May 1, 2012

living with – not by – our mistakes

This post was originally run in June 2011.

Flying in Spite of Everything mixed media painting by Liz Kalloch

One of my favourite songs that’s come out in the last few years is called Someday by Mike Errico. One of the lines goes:

… past the smiles that crack like frozen lakes,
under children’s figure skates
well I am going
past all of my own mistakes,
a thousand more I’ve yet to make,
but I am going,
I am going.

His song is about getting where he wants to go, now matter how long it takes, no matter what stands in his way, no matter what anyone has to say about where he’s going or what he’s doing and no matter how many mistakes he makes along his way. He obviously knows himself well, and knows that he will make mistakes along the way, but off he goes, for he knows he’s going to get there, he just knows it.

The paths that we traverse on our way to where we are going are fraught with potential mistakes, and yet, the majority of us hope to never make a mistake. Realistic? I’m pretty sure we all know it’s not.

The question that we all might ask ourselves is this: if we are on a path to where we want to go (and often we know not exactly where this path will lead us), how is it possible that we won’t make a mis-step, won’t falter and decide incorrectly, or won’t make a colossal error in judgement. We don’t.

Perhaps the better question is: Once you’ve made a mistake, how do you move on and learn from the experience?

Truth be told, I hate making mistakes, I am relentlessly hard on myself when I make a mistake, and yet, when I look back, many (if not all) of my mistakes have taught me an important lesson that has helped me to better define my path, better illustrate for myself the twists and turns in my road, and to better understand myself and my ultimate goals for my life as an artist, a writer and an entrepreneur.

So here was my question to a few friends and colleagues:

How we recover, deal and move on from any mistake can end up being a huge benefit to us and sometimes what results from a mistake can end up leading us to some of our best work, our best ideas and a better understanding about ourselves and our work. Can you talk about a mistake you made in your work/business/life that led you to something new, something better or something surprising?

A favorite adage of mine is that you can never gain truth by avoiding error and although I wish it were otherwise, some of my best bits of wisdom come on the heels of disastrous failure.

I once got a job I thought was my dream job. In fact, I shouted from every rooftop, to everyone who would listen—“oh my god!  I just landed my dream job!”

Oh, the irony.  That position turned out to be, hands-down, the worst job I ever had in my life— it was the first time in my life I had ever experienced anxiety and after 10 months I had gained 8 pounds.  However, it will always stand as a true learning experience for me.  One, the work environment could only be described as an “emergency room”—every day a new emergency cropped up and despite my best efforts, I could never bring consistency or predictability to the job.  What I learned:  (if I am to follow with the medical analogy here) I am an internist.  I like calm, focused one-on-one connections and specific, linear structure to my day.  I loathe chaos and thrive within a well-grounded structure.  And, no matter how lovely or kind a boss may be—if she is impulsive, thoughtless and reactive—we will not work well together.  On a more pragmatic level—I gained skills that serve me today.  In that job, I learned how to contact artists and book events—today, I run a small enterprise where I must regularly contact artists and plan four-day workshops.

So, it may not have been my dream job, but it was a significant and important misstep on my path—one that I can’t possibly regret since it led me further along my true path.


Elizabeth MacCrellish is the founder and director of Squam Art Workshops.

* * * * * * *

My company had committed to employing an intern from France for two months of the summer. I admit it: I hired the specific intern because he was so cute.  By the time he’d been with me for about two weeks I realized I’d made a big mistake. Then, this incredibly handsome 6 foot something walked in late, yet again, because he’d missed his bus. His navy blazer was hanging off his hand and he asked if I had a needle and thread.  As I nodded yes he handed me the button which had come off, along with the jacket.  Yes, I saw red and the rest of the summer went very s-l-o-w-l-y.  But, I did learn from it. After a summer with the glorious Gregoire I never again hired someone because he was cute or she seemed sweet.  Never. Ever.

Carolyn André is a strategic marketing consultant

* * * * * * *

Mistakes are so scary, aren’t they? When I make one it feels like I have wiped out all the good that I’ve done in life, in business, in my creative work. But I’m learning that mistakes are so necessary in putting me in the moment and forcing me to truly look at what I’m doing, what is important, what is not important. And they really challenge me to dig deep to tap into the very best of who I am and what I can do as I try to turn around whatever “mistake” that has been made or to accept and deal with the consequences, if I can’t change the outcome.
Mostly I’m finding this to be true in my artwork. Some mistakes lead me to creative places I would never have gotten to on my own. And it surprises me every time that happens. I’ve blogged about this in a couple of posts here and here.

Sandy Coleman is an artist and jewelery designer.

* * * * * * *

Every single story I have to share about my mistakes ends the exact same way:  ”I didn’t follow in my intuition.”

