Creativity and How I Work

I know it has been much too long since I posted here, but recently Ducky (in her blog) and Meteorplum (in a comment on a book review I wrote) asked interesting questions about how artists work.  In light of both my personal situation lately and my general interest on that subject I thought I would comment.

Ducky, in particular, asks how artists "do" art.  That is a complicated thing, at least in my case, and the answer has layers.

The first layer - uninteresting to many - is the mechanics of doing it: what tools I use, what my studio is like, and so on.  That isn't what Ducky was asking about though, and is generally only interesting to fellow artists working in the same medium, and possibly to those interested in buying art.  Some buyers want to know that sort of thing; perhaps it helps them become more attached to the work.  As I say, Ducky was interested in something else, the more inspired side of the process, the creative side.

As philosophers, psychologists, and sociologists have known for a very long time, creativity is very difficult to pin down.  Speaking for myself, I see very different aspects of it at different times.

Occasionally a piece leaps out at me all at once, without any real thought or effort.  These events generally happen when I look at a stone and something snaps into focus.  It's hard to explain, but I can see the resulting piece in my mind's eye in fairly good detail without conscious effort.  The final piece may vary slightly, but the overall plan is there in an instant, coming from "nowhere", which (to me) means I made some subconscious connections between the stone and some memories or thoughts.  Other artists may ascribe such instantly available compositions to different sources, but I am a strict materialist.

Much more commonly, composition isn't instant.  I may look at a stone and think something like "this is an abstract, and I see a flowing line here."  The whole result isn't known yet, and even my initial ideas are subject to change.  Pieces conceived of this way vary in the amount of effort to bring them to completion.  Some flow naturally, probably because my initial idea stays relatively unchanged and was good enough to let me see the rest over time without a struggle.  Some go the other way, with the initial idea being changed (sometimes radically) or even being discarded entirely before the work is done.  My preference is to have a reasonably good mental image of the final work before I get too far into it, but since I often don't have a complete vision I work with what I have.

As an instructor I see all kinds of students and their different approaches to creation.  Some simply cannot begin until they have a model or detailed drawing of their goal.  Others never know what their final work will look like until they are done.  In truth there is a continuum along this line.  Some of us vary - from piece to piece - in where we fall, working with more planning on some pieces and less on others.   On the other hand, some artists work only in one way, doing about the same level of preparation for each piece they create.

Some of us are more logical about our work, looking for rational reasons for the composition, often in advance.  Others are more directed by movement in the piece and their response to it.  Once again my own preference varies, sometimes with the specifics of the piece or where I am in the process.

Some examples:

A student recently finished a composition and was working on selecting a base.  He had a few choices mocked up in cardboard and asked for advice.  In that case my answer was quick and rational.  Some of his choices lead the viewer's eye to slide right off the piece and onto something else, while other choices kept the viewer looking at the work for a much longer time.  In my opinion the latter bases were much more desirable, and the reasons were rational and simple to explain, but that is far from the way it always works.  Sometimes you just have to say "I like it that way."

In my case inspiration mostly comes from non-specific sources, but every once in a while it arrives in a specific and identifiable way.  I was once carving at an art show when a young girl walked up to my table, pointed at a raw stone, and said "What will that be?"  I replied that I didn't know yet and asked what she thought.  I remember her furrowing her brow and concentrating on it closely for a moment, then she pronounced "It's a bear."  And so it was.  That piece came to life in my head at that moment - fully formed - thanks to that one comment.

Other pieces have been a struggle, and nearly abandoned before something changed.  Interestingly it is often these pieces that I learn the most from, about what makes for good composition, interesting style, and so on.

Another layer in the question of how artists work is when or how creativity happens at all.  Some artists are driven to create all the time.  I am not one of those.  Stress in the rest of my life can completely stop the creative impulse, and our lives these days are full of stress from many sources.  At times I can be working on two or three sculptures at once, enjoying every minute of it.  Other times, though, the drive just isn't there, and I feel uninspired no matter how much time I spend with a stone.  My muse, it seems, takes the occasional extended holiday, much to my dismay.

Nothing would thrill me more than finding a cure for this particular block.  As I write this now I am in the throws of one such spell that has gone on for far too long.  Perhaps things will improve soon.  I certainly hope so.