The Shoe Drop

On recovering a sense of autonomy

We’re staring down a barrel and it no longer feels like a gun.

Like the crack of of a back. Feeling muscle and sinew shift and melt. In a week that felt like a bullet, this week’s essays, practice and tasks felt like a balm. Even if I didn’t get to show up perfectly. ESPECIALLY when I didn’t get to show up perfectly. Week 11 of The Artist’s Way, or recovering a sense of autonomy, felt like a much-needed catharsis in a week that felt so full, that under different circumstances, it would have felt difficult to come up for air. But instead of gasping, I found myself continuing forward, not gulping or suffocating, but instead, able to tune in to the steady rhythm of my heart and continue with the simplest of practices for momentum; one foot in front of the other.

It feels counterintuitive that in a week where I neglected my artist’s date (I know!) and left such limited time for cup filling, I found myself connected to my creativity in a way that a few months ago, would have been unthinkable. Perhaps it’s the fact the week was wrapped in so much frantic feverish joy that it allowed little time for overthinking. It was a week of some hard work - transforming an old art studio in to a 1960’s surrealist social club “with a hint of the occult.” It has a a very tight deadline, and higher emotional stakes, so that even in the pressure cooker of getting it right, it left very little time for doubt to come marching in. Instead, it felt like a culmination of “the work” (I KNOW) I’ve been doing these past eleven weeks. Working with momentum. The artist as shark, moving through water (life, projects et al) because honestly, what other choice is there?

For the penultimate week of The Artist’s Way, there is a shift. What once demanded perfectionism feels like it has shifted into something more akin to instinct. This week, the essays and tasks no longer felt like a shout or a stab, but an affirmation. Instead of fighting the tangled emotions of insecurity, jealousy and anger, there was a focus that felt gentle. A reminder that the “becoming” while transformative, is still steadily rooted in your soul - it’s just key we give pace to listen to it.

Here are a few reminders amongst the madness: moving your body is good for you. Allow yourself to not always create - and this care for yourself will more often than nought, help you find your inspiration, your north star, your map. That you are an artist, and that you have the power and autonomy over your own self-definition. To be human is to be creative. There is no perfect way to do it - but it remains curious and playful. The only person you need to get permission from to be an artist is yourself. Grant it freely and with enthusiasm. That success is a barometer you have set for yourself. Creative healing is not entirely based on output, but on the care you allow yourself. Kindness to yourself does not need to feel like a cliche or a clenched fist.

The “work” this week felt rewarding. It’s hard to pinpoint the shift and when it happened, perhaps because it’s been steadily over the last few months, but it felt, in short, like the other shoe had dropped. This week, there was permission for dreams, alongside little defiant acts of romance. A week that, more than any other, felt like it was wrapped in reflection while pushing forward. But the tension didn’t feel like it was splitting, but like it was something inherently human.

Much of this week called for quiet reflection. Most of it is in my morning pages, but in other ways, it requested little treats for ourselves. The idea of basking in possibility and the very art of the ask. Buy yourself a notebook and fill it with dreams and ambitions. Intentionally asking for more across every facet of your life. There is a gentleness in the gluttony that rebels loudly against the starving artist. It doesn’t ask for a martyr, but a hungry creator. I record my voice reading the basic principles and listen to it on the bus. The obvious movement into allowing your own voice to be a trusted authority, and that the conversation, hasn’t necessarily been with “the universe” but our own limitations and tiny furiosities. This week demands pampering. Luxuriates in it. Encourages a kindness binge. While a historically unnatural emotional space for me to occupy, the permission to find those loving moments was healing.

In my purse, in scratched longhand is a prayer. It’s not to any defined God, or even directly to myself. However, it now weighs as a constant reminder that showing up imperfectly is part of the process. That creating is part of me and the world we live in. That showing up perfectly is still showing up. And that, yes, for all its well-worn minations, that it’s as important to trust the process as much as yourself.

A snack for the road

What I listened to:

Not to veer to far in to hyperbole but Rosalia’s latest album, Lux is nothing short of a masterpiece. I mean, what a time to be alive, and what a glut of female-led gorgeous music we’ve experienced recently. It reminds me of early Arca - and just sits in this beautiful transformative space that reminds us how beautiful music can be.