Here’s something I’ve been puzzling over for the last 20-odd years: Why is it so very difficult for me to give myself permission to go into the studio to work on a project if it happens that the house hasn’t been cleaned in over a week or some other, similarly-undone task is haunting me? After all, I am an artist, or so my business card states; it is my job to go into the studio & make art. Why would I need to give myself permission to do so?
Conversely: Why is it that nothing pleases me more than spending my birthday – or Christmas afternoon or the long Thanksgiving weekend – in my studio, working on a painting or making jewelry? After all, holidays, birthdays & such are typically opportunities to relax. If I’m working in my studio all week, why would I not welcome some time away from it, at least on Christmas or Thanksgiving?
Lest my reference to household duties be misinterpreted, what assuredly is not a factor is The Curse of Traditional, Gender-based Roles, as anyone with any knowledge of me or my husband Tom would attest. No, long ago I realized that the reasons for this strange topsy-turvyness cannot be blamed on Society; they rest solely & entirely with me.
Here’s a clue: I once wrote in a holiday newsletter that I had no plans for retirement because “I’ve been blurring the lines between work & play for so long.” And I often hear myself say something like “I got to play in the studio for 5 hours today!” when in reality, I was designing bracelets or painting a still life. While it’s true that I pretty much enjoy everything I do in my studio (yes, even cleaning it), if questioned, I would certainly characterize tracking expenses or teaching as “work.” Yet somehow, for some reason, I routinely refer to art-making as “play” (even though it is often difficult & even frustrating).
Recently Tom pointed out to me that there is a vast difference between enjoying what one does & “playing.” This suggests that because I experience art-making as incredibly enjoyable (even when it’s difficult), I’ve somehow confused it with playing. Another possibility is that long before I became an artist, art-making was somehow equated in my mind with playing & therefore, it will always lack the gravitas of working. Well, it’s a slippery slope from believing that to putting the importance of art-making well behind less “frivolous” activities, like cooking & doing laundry, not to mention a job where you actually get paid on a regular basis…okay, never mind; we won’t go there in this blog.
Which probably accounts for why I love to be in the studio on holidays & my birthday: In our house, those are days blissfully free of all guilt & obligation because traditionally, we each do whatever we wish. Tom is usually in one of his workshops & I’m in my studio, catching up on a painting or practicing a new jewelry technique.
How do I manage to make art on any of the other 360 or so days of the year? I simply ignore the mental drama & work anyway. I negotiate with myself: “Four hours on my painting, then I’ll dust,” although to be honest, it’s more like: “I’ll hurry up & dust, then I get to paint.” I shut my studio door. (This only works if I’m in there.) I remind myself how fortunate I am to be able to spend my time doing something that makes me so happy (by which I mean making art, not cleaning the toilets). I set arbitrary deadlines for myself to finish projects.
When all else fails, in the evening over a glass of Chardonnay, I pour out all my disappointments with myself to Tom. Whereupon he says something insightful & brilliant such as, “There is a vast difference between enjoying what you do & playing.” Whereupon I feel hopeful again that I will finally, once & for all, overcome this stupid hang-up & spend more time making art.