We should stop using the term "art block" to describe creative struggles. Artists commonly use this phrase online to describe a period of unproductivity in creative work. However, the phrase is hollow and not representative of what I experience as an artist during periods of lower creative output, and I feel that this language is deeply steeped in capitalistic hustle culture. Creativity is a natural cycle that ebbs and flows between periods of output and input, giving and receiving, listening and speaking. Instead of using the phrase "art block," it would be more helpful to say that we are in a period of deep listening, noticing, and waiting for the output period to return. If we observe our life and creative practice from this perspective, a period of creative output will surely return.
We seem to be stuck when it comes to creativity as a collective. The most significant art movements are now a thing of the past, and only a single fresh and unique movie is accompanied by a plethora of remakes at the box office. Jeff Koons' balloon animals have been reproduced countless times, and yet he manages to sell them for millions of dollars at auction. Art has been reduced to a mere commodity, and it seems like we're all a bit helpless when it comes to creating works of art that are honest and genuine within our lifetimes. It's possible that we've reached this impasse because we've forgotten the greater purposes of art: telling stories, fostering empathy by seeing things from different perspectives, and building community bonds. With this considered, it is easy to understand why we feel so blocked. There aren’t many new things actually being made!
I deeply feel this despair and am desperately trying not to let it consume me. Lately, I have been reflecting on my art, the message I wish to convey, and the historical point I live in. I have spent many of the past few years trying to teach myself to paint from a pit of deep desperation. I have been deeply dissatisfied with my material conditions and have spent a lot of time making art that I hated to feed the algorithm in hopes of pulling myself out of poverty while pursuing art as the one thing that felt worthwhile to me. In these attempts to be seen, I have sacrificed a piece of my dignity on the altar of the TikTok algorithm and “artfluencer” culture, which has resulted in an extremely warped sense of who I am as an artist and what I want to do with my art.
We must consider the time and circumstance that we live under as artists, how that time and circumstance influences the art we produce both individually and collectively, and ultimately, our perception of what art is or could be. We live in a culture that expects a continuous cycle of production and consumption purely for the sake of feeding the machine. If we are making our art from within this framework, we are allowing our art to be devalued. It is important that we remember that art has existed long before the institutions of museums, art schools, and auction houses. Therefore, this may make us reconsider what the value of art, and the pursuit of art could be if we weren't trying to use it merely as a means to survive. What power might it have?
I've spent my idle time perusing online collections at art museums lately. (The Met is a great place to start!) I seek art made by unknown hands, monks and nuns, folk artists, quilts, and art typically seen as craft. I feel this sense of divinity in their work is missing from my own. Seeking out this kind of art has led me to ponder such questions as: If our art weren't a product to be sold, what else could it be? What if our art could be a prayer? Could it be magic? Could we offer one another something more genuine and heartfelt that brought us closer to the original purpose of art? Could art be a natural and inevitable consequence of living our lives deliberately, with genuine curiosity and a mindful awareness of our current orientation in time and history? What could we change, and what ideas could we give life to if we were to make something sincere?
Over the past few months, I have been doing repetitive drawings of an altar I keep in my home. Some of these drawings are quickly scrawled into my sketchbook, others are more intricate and done over several days. The time and attention I have to give to these drawings varies greatly from day to day. This practice has helped me cultivate a gentle awareness of my orientation within my creative cycles. It does not matter what quality of drawing I produce, but the practice of stillness is invaluable. I’ve noticed that this habit has become a ritual of prayer in my daily life. A time to ponder and reflect and hope for something better. And that, I think, is what art actually is.
Ohhhhh I love the idea of daily altar paintings!!!! I might do that. I have a little altar which I change now and then with some seasonal objects from nature and there are some things that stay. What a great idea. I see landscape drawing as prayer. Not particularly to a god but to whatever it is that has caused it to appear as it does and for my gratitude in it being part of my ecology. X