One of the toughest, yet freeing, moves that I’ve had to make internally, as an artist, is moving from creating a product to creating art for purpose.

As a portrait and wedding photographer I would have a vision, often worked out between myself and the client, and everything creative would be done in an effort to bring to life that vision.  Most of the time I was very successful in guiding the craft.  But there were many times where I would produce wonderful photographs that went outside said vision and the clients would sometimes buy those and sometimes wouldn’t.

I took it too personally I think.

It’s always been a flaw of mine when it comes to my artwork.

I think that’s why I HAD to get away from doing portraits and weddings.  It was too personal for me.

Okay, there are other reasons why I got away from working for clients.  My back problems make me unreliable and the thought of having to call a potential client and tell her that I can’t shoot her wedding in a couple of days because my back went out would kill me.  It never happened, but the possibility was always there and it lingered in my mind every time I would wake up sore or stiff or in so much pain that I’m seeing spots.

Back problems aside, I think I would have become miserable if I had continued down that path.

I crave the process much more than the product.

I’m not a map follower by nature.  Not when it comes to nurturing my creative instincts.  Having a plan, a goal, a vision doesn’t make me a better artist.  It made me a better portrait photographer, and a better business person, but not a better artist.

When I work on photography for process I have freedom.  I can go anywhere.  The possibilities are endless.

I can follow whatever instincts and insights that hit me.

I can listen to my internal voices and let the magic capture me.

I think there’s a basic human nature to explore and to experiment.  To find the unknown.

When I look at my kiddos I marvel at how free they are in the works they create.  They have no barriers.  There are no parameters that they have to work within.

Right now they are playing at my mother’s house getting all dirty and creative with sidewalk chalk.  It’s a fantastic world they live in where the sky is truly the limit.

As children we’re taught so much.  How to read.  How to write.  How to behave in society.  How to study.  How to learn.

So much structure.

While structure is good for learning how to behave in society, it does so much harm to our inherent creativity.

I think that’s why so many people who have “returned to art” struggle with the process.  They look at is a structured path or look for some road map to follow.

The road maps are good for the business side, but for me, at least, I have to ignore the structure and toss out the map.

I need to feel like I have the freedom to create artwork that is without boundaries (unless I specify them as exercise).

I’m insanely jealous of my beautiful children.  They inspire me to be more free with my work.  And aside from their unfiltered and boundless love, that inspiration is the greatest gift they could give me.

Making art can become dishearteningly difficult.

These “difficulties” can often paralyze artists or send them into a downward spiral of un-creativity or inactivity with no foreseeable end.

So how do we overcome this?  How does art get done in the first place?

I ask myself these questions often because I’ll find myself not “finishing” pieces or series.  I’ve got a hard drive with terabytes of images that need second and third looks.  I’ve got folders and “albums” in my image editing library that should be done with test prints made and uploaded to my online gallery.

As a visual and thinking type, I often find that the images, or artwork, that I haven’t quite completed may better than what I do have finished, even if it’s all just in my head.

While this may be a case of being “my own worst critic” it’s certainly possible that I struggle with a different set of difficulties that prevent me from completing my works.

This isn’t about distractions.  I’m increasingly becoming better at avoiding those.

Perhaps it’s because I struggle with that common fear that almost all artists struggle with: No one cares!

Okay…that’s putting it very simply.  But there’s truth behind those thoughts.

Consider that today, working as an artist, means living in a world filled with doubt and contradiction.  It means doing something that no one really cares whether you do it or not.  It means creating work that may or may not have an audience and may or may not have any reward.

So I set aside, inasmuch as I can, these doubts so that I can see, not only what I’ve done, but that the path that I’m headed has some sort of fruit to bear.

It means I have to find, however hard it may be, the self nourishment and fulfillment within the work itself.

Sometimes…this is a cat and mouse game.  I’m just not sure if I’m supposed to be the cat or the mouse.

Is there a creative “genius” inside of us or does this “genius” reside outside of our minds and bodies waiting for a special moment in time to act with or without our knowledge?

That’s a question that Elizabeth Gilbert puts to her audience at TED.

The idea of “having a genius” and not “being a genius” in the realm of creativity is something I’ve never looked at before.

As artists is it possible to throw away our narcissism and allow for the brilliance to come as it may?

I’m not talking about becoming lazy about our work, and neither is Elizabeth (insofar as I can tell) rather, I’m talking about pushing through those “blocks” that we stumble over as we work to create the things that we cannot keep ourselves from creating.

I’ve seen almost every TED talk and I found this one hit me more personally than any other I’ve seen.  Truly the words and the feelings that Gilbert spoke resonated throughout the creative community. 

I haven’t yet created my masterpiece.  As I look through my work I see improvements in vision, application, technique, and presentation but they don’t improve at a steady rate.  That is to say, that the ebbs and flow of learning and honing a craft can come with great frustrations along the way.

We see our progress but we also see our digress with eyes that would magnify our failures much more easily than they would magnify our success. 

At times it’s almost easier to feel like a failure and give up than to struggle through this creative process and get more work done.  But I can’t stop working.  I’ve tried to “give up” and I sucked at it.

Without the outlet I become unpleasant.  I lose my self.

When I ponder the idea that I can just create, I can just work, I can just move along at the pace that I need to and that “genius” will come and go at it’s leisure I get a sense of relief.

I don’t know if I’ll be able to just let the muse come and go, but I’m gonna try.  For that, I thank Elizabeth Gilbert.

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