FA+
Shop
For all artists, there's only one word that matters
12 years ago
Persistence.
There are a lot of uncomfortable truths out there for aspiring artists (and I use the term loosely to apply to all forms of art). These are things you have to come to terms with, sooner or later, about the creative process. The most devastating sickness you will ever know as a creator is apathy. It's a virulent disease that saps the passion away from your work. It goes by a lot of names -- writer's block, creative burnout -- but it has the same face of hopelessness no matter what form it takes.
Those are real problems that end our ambitions, and not just simple words someone can tell you to ignore. I think almost every artist has struggled with their art and their motivation to produce it. There's only so long you can smash your face against a brick wall and expect it to crumble before your bones turn to dust. But for some of us, the ones who are hardened by disappointment, when we set goals or hold ourselves to expectations -- or when others hold us to those expectations -- we become so tired of that disappointment that we don't care about apathy anymore.
When you become apathetic about apathy, you start to understand why persistence, perseverance, and concentration are the greatest feelings in the world. They are the pillars of progress that your work rests safely upon, and your well-being and positive sense of self depend on them to be strong.
That's what it means sometimes to stop caring about how you feel and just try. Even if you don't feel like it -- even if you don't feel like anything will come of it -- you have to try, even if it means failure.
I learned that truth after many painful years of apathy. I've always been a procrastinator -- a real, career procrastinator, whose wandering mind doesn't just rest when you put it down in front of a screen, close every window and shut every distraction, and tell it to work. But this past week has taught me a lot about myself and why I stopped writing.
I wasn't willing to try.
These assurances don't work for everyone; they're just empty words, like a placebo, until you prescribe some meaning behind them for yourself. Apathy is a devastating illness, a very real one at that, and it sucks your desires dry until you feel like abandoning the things you once loved. It's a lot like depression, in a way, by which I mean it's not something you can fix by talking through it; it always lingers in the back of your mind, thriving and feeding on your doubts.
But like depression, apathy is a very flawed malady of the mind. You can either ride it out, or, with enough will, you can overpower it. You can control it, or you can choose to let it control you. No matter what, you have to want success to achieve it. You have to want that improvement for it to matter. You have to want that finished product for you to reach that. In other words, you have to care. We use goals to motivate us to care about seemingly insurmountable obstacles, because goals are just a way for us to light the fire under our asses.
It doesn't work for everyone, but when I see it that way, I find motivation even on the days I don't feel like opening up Word.
Staring at these pages of fresh, new words, it feels like I've found an old friend again. And I can tell you this much: the satisfaction of knowing people will see what I've made is the whole reason I create. It takes a while every day to reach that state of enlightenment, but when I do, I sit down, swallow my pride, and put my pen to the paper. I type my thoughts and call myself stupid for my past self's mistakes. I come back after every night and build upon success.
As long as you have the time to set aside for it, and as long as you really care about it, you're the one in control of it. You have to try; you have to persist.
Don't blame anyone but yourself if you can't even do that.
There are a lot of uncomfortable truths out there for aspiring artists (and I use the term loosely to apply to all forms of art). These are things you have to come to terms with, sooner or later, about the creative process. The most devastating sickness you will ever know as a creator is apathy. It's a virulent disease that saps the passion away from your work. It goes by a lot of names -- writer's block, creative burnout -- but it has the same face of hopelessness no matter what form it takes.
Those are real problems that end our ambitions, and not just simple words someone can tell you to ignore. I think almost every artist has struggled with their art and their motivation to produce it. There's only so long you can smash your face against a brick wall and expect it to crumble before your bones turn to dust. But for some of us, the ones who are hardened by disappointment, when we set goals or hold ourselves to expectations -- or when others hold us to those expectations -- we become so tired of that disappointment that we don't care about apathy anymore.
When you become apathetic about apathy, you start to understand why persistence, perseverance, and concentration are the greatest feelings in the world. They are the pillars of progress that your work rests safely upon, and your well-being and positive sense of self depend on them to be strong.
That's what it means sometimes to stop caring about how you feel and just try. Even if you don't feel like it -- even if you don't feel like anything will come of it -- you have to try, even if it means failure.
I learned that truth after many painful years of apathy. I've always been a procrastinator -- a real, career procrastinator, whose wandering mind doesn't just rest when you put it down in front of a screen, close every window and shut every distraction, and tell it to work. But this past week has taught me a lot about myself and why I stopped writing.
I wasn't willing to try.
These assurances don't work for everyone; they're just empty words, like a placebo, until you prescribe some meaning behind them for yourself. Apathy is a devastating illness, a very real one at that, and it sucks your desires dry until you feel like abandoning the things you once loved. It's a lot like depression, in a way, by which I mean it's not something you can fix by talking through it; it always lingers in the back of your mind, thriving and feeding on your doubts.
But like depression, apathy is a very flawed malady of the mind. You can either ride it out, or, with enough will, you can overpower it. You can control it, or you can choose to let it control you. No matter what, you have to want success to achieve it. You have to want that improvement for it to matter. You have to want that finished product for you to reach that. In other words, you have to care. We use goals to motivate us to care about seemingly insurmountable obstacles, because goals are just a way for us to light the fire under our asses.
It doesn't work for everyone, but when I see it that way, I find motivation even on the days I don't feel like opening up Word.
Staring at these pages of fresh, new words, it feels like I've found an old friend again. And I can tell you this much: the satisfaction of knowing people will see what I've made is the whole reason I create. It takes a while every day to reach that state of enlightenment, but when I do, I sit down, swallow my pride, and put my pen to the paper. I type my thoughts and call myself stupid for my past self's mistakes. I come back after every night and build upon success.
As long as you have the time to set aside for it, and as long as you really care about it, you're the one in control of it. You have to try; you have to persist.
Don't blame anyone but yourself if you can't even do that.
marcofox
~marcofox
Well said :)
