There are some artists who can work anywhere – on the subway, in a coffee shop, at a nearby strip mall. I commend their flexibility. But I am not one of them. A sense of place is very important to me. I need a safe space in which to create, far from the distractions of the everyday world. Maybe I don’t have the courage to reveal to outsiders the messiness of art – even if that disorder only revolves around scrawled notes at a Starbuck’s table. I hate the notion that someone uninvited can bear witness to the wide-ranging thoughts in my head, as those thoughts are put down on paper with a stubby pencil. This concern is doubly compounded for a visual artist. They must find someplace special for themselves – away from the hubbub of the world – a place that is both reassuring and invigorating at the same time.
This week we are focusing on the creative process as it relates to a sense of place. I want to first touch upon the grand scheme of things – the very geography of art. I have witnessed many aspiring artists struggle against their environment. The place they find themselves in does not align with their innermost stirrings. When I lived in New York, many years ago, I became friends with a talented filmmaker, Cindy Stillwell. Everything about her bristled at the notion of slick urbanity. Her wisdom existed far afield from the staccato rhythm of the bustling city. At every opportunity, she gathered her camera equipment and headed for the south, where there was more room to spread her creative wings. She brought back rich and evocative films to the metropolis. They were a breath of fresh air.
Wide open spaces appeal to her, and she has the creative capacity to encircle those large expanses of landscape. Stillwell found a creative home in Montana. From this wild vantage point, she has created moving images, ones that really register with the soul. Even if she is shooting a truck stop along a rural highway, one cannot help but have a strong emotional response to the way that she captures this moment. This is no easy feat.
I am not suggesting that you pull up stakes and head west. But I want you to address the notion of space this week. Where will your creative endeavor unfold over the next year? How does the physical environment shape and inform your work? It matters a lot.
Painters talk about finding a place to work in that has just the right light – the kind of place that feels comforting and familiar to them. A place from which the work can flourish. Take some time this week and develop a workspace that suits you. Even if you have been a working artist for years, really examine the arena in which you approach your work and see how it can become more thoughtful and purposeful.
There is a special rhythm that comes upon a place that has been deeply considered. The creative endeavor demands an easy interchange between order and disorder. The artistic process demands this rhythm, unique to each artist. There are moments when you are deep into a task and the last thing you want to worry about is split coffee over your deskspace, but there will come a time when that puddle of coffee becomes intolerable. It must be cleaned up, along with all the other scraps of inspiration that you have discarded all around you. This impulse to reorder the workspace — and by extension your mind — will be different for everyone. Order may need to be restored within minutes, or one can abide the mess for a day or week. The timing doesn’t matter. You just must honor this rhythm and allow your artistic journey to operate in accord with these instincts.
One of the most extreme examples of this interplay between order and disorder operated within the creative space of the renowned painter Francis Bacon. He created a sharp division between these two states of being. He called the place in London: “my dump in Reece Mews.” It was a down-on-the-heels studio space with two rooms. In one room, he created his masterworks. The room was filthy. Layer upon layer of creative fragments collected on the floor. Paint was smeared liberally across the walls. His creative rhythm demanded that these elements of inspiration be readily at hand. He couldn’t tolerate order amidst this permanent state of disorder. It would ruin his flow, otherwise. But the other room – the one where he lived outside the frenzy of his creative process – was immaculate, even monastic. He cooked and ate and slept in this room. The pristine space offered the prefect counterbalance to the mayhem in his creative space. He had the opportunity to escape.
Embrace the rhythm between these polar opposites this week. Attend to the workspace. Make sure that it responds to this inner yearning to create. Even if it is just the corner to a kitchen table, allow it to become as expansive as Stillwell’s perspective or as deeply respectful of order and disorder as Bacon’s studio space. Find your own rhythm, one that truly resonates with you.
