Embrace that Fear of Boredom

On the way to Denver for a quick weekend visit, Zab at my side, our first Colorado trip in thirty years.  My sketchpad and pencil are ever close for fear of possible downtime. I preach "get over your fears," but I'm still tormented by my own. My inner voice is so loud sometimes that it steals a night's rest.  I still keep a small tablet beside my bed in case I get a 2:00 am brainstorm, but it remains empty as the minutes tick away as i pin my hopes that I'll drift back into a quiet sleep.  The sporadic Post-it-Note message to myself usually says something even more dull like "remember to do laundry."

I guess my greatest challenge is fear of boredom, sad to say, since empty-headed moments can spark bursts of inspiration. I haven't given myself much chance to find out, however, as my every minute is booked.  Even now, I cannot sit comfortably on this flight (then again, who can?) without running my fingers across this keyboard.

I need a creativity exercise.

Endorsable, apathetic, mindless...I think I already have dinner plans for Monday.

Sedentary, valuable, ridiculous...the location for Tuesday's Board meeting was changed at the last minute.

 Magical, disposable, comic..so have I copied that evaluation form for Wednesday's class yet?

Comic. That's it: comic.

Several years ago, I did some research on comic timing. Ok, I just read an interview with a standup comedian, but it was filled with great tips on how to keep an audience entertained, valuable information for any teacher.  If you can't make an idiot of yourself in front of thirty apathetic faces, then take that greeter job at Wal-Mart.  Don't become a teacher and bore your students to yawns.

I can't even remember his name, but the comedian said that all deliveries are broken into threes.  If you talk about something once or twice,  the audience may laugh initially, but your joke will not make a lasting impression. If you ramble on about the topic beyond three cracks, it's not funny anymore. Three is the magical number. Three and move on.  Was it Billy Crystal? It doesn't matter. I just remember "three."

Apologetic, complacent, noisy...do I  have a dental appointment Thursday afternoon?

Bilingual, absorbent, significant...Friday's massage is so far away.

Forgotten, creative, intrusive...where is my focus? Zab's birthday is Saturday, and I'm without a present much less an idea for one.  Three...Three...Three. Not funny.

Fear's BFF: Paralysis

Denver...an arts meca, an artist's paradise, kindred spirits that share my love of arting-around.  Was so surprised to meet Macy Dorf, a nationally known potter, whose techniques are highlighted in this month's issue of Pottery Making Illustrated.  He owns "Artists on Santa Fe", a business fronted by a coop gallery and supported by thirty artist studios in the back. 

Macy gave us a tour of his own studio and showed me his improvised extruder  for his sculptural pieces as well as his slip trough.  We took bragging photos in front of his glazed functional works, and I invited him to visit our new Clay Station in Ponchatoula. We discussed the sad plight of artists trying to sell during this insufferable recession and both agreed that now is the time for all artists to build up their inventory. 

Leaving with promises of future encounters via an exchange of contact info, I knew I would see him again somehow.  The other galleries down the street paled by comparison to my Macy experience, and I wondered if their owners admired or resented Macy's competition.  How could the "Artists on Santa Fe" be anything but an aid to their existence? Everyone by now knows that McDonald's builds by Burger King, by Wendy's,     and by Arby's for a reason: the consumer gravitates to a retail area in which she has a choice.  Do I want an abstract acrylic on canvas with my Big Mac or a figurative metal sculpture with my sodium-glazed fries?

The concept of Freedom of Choice can sometimes be overwhelming and, I might add, fear-inducing.  If we are overloaded with possibilities, our senses backfire on us as we scream "Give me a break here!"  Sometimes, it's just easier to let someone tell us what to do, or better yet, to crawl into the security of a hole, a sanctuary, free of that pesky decision-making.  When we do just that, we have succumbed to fear's BFF, paralysis. 

We are instantly paralyzed when we amplify our fears.  Think how smoothly our paranoia blocks our quest for creative problem solving.  Phobias breed freely when we feed them with our worries causing them to multiply gladly as we sacrifice our lives to make room for their offspring.  I often think of those who are so afraid of changing their comfort zone that they even avoid leaving home except for a quick commute to the job and back.

Yes, this recession is making it difficult for artists to sell work. Now read that sentence again with more emphasis on the word "recession." Notice that I did not say your work is to blame nor is your timing to blame nor is your pricing to blame. This is not the time to be paralyzed by self-doubt. Just get some work done. Build up your inventory. Join together with your fellow artists in a nurturing support system. Brainstorm for new ideas. Break traditional ground. Most of all, be ready, for art will sell again.

Therapy in Disguise

I built the Art Station in 2007 in the hopes of providing art instruction for the lost generations of adults who never had or were denied the opportunity to take art in school. I had already enjoyed 33 years of teaching teenagers and imagined an exciting retirement of being surrounded by sane adults who simply desired to learn how to draw and paint. I could provide an outlet for the hidden artist in each of them.

