Every project starts off with incredible levels of excitement and enthusiasm, right?
"THIS will be what propels me into my dreams!"
Soon followed by the uncovering of mountains of work necessary to make it happen. Even under the best funded, most inspired of circumstances, Making Something is always more difficult, more expensive, requires more time and effort than originally anticipated.
I have been making (and often selling) art online since the early 90s, so I am extremely familiar with the Good, the Bad, and the Weird parts of it, my mind can map out the general flow fairly easily and quickly, even with the seemingly daily changes to every component.
"THIS time is different!"
Not a feeling.
A plan. (Kinda.)
I've helped a lot of friends and clients launch then run a lot of projects over the years. One of the recurring pitfalls to overcome was the dreaded, post-excitement, "I need to get to be better disciplined."
This will sound familiar to anyone whom has tried to do pretty much anything ever...
Draw every day, write every day, ass-in-chair, kill the notifications, turn off the phone, set a ritual, light a candle, set a schedule, Now is Art Time... oh no, laundry keeps piling up, dinner needs to be cooked, bills paid... computers crash and cannot be readily replaced, suppliers increase pricing / decrease speed / stop carrying essential supplies...
...because the world continues to happen independent of your project.
The Hidden Archives of the Netherworld that are also Available to All is the regularly-used working title to all of my story notes. It cracks me (and me alone) up every time.
There is a (necessary?) level of theatrical performance to artistic discipline.
If the performance is part of the art, then my critique is immediately removed. I am specifically targeting this idea of doing work, visibly, for the sake of this visibly -- and often at the expense of anything usefully produced.
- Sitting at a computer in a coffee shop known to have background volume too loud to concentrate, because it made me feel like a serious writer.
- Publicly studying, following along, an artist's process again and again in an attempt to unlock the secrets of how they were able to paint so much, ignoring the fact that at least some of their productivity came at the benefit of not reading similar articles monthly (weekly) (...sometimes daily).
- Re-re- (...re-) considering going back to art school. Not because I am looking for a career pivot into a larger field or higher strata of artistic recognition, but because if I go to the Right School with the Right Credentials that have the Right Alumni and try Really Hard, then this time I will be able to do it Right.
- The idea that there is a way "to do it right."
These examples are set in the first person because I am not looking to write this as a callout.
Choosing structure over discipline
An attempt to end the above madness.
One of the key components to this series of blog posts is to wire my brain to sit down, once a month, for a year, and figure out at least one large goal to tackle for the next few weeks.
This year, I am not selling any of my art projects.
This is allowing me the space to experiment widely, to create and reject, create and set aside, pull together things set aside and create on top, burn it all down and build something with the rubble. Experiment widely, broadly, significantly. Polish, revamp, re-do. Abandon, return, remix.
The downside to all of this, however, is lacking an external motivator. Finishing a project does not bring the potential for profit. And as a person, I do not care about or actively pursued awards or fame.
It is really, really easy to get distracted.
If this doesn't work out, couldn't I just get another job? Or accept a slower artistic career? Would it be so bad to just doodle as a hobby? Do I even need to fuss with the algorithms of social media? Is it worth the cost of running a website?
Making art, writing stories, these are so hard! Why bother?!
Because making art and writing stories is great and it is what I want to do with my time on this planet.
To me, discipline invokes punishment for lack of acceptable progress on an acceptable timescale -- both of which will be adjusted as achievements are met, because discipline demands constant increases to satisfy an insatiable hunger.
There is a cost for not-doing-the-thing, there is a warden, there is a committee, there is some external force watching and requiring the forward artistic output. When milestones are met, then this becomes proof-positive that production can increase (and often that it should have been increased at an earlier check-in, better start making up for "lost" time.)
Structure erases all of that.
- 12 months, 12 blog posts detailing how I am re-building the studio. The physical space I make things. Myself, mentally and physically (art is a contact sport.)
- Figuring out what I want in the shop. Then, how do I make it. How quickly can I make it, and at what quantity.
- Reviewing notes that have gathered up over the years. Keeping what makes sense, for me, now.
- Reviewing project ideas. Yes-to-this, no-to-that, combine-these.
- Putting every ambition in the spotlight. Do I actually want to make this widget? For sale, for a showcase, for myself to put on a shelf? Did I want to make this widget because I actually want to or because it was popular with at the time I came across it?
- Is an idea realistic? If not, where can I reduce scope and/or increase timeline to make it work? Is that worth it?
- From a business perspective, how big do I want to get? How much money is enough to keep this running? How much profit will satisfy?
- From an artistic perspective, do I care about popularity? Do I want to be in blogs, magazines, art shows and galleries?
What hunger am I serving?
I had the idea for cut paper fairy sculptures with lemons. Fairly quickly, I abandoned the cut paper fairies for drawn fairies, but kept going on the lemons. The project never manifested fully but was absurdly fun to work on.
Discipline is demanding: There is a punishment mechanism for not fulfilling the promise laid out at the beginning, and check-ins on progress come with the threat of guilt for not achieving enough, and anxiety for not achieving more.
Structure is straight forward: This is the plan. This is the schedule.
If something is not complete on the schedule, I will come back and fill in the gap later or simply move on, attempt to meet the goal by the next check in. If this becomes a pattern, the goal and/or schedule are re-evaluated.
