The Working Artist

On Self Motivation

David Horwitz was a good friend, a great photographer, and very funny. We also played many rousing and boisterous rounds of table tennis. He would often razz me about the amount of work ethic and motivation I seemed to possess, while lamenting the lack of it in himself, which I didn't necessarily agree with. I never really had an answer for him. I sometimes wonder now if it was an age related thing as he was eight years older than me. Of course, any of us who have reached the age of 50 or older, these things matter little in friendships and acquaintances.

I’ve been reflecting on those conversations recently as both my mind and body tell me…let’s nap! I’ve always gone through various periods where I’m giving up art, or I’m done with music. Sometimes it lasts for a couple days, sometimes a month or so. I accepted long ago this is how my mind functions so it does not lead to depression or sadness during these periods. I seem to just do other things; vacuum, dust, cook, home repair, bathe, laundry, take out the trash, clean my desk, pay bills, watch TV, change the kitty litter, organize stuff, peruse the internet, read, read, read.

Since late December I’ve been going through a period of little to no desire for either – no motivation or enthusiasm about getting into the studio – which led to starting this blog. For me, writing is cathartic and I’ve found it’s always beneficial to articulate my thoughts by either jotting notes with my handy #2 pencil on paper or typing away on my computer.

The answer is that he is running down. Never is he going to be his old self again. Never is going to have his old resilience. Whatever inside him was given the task of mending the organism after it was was so terrible assaulted, first on the road, then in the operating theatre, has grown too tired for the job, too overburdened. And the same holds for the rest of the team, the heart, the lungs, the muscles, the brain. They did for him what they could as long as they could; now they want to rest. – “Slow Man” J.M. Coetzee

I started writing down notes for this post last week and oddly enough I jumped back into the studio with some ideas to work on last Tuesday. There you go…it comes and goes. Also, I have found that the periods of ‘rest’ help to purge the stale and forge ahead into new territory.

On we go.

Ordinary art is what I am making. I am a regular person doggedly making ordinary art. But as Ted Orland and David Bayles point out in their book Art and Fear, “ordinary art” is the art that most of us, those of us not Proust or Mozart, actually make. If Proust-like genius were the prerequisite for art, then statistically speaking very little little of it would exist. Art is seldom the result of true genius; rather, it is the product of hard work and skills learned and tenaciously practiced by regular people. In my case, I practice my skills despite repeated failures and self-doubt so profound it can masquerade outwardly as conceit. It’s not heroic in any way. To the contrary, it’s plodding, obdurate effort. I make bad picture after bad picture week after week until the relief comes: the good new picture that offers benediction. – “Hold Still” Sally Mann

And here is today’s moment of philosophy.

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