But I can also share that any mistake that led to a monumental disappointment always inspired the following in me ~ to believe that the loss I was experiencing must mean there was something better on the horizon. Even when I didn’t really believe it, I put my trust in it anyway, and it has always turned out to be true.

Every single time.

Christine Mason Miller is an artist, writer and explorer.

* * * * * * *

When I was creating the Sparkles e-course, I made a decision that felt wrong as soon as I hit “send.” (Ever have that moment?) I was worried sick about it, so much so that I couldn’t sleep. In the wee hours, what finally shifted my attitude and let me sleep was telling myself, “Hey, if this is a huge mistake, at least it would be a great story for Chris Guillebeau’s “Small Business Disaster Series!” That made me laugh and also reminded me that I was not alone. There will be mistakes on the journey. The funny thing is I wrote to Chris to share my experience and he invited me to be a part of his Emperor Spotlight series! What a delight. You never know where mistakes are going to take you!

From coaching to workshops, from podcasting to blogging, Jamie Ridler helps women find the confidence and courage to discover and express their creative selves so they can be the star they are.

* * * * * * *

We all make mistakes, it’s just a fact, and however much we wish we didn’t, sometimes a mistake (if we can let ourselves get past it) brings us unexpected gifts. I know for me that some of my biggest growth spurts and best learning curves have been the result of dealing with and coming to an understanding with a mistake.

So how do you deal with mistakes you’ve made?

What unexpected gifts have come to you through a mis-step or an unfortunate decision? How have you gained a deeper understanding and respect for yourself and for others as you navigate a course through cleaning up and moving on from a mistake?

Filed Under: creating action, creative thinkers, Dialogue Tagged With: , , , , , 3 Comments
April 25, 2012

your gift: a pickle waiting to happen

photo by pking Design

You are here to share your peculiar gifts with the world.

Some gifts are peculiar indeed.

Rereading The Gift, Lewis Hyde’s wonderful study of “the commerce of the creative spirit,” I was reminded of one gift in particular which truly embodied Hyde’s claim that “a gift that cannot be given away ceases to be a gift.”

One summer I was working at a program for young writers and foreign language students at my alma mater, Simon’s Rock College. One of my fellow staff members was going into town and I told her I hoped she would bring me back a snack. When she asked what I wanted I said, “I don’t know, get me something crunchy…surprise me.” She came back with a Pickle in a Pouch. If you’ve never seen one, it’s exactly what it purports to be: a large pickle encased in its very own pickle-sized plastic pouch.

We never did eat the Pickle in a Pouch. Instead, we continually re-gifted it to one another in new and increasingly creative ways. It circulated among three or four of us all summer. Sometimes it wore its own custom-made construction paper costumes; once it had a whole diorama made for it to pose in; at least once it ended up hidden under a pillow, and I also have a vague memory of it being ingeniously suspended from a dorm room ceiling. In the end, we held a burial ceremony for it and laid it finally to rest.

Hyde describes this kind of gift as a “ceremonial gift” and says, “The clear uselessness of such objects seems to make it easier for them to become vehicles for the spirit of a group.” The value of the gift was in the giving itself and in the bonds of friendship that it strengthened among those of us in that tiny crunchy circle of givers and receivers.

With each act of giving, the pickle inspired us to reach for greater and greater acts of creativity and ingenuity.

As Hyde writes, we must think of the gift “as a constantly flowing river.” Try to dam it up or horde the gift for ourselves and it goes bad. “What is kept” he writes, “feeds only once and leaves us hungry.”

Now imagine that your gift – your voice, your art, that which is uniquely yours to give to this world – is like the precious Pickle. It may not seem to have any “practical use,” yet it goes about in the world, bringing joy or introspection or maybe wondrous puzzlement and it creates a bond between giver and receiver.

Once you find your own true gifts (your art, your voice, your listening ears), you will feel the same way we did about that pickle: we could not wait to find some new and unheard of way to give it. The giving itself was a source of great joy. The opposite is also painfully true: to have something to give and no way to give it – that is one of the most excruciating things of all.

With the urge to give so energizing, it’s no wonder that thinking about how our gifts might interact with how we put food on the table might pull us up short.

Hyde offers some wonderful wisdom for thinking about making art and making a living and I am brimming with excitement to share those gifts with you in future posts.

For now, I would love to hear: What is the one gift that you are bursting with readiness to give to the world no matter what?

Filed Under: creative thinkers, Finding Your Voice, Plot Notes Tagged With: , , , , , 5 Comments
April 24, 2012

the magnificence of cogs

pendant by PinkWaterFairy - click image for more info

Here’s a scene from my past life as an actor…

I go to hear a casting director speak. I’ve actually met her before and she cast me in a project, but the audition was so in-and-out that I wouldn’t have recognized her if I saw her on the street. Or probably even in a casting office. She works in tv.

Someone asks, “What wows you in an audition?”

She says,

“I don’t need wow, I just need it to work.”