I soon came to realize that The Art Station had certainly been needed, but not necessarily for the glorious sake of art. No, The Art Station turned out to be more a refuge for trapped spirits and even more a source of solace for weary minds deprived of the thrill of free thinking.

Yes, I know a teacher has a job of a different color than the average accountant or engineer. After 36 years in front of a classroom, it did not take me long to grasp that my every word, facial expression and hand gesture was received and interpreted on an emotional basis.

"Your hair looks great today, Betsy" is easily transcribed in a student's mind as "Your hair looked terrible yesterday." An accountant offering that same compliment would hear a simple "thank-you" followed by "Now, let's talk about my taxes."

A teacher's influence can never be minimized even by the most inept instructor. The last thing I want is to hear my name when Betsy ends up on a therapist's couch. A hostile teacher's fame grows quickly in psychoanalytical circles.

Any class is an emotional tit-for-tat between instructor and pupil, yet teaching the visual or performing arts makes the emotional exchanges even more complex. Art, by the nature of that wild beast, is already a touchy-feely course. When Betsy creates freely (and no, I'm not talking paint by number here), she reveals her subconscious, her feelings, her gut. When she wakes up from this right brain trance, she sees a part of herself on that canvas that she never knew existed. Therefore, a compliment now is not only about her painting, but it is also about her soul. Betsy will automatically take my response personally as my words will be even more sensitively heard and, yes, misinterpreted.

So, why bother, you ask? Easy. The personal benefits of teaching any subject are great, but the rewards of teaching Art are phenomenal. There is no other profession like it, in or out of the education field. I not only get to help students diminish the fears that keep them from being creative in art, but also in life. They can transfer those higher order thinking skills to their everyday challenges and solve their problems creatively. I am privileged to get to peek inside their heads and help them face those fears and thrilled to be invited along for the ride as they turn down their critical inner voice.

And, if my name does come up later during Betsy's therapy session, I hope it is accompanied by a sigh and a smile, and that the counselor is so impressed by her progress that Betsy doesn't have to pay the bill.


-Kim

I am a No Fear Artist

We're getting T-shirts printed for the Art Station with the words No Fear Artist splashed across the back. There will be questions of the wearer, I'm sure, but No Fear is a common slogan around The Art Station. No Fear is our most popular class regardless of whether it's No Fear Watercolor, No Fear Drawing or even No Fear Clay. All of these classes have one thing in common: the quest to diminish the fears that block creativity.

Once a No Fear artist, always a No Fear Artist. Students will yell out "No Fear" if they hear even a slight hesitation from one who is afraid to try something new. The theory of No Fear is contagious and spreads rapidly, for one class reaps a lifetime of benefits not only in art but also in life. Creative problem solving is a skill that can be learned and put into practice in any dilemma no matter how complex.

It's simple, but only after we diminish our fears, and we can diminish our fears only after we embrace them.

We are sidelined first and foremost by that mother of all fears: Fear of Change. It's so easy to stay in our warm little comfort zone. We can even pace back and forth in there without much stress. If we stay there too long, however, we cannot grow, and we find the longer we put off change, the more difficult it is to actually do it.

Too, the greater the change, the greater the fear. For example, adding a room to my too small home is much less scary than building an entirely new house. Planting an herb garden is nothing compared to landscaping my front yard.

Yet, these aren't really the hard changes, are they? What about making the change involved in the decision to place your mother in an assisted living center? That may be a sizable change for her, but what if you were to allow her to move in with you? What about taking a child to karate? Easy, but what about the decision to take a child to a psychiatrist?

Empty Nest is a scary change that is thrust upon parents as their last child leaves the roost, the fear of a hollow life once the children leave home. Luckily for us, we're not caught unaware. We know by the time the youngest is sixteen that it's time to take small steps to overcome this particular fear.

Not me. From the time she was about nine or ten, our daughter let us know that she wanted to go to college somewhere in the mountains. It didn't take us long to realize she meant out-of-state since the last time I looked, Louisiana was still pretty flat. Within eight years, she made her wish come true, but I hoped that one day she would return not necessarily to live with us but at least closer. Then again, think of how many young adults are returning home because they are just too afraid to face life on their own? No such luck. She has already graduated from college, married, and still lives in her college town in Tennessee, so I had to accept the fact that my husband and I had joined the ranks of the Empty Nesters.

If I had not been in denial, I could have tackled this Fear of Change in small steps. Instead when it finally dawned on me that she was not going to move back home, my steps had to be quick and anxious, do or cry decision-making.

Now I am a No Fear Artist better able to embrace my fears, one small step at a time.


-Kim