Rekindling The Creative Spark

Sometimes the flame just goes out. My creative fire just dies, nothing left but embers. I go to my art toolbox, and there’s nothing in it but wet matches.

Maybe you’ve experienced this, too. No. Creative. Mojo. Period.

During one of my own artistic droughts, I was registered for a three-day workshop with an artist I deeply admire and had wanted to take a class from for a long, long time. So, there I was, with absolutely no gas in the tank and this fabulous opportunity coming up in just a few days. I didn’t even have the motivation to gather art supplies for the class. I was, as you may now guess, a hot mess.

But somehow, some way, I pulled myself together, raided my art supplies - consulted the supply list, grabbed all the necessary media, not caring a whim what ended up in my tote - and got my fanny to that workshop.

Can you guess what happened?

If you guessed I had an artistic epiphany the size of Montana…you’d be wrong! I struggled the first two days of that workshop! I listened intently. I tried new things. I tried my old things. I talked our teacher. I talked to other artists. But I was stuck, stuck, stuck. It was miserable.

But the desire was still there. And that just made me feel so empty.

I arrived the last day of the workshop, weary, confused, sad.

The artist, our teacher, gathered us into our closing circle that morning to send us into our last day together to make art. Leaning in, I wanted to get what I could from this circle of kindred spirits and wise women. Our teacher began reading a poem.

I felt something ever so slightly crack somewhere deep inside.

To my surprise, she read the poem again.

I began to cry, softly, privately. No sound, so movement, just tears.

Then to my astonishment, she pulled out her phone and played an audio recording of the poet reading his words.

I was gone. The tears flowed, my body shook, I sniffled, I gasped, I screwed my eyes shut while simultaneously I opened up my entire soul.

In that moment, I realized, I had come to this workshop empty-handed, empty-hearted. That poem was a prayer of rough love, read just for me. I opened my eyes and looked into that circle of women, searching their faces, and seeing mine reflected in their eyes.

I felt seen. I felt supported. I felt grounded.

I returned to my work table. All the seemingly random bits of art I created the past two days now made sense. I took the scraggly little pile and began tearing each piece into smaller pieces, about the size of a vintage book cover I randomly through in my bag when I was gathering supplies just days before. I bound them all up with a bit of vintage ribbon. Then I wrote out the cathartic poem that I’d just heard onto each page of this new journal.

And I was, indeed, astonished.

Post Script:

So, my advice to you when you find yourself in a slump: step away from your “studio” or wherever you normally sit down to create and go take a class. In person, if at all possible. Be in community with other kindreds, even if it means getting together with just one creative friend, taking an online course, or going to an art museum. Switch it up, change your environment, write it out. Lather, rinse, and repeat until you see that tiny glimmer and know that something is firing up inside that artistic heart of yours. Then honey, you stoke that flame! Paint with abandon, make your marks, and watch yourself on fire!

And there you are, on the other side. The fire-in-her-belly creative sage you were meant to be.

Post, Post Script:

Here’s the poem. I hope you love it.

Tilicho Lake

Written By David Whyte

In this high place
it is as simple as this,
leave everything you know behind.
Step toward the cold surface,
say the old prayer of rough love
and open both arms.

Those who come with empty hands
will stare into the lake astonished
there, in the cold light
reflecting pure snow
the true shape of your own face.

To hear the recording, click here. Be sure to listen to the end.

Feel free to bookmark this page and come back to it often when you need a reminder that you’re not alone on this creative journey. We all struggle. We all get stuck. But we always get back to our creative souls. Be patient. Be gentle with yourself. I’m sending lovies from my little corner of the world.