The Gap Between What You Imagine and What You See

I've long been fascinated with how creatives do their work — biographies, documentaries, interviews. One of my favourite books is Daily Rituals by Mason Currey, who researched the creative practices of dozens of famous artists throughout history and the routine habits that formed around their work.

Why did those artists put their rituals in place?  I expect it’s because being creative is an inherently uncertain process. It's not like folding the laundry - where you know what needs to happen for the things to go from heaped in a basket to neatly back in the wardrobe or cupboard. Except for the fitted sheet. As much as I try to fold it neatly it always ends up looking like I just rolled it up into a ball. 

Creative work is inherently messy and uncertain, which is why I think diligent, professional artists create a container for that work in their schedule that does have certain rules and boundaries. A time, a place, and a ritual for how the creative session begins (and ends). Life is about controlling the little that we can, and practising acceptance about that we can't.

So I know the creative process is non-linear, and it can be difficult at times. But still when I picture any other artist at work - from a successful colleague to Michelangelo - I imagine that they sit down at their notebook, manuscript paper or easel, put their head down, and churn out one brilliant idea after another for hours - until they run out of light or need to stop to eat.

It follows that I hold that same expectation of myself. When I exhaust my excuses to put my ass on the chair to write or to the piano keyboard to compose, I do so with a naive expectation that once I put pencil to paper, the creative juices will flow.

I don't sit down to the session expecting to spend twenty-five minutes chewing on the end of my pencil, staring into space wondering where to start. I don't envisage that I'll scribble some stream of consciousness onto the page for forty-three minutes before wanting to kick myself because not one thing on the page seems usable.

The gap for me between my expectation of what the creative process looks like and the reality is significant. Even after thirty years of professional work, it’s still there.

The concept behind this newsletter is to acknowledge that gap. To talk about it with people like you, and then see if I can't bring my expectations and what actually happens closer together - and gradually bring them closer, one day at a time. By committing to the process of learning how to write a musical as I do it. A kamikaze mission perhaps.

I’m leaving the studio light on so you can stop by and peer in anytime you want. My hope is that some of the things I observe rhyme or resonate with your experience, and if you have your own creative project waiting to be made - perhaps we can help one another do the work.