Sometimes we artists are in a fury of creating and making good art with words, paints, clay … and sometimes we tumble out of that storm and can't seem to make a thing. Life happens and responsibilities take precedence. Studio spaces with that coveted north light shining in turn into cramped closets with no sunlight at all. Large oil paintings on canvases turn into small sketches on old coffee stained napkins. Beautiful oaken shelves that once displayed our most precious and meaningful collections turn into cardboard boxes taped shut as the footholds of having a home become ever elusive. Time and seasons slowly pass by. And we wait. We wait constantly for the same wick to absorb the salubrious precipitations of creativity and ignite into flame.
I had a conversation with a friend of mine, an emerging writer, about these highs and lows. She looked at me and said, "You, my friend, are an artist even if you're painting or not. " I stared back at her wanting to believe that it was that simple and true. She then referred a book to me, Letters to a Young Poet, authored by Mark Harman. It's a collection of 10 letters that were written between 1902 - 1908 when the nineteen year old aspiring poet, Franz Kappus, wrote to the then twenty-six year old poet, Rainer Maria Rilke, seeking advice about his poetry. I found that these were not only letters, but a great life manual that reaches to the soul.
I wanted to share with you a quote from one of my favorite parts in this little book.
He writes,
It’s all about carrying to term and giving birth. To let every impression and every seed of a feeling realize itself on its own, in the dark, in the unconveyable, the unconscious, beyond the reach of your understanding, and to await with deep humility and patience the hour when a new clarity is born; this alone is to live artistically, in understanding as in creation.
Time is no measure there, a year is worthless, and ten years are nothing. To be an artist means not to calculate and not to count; to mature like a tree that does not pressure its sap and stands amid the spring storms with assurance and without the slightest dear that summer might not come. It does come. But it comes only for the patient ones, who stand about as if eternity lay before them, so unconcernedly still and vast. I learn this every day, learn it amidst considerable pain, for which I am grateful. Patience is everything!
What I like about this quote is that he describes what it's like when something faint is ruminating inside waiting to take form. Sometimes it is time to fight for it. To fight with pens and papers or with paints and brushes to bring it out. Other times it’s a time to wait and trust that it will come to its full fruition, like the slow passing of winter into spring. Many times it doesn’t come in the timeframe we want it to come and it doesn't always take on the form that we think it should, but to some degree it’s true and sincere. Discerning when to fight and when to wait is always complicated and unclear - to me at least. Maybe it will be easier as the journey continues.
In this letter, I am reminded of mostly of patience. Patience for the moments when you're making everything you have ever wanted to make and patience for the moments when you're not making everything you wish you could.