Living a Creative Life: Advice to a Young Artist
I’ve been thinking a lot about creativity lately, and how, for a lot of us, it’s the fuel that keeps us going. It’s what gives our lives color, direction, and meaning.
But sometimes we creative types can feel tied up in knots, just thinking-thinking-thinking so hard that we get stuck and never take any action. I can spend weeks–months!–just deciding on a paint color.
I am the Queen of Over-Thinking. Believe me. I can think something to death, waiting so long to commit to a plan of action that the opportunity passes me right on by.
Perfectionism can get in the way when we don’t want to try something until we know exactly what the result will be. You may not want to start a novel, for example, until you come up an idea for a best-seller. Or you may hesitate to decorate your house until you have enough money to do it “right.”
Other times we feel discouraged, deflated, unworthy. We’re convinced we’re not good enough or talented enough. It’s easier to just give up. To not even try.
Hey, you can’t fail if you don’t try, right? No one can smirk at your decorating, criticize your screenplay, laugh at the song you wrote, or reject your short story as long as you keep thinking about creating something instead of actually doing it.
When Eva Hesse was a struggling young artist living in Germany, she appealed to American artist Sol LeWitt to critique her work and give her some advice. She felt that her career was at an impasse, and she wasn’t sure what to do or where to go with her work next. She wasn’t even sure if she was any good.
The letter he wrote to her in 1965 has become practically legendary in creative circles since it was published in 1976. I’ve kept a dog-eared copy of it in my study for years and am still inspired every time I look at it. Sometimes it’s that kick in the butt I need to get moving again.
So consider Sol LeWitt’s words an open letter to all of you creative types who want to move forward but are feeling frustrated, blocked, lost or afraid. I have a feeling I’m not the only one who sometimes needs a little encouragement:
Just stop thinking, worrying, looking over your shoulder, wondering, doubting, fearing, hurting, hoping for some easy way out, struggling, gasping, confusing, itching, scratching, mumbling, bumbling, grumbling, humbling, stumbling, rumbling, rambling, gambling, tumbling, scumbling, scrambling, hitching, hatching, bitching, moaning, groaning…grinding grinding away at yourself.
STOP it and just DO…
Try and tickle something inside you, your “weird humor.”
Don’t worry about cool, make your own uncool….
If you fear, make it work for you–draw and paint your fear and anxiety. You are not responsible for the world–you are only responsible for your work, so do it. And don’t think that your work has to conform to any idea or flavor. It can be anything you want it to be.
And stop worrying about big, deep things such as “to decide on a purpose and a way of life….” You must practice being stupid, dumb, unthinking, empty.
Then you will be able to DO!
I have much confidence in you and even though you are tormenting yourself, the work you do is very good.
Try to do some BAD work–the worst you can think of–and see what happens!
What have you been itching to try? What would you do if you were allowed to fail? What fun could you have if you stopped thinking-thinking-thinking and just let yourself play?
This is not the entire letter that LeWitt wrote, but excerpts from it. Both paintings shown here by Eva Hesse. To learn more about this artist and her work, click here. To learn more about Sol LeWitt’s life and career, click here. To see a video clip based on his letter, click here.











June 20th, 2008 at 11:21 pm
What a fantastic post! I don’t remember hearing about this letter–such wisdom, especially for artists! But it definitely has wide appeal. Too bad Hesse’s career was cut short.
June 21st, 2008 at 8:34 am
I’m thinking about enrolling in a Christian counseling program.
June 21st, 2008 at 10:43 am
I actually just asked someone if it’s just us creative types that are so hard on ourselves trying to be perfect. I’d like to get off that merry-go-round.
June 21st, 2008 at 12:02 pm
oh hello00ooo I’m the queen of over thinkig too! I like to complicate it just for the sake of complication. OY!
June 21st, 2008 at 2:18 pm
Hey Amy.
No, it’s NOT just creative times who have troubles with perfectionism. LOTS of folks do. It can paralyze one, in fact. As a trader and publisher of trading services, I would miss wonderful trades, turn big winners into small winners, and hold onto losing positions far too long because I wanted to enter or exit at the exact top or bottom. It was only after I realized and internalized that good enough was, in deed, good enough (and far better than trying to be perfect).
I’ve since redefined “perfect” as practical, actionable, and efficient. If it’s elegant, fantastic. If not, at least it’s done. Works for me.
For arty, creative sorts, or those who aspire to such here’s something my mother (an artist) turned me on to almost 40 years ago.
http://www.amazon.com/New-Drawing-Right-Side-Brain/dp/0874774241/ref=pd_sim_v_1
It’s transformational for many people.
Mark
June 21st, 2008 at 4:17 pm
Wow, that is really motivating….I have to send that letter to someone.
June 21st, 2008 at 6:25 pm
Thank you for this post, it spoke to me and it’s appropriate that I read it on your blog. I was an internet forum “lurker” for three years before I got up the courage to post my first comment on your site about two weeks ago. I was afraid. But now I’m posting all over the place and having so much fun.
June 21st, 2008 at 8:15 pm
I’ve never read or heard of that poem before. I love it! All those adjectives in a row made me smile!
June 21st, 2008 at 10:39 pm
I had a weaving project that turned into a disaster from an artistic point of view. My creativity (not just with weaving) was literally paralized for years. One day a weaving friend saw the project and told me, “some weaving is a work of art, but some is ART OF THE HEART.” now I look at all my weaving as “art of the heart.” If only I could learn to apply that to all of my life