As I sat across from my 9 year old at the table, both of us were crying.
He was crying first, because it was his first homework assignment of the new school year, and he was scared that his drawing of our family on the family quilt square was going to be terrible compared to everyone else’s.
Something I’ve learned is that a child in this state will not be soothed by hearing about how it’s ok to make things that are bad. They don’t want to hear about how the fun of it all is experimenting. How you can always start again if you mess up. You aren’t going to change their made up mind by telling them “no, this is good!” when they aren’t truly feeling that themselves.
Even if these things are true, the inner (and present time) 9 year olds of the world may very well roll their eyes at you even if they know deep down you are being loving and supportive. They just want it to be good, ok? And what does this even mean? I think it means regardless of what anyone else thinks or says, good is a feeling. And the artist themself needs to feel it inside. Not all of the time. Just enough to keep the trust alive.
It is perfectly human to want our creations to be good. It’s normal to want to feel satisfied and happy about what we make. And it’s good information when something doesn’t feel good. And so that begs the question - what even is good? Is there even such thing as good when it comes to art?
In my opinion, either nothing is perfect, or everything is perfect. I haven’t figured out which one. It could be both of these at the same time.
A tomato grows under the conditions it grows in. Another tomato way over there grows in slightly different conditions. Is one of them more good than the other? It depends on how you’re measuring goodness. We invent goodness measuring systems all the time. For example, we can base the tomato’s goodness on some factors such as it’s size, shape, and color. But those things don’t mean good, they just specifically mean size, shape, and color. Usually we assign goodness to tomatoes using these variables in regard to edibility or profitability. It’s not wrong.
But when we un-link “good” from all other variables, it starts to not mean anything at all itself.
When you visit both of the tomatoes, look at them, you realize that the same creative intention exists in both of them. Simply by existing, they both contain the same foundational perfection regardless of specifics in outcome or thoughts about them.
But as far as the homework assignment, we weren’t even at the making point yet, we were at the thinking point. There were no tomatoes to analyze, just seeds. No pencil on the paper, just fear. At this point we were more or less looking at the earth and thinking, fuck, should we plant the seed over here or over there? And which seed?! Which one will make a good result? I don’t know! Just thinking about it caused creative paralyzation.
This is where tears started up in my eyes, because I completely saw my self in his experience. I remembered how brave we all are to try to make anything at all. The vulnerability it takes to even hope, let along try, is huge.
He listened to me as I told him about how I feel this way every single day every single time I make something but for whatever reason I keep doing it anyway. And that he is brave for caring and still stying to think of an idea and not giving up.
I then tried giving him suggestions to soften the pressure, such as, let’s make a rough draft first on a different piece of paper, or do some wonky practice sketches because practicing in a fun way and being bad on purpose is always a great strategy.
He sat there staring off into space a little (I am truly not sure if he heard anything I was saying) and then looked at me, smiled real big, and asked “can I draw us all as banana cats”?
To which I was like, uhhhh, yes please?!
When we are creatively paralyzed by the daunting idea of goodness, maybe we don’t need words or logical strategies. Maybe what we need most is simply an idea that excites us enough. A seed so curiously good we could plant it anywhere. Something that lights us up enough that it just feels good before we even begin, even if the result might be weird or unexpected or even unsatisfying. Because that clears the channels for the next thing.
Children are brave! So am I and so are you.
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That last paragraph really hit home!
‘An idea that excites us enough’ - what a lovely thought