Museless (Bad Art Days)

During the painting process, there are times when I know the work has “turned.” It can be as little as 2 sq. inches any place on the canvas where one area or element– a bantam jeep, fieldmouse or groundcover– has been executed to my satisfaction. The initial accomplishment encourages, sustains continued effort, regardless of whether or not decisions later on, change or completely replace that section. This modus operandi serves the kind of art I do. When such moments click into recognition– ladies and gents, we are on our way! Sometimes though, ages pass before they occur. Once in a while, the rest of the work just doesn’t follow or else parts of the canvas have “turned” but the whole painting lacks cohesion. We all have bad art days. Some last longer than others. Some of them stretch into months. As an artist, nothing kills me more than to have a block of time to myself in order to work, yet at the end of it, be no further along than when I started. I still throw tantrums whenever a painting refuses to “turn.” Had one on the floor once; my cat ran over to investigate. Within seconds, she was bored and jumped over my person like some roller derby queen, to get on with other business she obviously found more compelling than artist angst.

What’s astonishing about bad art days is how easily panic colours everything. The big fear is the equivalent of “will spring ever come?” A North American temperate climate zone pretty much cycles 4 seasons per year. Egregious winters however, with frequent snowstorms, bone-chill, and hazardous ice conditions, dulls the general mood, as well as the available sunlight. Small comfort that reprieve arrives in 3 months. The energy required to cope with the elements dominates attention now. When repeated attempts to produce art yields poor results, I forget past achievements, work sold, my exhibition history etc. In fact, joy and vitality normally experienced in the creative process, disppears. Art becomes difficult enterprise, a combative, even tedious affair. It also really, really pisses me off. I wonder whether I’ve peaked, question my capabilities and was this the right road 40 years ago when Liam Cahill wanted to get married but I chose art instead? During a recent episode, confidence plunged to such a low, I got frantic and typed “how to paint landscape backgrounds” into a computer search engine just in case it would help. The good thing about that was the wealth of information. Downside? Most of it I already tried but the painting still didn’t turn. After a tract of what seems like interminable bad art days, the mind begins to associate all kinds of things with that one frustration. Television adverts about clogged sinks, tough stains and lonely sandwiches pining for the right potato chip to join their meals– resonate with a familiar discomfort.

Some artists do express far more equilibrium and composure throughout their career than others. What’s remarkable (and enviable) is the ability to regard all art days as nothing more or less than what they signed up for– without giving undue importance to either success or failure. At first I suspected they were lying or in denial because of youth, personal circumstances or level of commitment. Then I thought they were closet monks. Yet it’s hard to ignore how much simpler it would be to move on, get over one day at a time, if this approach could be cultivated. Often, having other things going on in our lives provides enough hiatus away from the work to recharge our efforts when we return. Unfortunately, it also has the potential for adverse effect in that not only does the anxiety and dissatisfaction of leaving off on a bad art day spill into other areas, it divides attention from focus needed somewhere else.

I once took adult swim lessons at a community centre. The twenty-something girl who taught us– a mix of seniors, New Canadians and folks of colour, barked “RELAX!'’ as we flailed through one pool width. The word, repeated in such strident tones, induced far more agitation than calm. I still have fond memories of how we all resembled escaped cons, thrashing across a stream, chased by the voice of a hound. Hints to some artists that the best way to deal with a run of bad art days is to leave the work alone or start a fresh piece– backfires in similar fashion, even if it’s a good suggestion. Not all artists are obsessive, but I just want to get in there and fix everything; end these self-doubts already. If stagnation persists in the studio, there’s a second chance of finding creative juices some place else in our lives, that could use some love. It waits for us in neglected relationships, beckons towards spiritual development, demands beauty in the home, or wants to be expressed in a different outlet such as jazz, poetry or belly-dancing. Work that refuses to progress in spite of stellar attempts, hammers at an artist’s spirit. Sometimes the loneliness encountered from such discouragement raises a tenderness towards struggling things: the pigeon who sat her one egg during torrential rains but it still didn’t hatch, an elderly woman startled by a cyclist, irises emerging in January, confused by a mild winter. We know how tough art-making is, how it reveals our limitations. Artists who have known critical and commercial success are no less spared than those who labour in anonymity:

“The art stuff is hard. Painting is not at all pleasant. It’s very, very hard work and it’s frustrating and it really grinds you down. It is not easy because you show yourself so often how bad you are and how little you know.” -Tom Uttech-

Ironically, if we can refrain from taking it out on others or the innocent, that very vulnerability has the power to engender enough compassion for ourselves, to persevere anew. One consideration involves lowering our standards gently enough to invite us back into the process with play, instead of pressure.