always there for me to return to.
Cameron observes ‘Many blocked creatives tell themselves they are both too old and too young to allow themselves to pursue their dreams’.
This can be especially dangerous as we enter mid-life when we notice time with heightened awareness. The endless vista of the 20s and early 30s closes and new landscapes emerge, often internal.
Around when I turned 40, I had a visualisation one morning laying in bed. I saw myself in a field, standing in a circle with people of all ages, I walked to the centre of the circle, to stand on a slight elevation where I had a clear viewpoint of everything, over everyone. The mid-point was a point of clarity and I felt okay being in the middle of my life.
This week contains one of my favourite quotes from The Artist’s Way — ‘Creativity occurs in the moment, and in the moment we are timeless.’
I would say the same about our feelings. Feelings occur in the moment, and in the moment we are timeless. It’s why we feel like a child when we’re old and why we feel old when we’re children. Our expression travels back and forth through time, healing old wounds and making space for new experiences to come through.
‘Focused on process, our creative life retains a sense of adventure. Focused on product, the same creative life can feel foolish or barren.’
— Julia Cameron, The Artist’s Way, Week 8
The process is the journey, each day, the moments that add up to a life. I like the product, but it’s not why I do the work. I do the work to live my life. Realising this is how I return so easily to my rituals of creativity and self-care. It’s why I can mourn my losses and do my best to hold space for others to do the same.
Filling the Form
‘Indulging in the frantic fantasy of what our life would look like if we are real artists, we fail to see the name small creative changes that we could make at this very moment.’
— Julia Cameron, The Artist’s Way, Week 8
If you’re in recovery of any form, or if you are looking to make a big change in your life, the future can be intimidating. What we want can loom large, feeling impossible. Who will we be once we get there?
In my own life, I’ve used the Japanese philosophy of Kaizen to take small steps in the right direction.
Cameron suggests a similar approach, noting, ‘Small actions lead us to the larger movements in our creative lives.’
Exercises
In the exercises for Week 8, Cameron introduces some new affirmations. A few that spoke to me this week were:
I have a right to be an artist.
My creativity is appreciated.
I now treat myself and my creativity more gently.
I now share my creativity more openly.
I now accept creative recovery.
Read more reflections on The Artist’s Way →
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