The most wonderful thing about art is that it is a process. If you create a painting, with its evolution from a sketch through many stages until the final signed thing, or if you capture clouds in the perfect moment taking a photograph:
Making art is a process of creation, of coming into being.
No matter if it starts with your thought of “I want to paint my Muse” or “I want to take the perfect picture of a jumping horse” or “I want to write a juicy novel”, this coming into being happens organically, a metamorphose of the thought into the tangible thing.
The most important magic here is your willingness to create.
You might find yourself obsessing, like under a spell. But that is just your soul working on this whole manifestation thing. Your perfectly sane mind might have serious doubts, and your critic almost certainly will be having a blast trying to stop you from creating anything relevant. Following your soul and your joy through this process might be one of the last beautiful adventures of our time.
Most of our artworks do not have a truly recognisable starting point.
In the moment I take the paintbrush or the charcoal to the canvas I have already been involved with what is coming into being for quite a while. If I start drawing playfully or if I sit down with pen and paper for a relaxing session of automatic writing,
all the obscure and quirky things that will pour out of my pen have their origin in life itself, in everything that happened around me, to me and in me.
Many artists do not consider creating to be work. Rather than having to force themselves to do something they feel like opening the gates and letting creativity rush through. Maybe the gate opening needs some practice to work smoothly every time, but
the evolution of the artwork itself requires more tending and allowing then practice and effort.
The hardest thing for me personally is to open the gates, to get started. The flowing and tending and following the brush or the pen on its meandering way can be exhausting, yes, but it is rewarding at the same time. So even if you forget to eat or to sleep in your creative process, this can happen only because you are being replenished with another kind of energy.
Watching your own hands giving birth to something worthy might be exhilarating and energising. Nevertheless, you will usually feel exhausted and tired postpartum.
Depending on the scale of the artwork and the techniques involved, the time between the first brushstroke, the first cut, the first dent in the clay and the last finishing touches varies from a few minutes to a few years. Not everybody is able to contain the creative energy over long periods of time, but the same is true for short and intense work. The regeneration time you need between the development of one of your souls’ children and the next one varies as well.
Only by experimenting you will find out your own best practice.
I am sure you will enjoy many steps on your way. And if you want to try out something new, I invite you to join me for an Intentional Creativity® Workshop. (The pictures show the evolution of my teacher painting from the first Muse Workshop I ever did.)
Heartfelt, wherever you are,
P.S.: Tell me all about your creative process below! I am soo looking forward to your comment!