The life of any artist begins with a search, a search for a mode of expression, a mode beyond the grasp of the ordinary, giving voice to their inner rumblings. Some are born with natural talent and immediately their work seems effortless, others spend immense time honing and training a skill until it becomes effortless. However, these lucky or cursed souls, depending on your perspective, eventually find their limit when faced with awareness. A great description is found in Hemingway’s “A Moveable Feast” regarding F. Scott Fitzgerald, to paraphrase:
...His talent was as effortless as the dust on a butterfly’s wings, he was no more aware of it than the butterfly was, till one day he learned to think and he could no longer fly. His love of flight was gone for he could only remember when it had been effortless...
This is often the case in the journey of an artist and is of utmost importance to resolve. The creation of a masterpiece is like a drug, where one is filled with inspiration and the work seems to flow from some unknown source, almost as if in a dream. However, upon awakening, we look back and wonder, “How did I do it? It seemed so effortless.”
Unfortunately, the hope is to always return to that wonderful dream, to be able to endlessly create masterpieces, one after the other. However, we become painfully aware that this is impossible. We then analyze our methods and techniques, becoming aware of our process, seeking some way to re-create the experience. This awareness can be both beneficial and debilitating, as we will see.
One year, I un-intentionally left my Christmas tree on the back porch for several months. In the spring, I discovered that a pair of cardinals had made a nest in its dying branches. Their young chicks hatched and began to squawk. Over time, they would awkwardly climb onto the nearby branches and the parents would fly down to meet them. The parents would then take turns demonstrating how to fly by hovering in front of them and chirping. The young chicks would flap their wings, near the edge of the branch, look around and then back up. They seemed to be frightened by their awareness. This went on for several days but eventually they’d momentarily lift from the branch, but fall to next lower branch. They would then dutifully climb back to the nest. Day by day, the number of chicks in the nest decreased. Eventually, only one remained. He would rise off the branch, look around, in what appeared to me as pure amazement, and then fall to the next branch. He finally fell to the ground, where a neighborhood cat ate him.
Such is the fate of many an artist.
I believe when we become aware of the effortless flight and fall, we are faced with a choice.
Do we stay on the ground waiting to be eaten by the cat, essentially lamenting the moment of effortlessness, thereby giving up, and losing the love of flight as Fitzgerald did?
Or do we climb back up and start again from the same point, essentially returning to our training, often in an endless cycle that becomes mindless, predictable and formulaic?
Are these the only two options, death or repetition, or is there a third choice?
The following year another young bird, in a different tree, also fell to the ground. However, this youngster was in luck. Amazingly other birds of various species noticed him, each in turn would fly down to his level, flap their wings and fly up to the nearest tree, each demonstrating a slightly different technique. The young chick mimicked several of them, running from spot to spot and suffering many failed attempts. Finally, he rose from the ground and flew away.
This is the third choice. When faced with that paralyzing moment, that fear of failure, especially when the memory of a successful attempt is fresh in the mind. We should look around to other Masters, of various “species” or disciplines, enter the unknown, approach from a different direction, give up expectations and make many failed attempts. Of course taking off from the ground is harder than from the high perch of training, but the experience is like none other. For, only from the lowest of depths can we soar to the greatest of heights.
So look around, be inspired, try something new, loose that false hope of eternal masterpieces and realize your own spontaneous and intuitive action, that effortless moment of true flight!
However or Whenever it takes hold, simply let go…
Do your best to stay out of your own way,
Try not to linger too long on the how and why,
or bask in the glow of success,
lest it take hold like the cat’s claw.