The internet is strewn with “how to stay creative” lists, a flotilla of bottled insights including “use sticky notes,” “take showers,” and “drink coffee.” The prophets of these revelations also urge us, without irony, to “make lists.” Proof of concept? I've become skeptical of this word “creative". Appropriated by corporate smiley-speak and conjoined with jargon like “content marketing,” its meaning has been utterly diluted. I wince when it is twisted into a noun and a job description. Call me a curmudgeon, but I don’t identify as a “creative.” I’m not a manager in a branding department.
Our culture crudely equates the ritual of imaginative endeavour to an exercise with colourful office supplies. I feel creativity has been confused with a kind of Originality Lite, a casual generation of ideas. We neglect its association to a real act of creation, the labour of transforming visions into substance.
Forget the tricks. Forget the mythology of genius and talent. Creativity is a consequence of remaining industrious. My struggle to make paintings is not about summoning my muse but rather the time and determination to work. Obviously, artistic effort requires a fertile mind, but my experience is that the brain is most inventive and sensitive to stimulation when constantly flexed. I subscribe to the Picasso maxim, “Inspiration is possible but it must find you working.”
That is the open secret - to doggedly keep at it. As someone with a day job, I have to protect my practice against the erosive pressures of other responsibilities. Below are some notes on how I try to maintain my momentum. Although they concern my painting habits, hopefully they are broad enough to apply to other disciplines as well.
"Inspiration is possible but it must find you working."
1. Have a structured daily regime.
I maintain a fairly consistent painting schedule throughout the week. My studio is set up in the spare half-bedroom of our flat, and I paint there most weekdays at exactly the same times, once in the morning and once in the the evening. (I paint for longer on the weekends.) I don’t need to think about gathering my materials or negotiate when I am going to paint. It is an automatic part of my daily life. In the long term, I believe it is better to work regularly for shorter periods than to work sporadically at great length. I prefer to keep my thoughts at a constant simmer rather than oscillating through a freeze-thaw cycle.
2. Have a contingency plan.
If I have something to do in the evening, I wake early but skip the gym to paint for a longer session in the morning. I don’t like to feel restricted by my practice, but I need to preserve my daily painting time. I have this alternate routine ready. This may seem trivial, but it’s part of consciously prioritising painting, of keeping to it steadily.
3. Have a sense of the project’s arc.
Every painting I make originates from the same cloud of ideas. I am not the biggest fan of the artist statement (see Iris Jaffe’s brilliant "Anti-artist statement Statement"), but I try to remain broadly aware of this cloud’s constituent parts. Sometimes, these are concepts that can be explored in words. For instance, I am a British-born American who moved to London as an adult. I think about the paradox of being a foreigner in one’s own country. Other times, the notions are more visual than verbal, such as the use of a technique or the influence of other images. I don’t plot the exact trajectory of my work, but I have a sense of its overall arc. Each painting is a continuation of the last. I don’t lose steam between paintings because I consider them as one project, not a series of discrete pieces.
4. Have clear short-term goals.
Of course, I can dream about fashionable gallery openings and a retrospective at the Whitney Museum, but extravagant fantasies are not so helpful in the immediate future. I try to set myself goals on the scale of a year, so I have a definite metric with which to pace myself. For 2018, my aims have been to appear in two group exhibitions and to complete eight to ten paintings. These targets are ambitiously realistic. They require me to push hard but they are not so implausible that I will end up miles off and dejected. For 2019, I want complete a similar number of paintings and organise a solo show. Life rarely goes to plan, but the point is to have a sense of direction.
5. Write about other people’s work.
I look at other people’s work and force myself to write about it. Writing for me is an excruciatingly slow process, and my dilemma is that these hours inevitably detract from painting. However, the benefit is that writing encourages me to crystallise my beliefs. Long stretches of painting become an increasingly trance-like meditation. The interruption of constructing resolved thoughts requires self-examination. Initially, I always feel clumsy, but as the lines accumulate, I often find there was more inside of me than I had realised.
If you found this article useful, share it around, that makes us happy. You can also sign up to the mailing list for posts like this. And, if you have any unanswered questions, you can send them to firstname.lastname@example.org and we'll do our best to answer them in an email or a post.
Thanks for reading, and don't forget to share your art with us by submitting your work or tag #darkyellowdot on Instagram @darkyellowdot
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Adrian Coleman is a painter who recently moved from New York to London. He is a winner of the Brooklyn Museum’s 2012 open studio competition. His paintings have appeared at the Bronx Museum, Steven Amedee Gallery, the Mall Galleries, and Peckham Levels. He works by day as an architect.