Silence.

“I don’t need to see range. I need to see 4 lines as a coked-out drug dealer. I don’t care if you can do Shakespeare, too.”

I look around the room. Most people get it. A few look like she just stepped on the neck of their teacup lhasa apso. They smile to recover quickly.

They desperately want her to know what they can do. That they’re capable. No, better that than. That they’re magnificent. And can do so much more.

What she needs to know is that they can do this one thing, and do it flawlessly.

She needs a high functioning and reliable cog to fit into an established machine.

And now I’ve gone and kicked the lhasa apso. I’ve said “cog.” But I like this word, and I actually take great comfort in it. Because what it implies is that if I am the selected cog, it’s pretty easy for me to know what my job is, know what need I am filling, and then go serve the project in that way.

You don’t always have to be magnificent in order to serve. Sometimes, you just need to do what works.

Filed Under: creating action, creative thinkers, finding passion, Plot Notes Tagged With: , , , , , , 4 Comments
April 17, 2012

how do you do spring cleaning?


Right now I am in the thick of cleaning out cupboards, closets, and looking at what’s been pushed to the back of those shelves. I am weeding out clothes I haven’t worn in more than a year, and asking myself, do I really need all those sets of sheets or can I donate them somewhere? I am looking at the windowsills and the table top surfaces seeing the things that are of sentimental value — things I won’t get rid of — and differentiating them from the things that are clutter and can be passed along, tossed, or donated.

Spring cleaning isn’t limited to physical stuff.

This is also the season for taking stock of how I am treating myself and making some re-adjustments. Am I eating as healthily as I could? Am I talking to myself in a good way or in a mean way? Am I remembering to do all the things that I know will keep me focused and as balanced as it’s possible to be in this human body on this planet? There are usually quite a few ways I can find to clean up my body and my soul.

Sometimes I hang on to things for so long, that I don’t see them anymore.

Does that happen to you, too?

Things that have been sitting on my desk forever, that I pick up and dust off when I’m doing a cleaning, but never really look at and wonder, what the heck am I holding on to that for. And ways I’ve been dealing with things, or thoughts that I have about what I “should” be doing, that are old, outdated, and no longer serving me.

I don’t think I’m a hoarder, but I do like my stuff, and this is the season to look at all that stuff and decide: stay? or go? serving me? or holding me back?

Do you do an annual spring cleaning of your home, your studio, your office?

Do you do a metaphorical spring cleaning where you are taking care of the clutter in your own mind and body?

I’m not quite reliable enough to say I do it once a year, but ‘every now and then’ I give a different aspect of my life a spring clean. I’m definitely not a minimalist. I think there is real value in recording and archiving our lives through books, objects, and photographs (I’m not a memoirist by accident) and I take great pleasure in beautiful things, but I do enjoy clearing out anything that has started to feel more like a burden than a pleasure.

Marianne Elliott is an author, human rights advocate, and yogini whose life is an experiment in cultivating courage, compassion, and clarity.

* * * * * * *

I’m not a big spring cleaner in my house or studio, but I do find spring a great time for change and moving forward with plans. The lighter days and warmer (hopefully) weather give me so much more energy to do things. I always find January – March a dark period and come April it’s like a weight has been lifted from my shoulders and I can suddenly move forward with things I have been working on. I do find, though, spring fever can get the better of me and I run around half starting things, but not finishing them, so I usually have deadlines set for myself to keep me on track.

Claire Brewster is an artist who makes intricate and detailed paper cuts.

* * * * * * *

I am more of a when-the-mood-strikes me kind of organizer. I probably give my studio a deep cleaning 2-3 times a year.

{A literal and metaphorical spring cleaning} are definitely connected. Most of the time the mood to de-clutter, unload, clean, and purge comes during periods when I am wanting to simplify. Some part of my life feels like it is getting too complicated, and a great way to channel the ensuing confusion or frustration is to get my studio in order.
Christine Mason Miller is a writer, artist, and explorer.

* * * * * * *

As the calendar was changing from 2011 to 2012, I took a 30-day digital sabbatical. The experience of getting offline for 30 days was such a valuable one that I’ve now put a few offline weeks into my calendar, during the year (so if you can’t take a long offline break, start with one day, or a weekend). It’s a great opportunity to notice where I’m living life on default, and the experience never fails to reconnect me with myself if I’m feeling disconnected, or spark some new idea — these breaks create a lot of beautiful space. One of the biggest things that I learned from my 30-day break is that a lot of the things that I thought I wanted when I was busy were not the same as what I knew I wanted once I got some quiet. Since we’re all on the journey of connecting to our personal truth, I can recommend a digital break of some length as an essential practice that nourishes that, whether it’s part of a spring break or otherwise!
Kate Swoboda is a life coach, speaker, and writer.

Please share with us how you do your spring cleaning. What are the things you purge, and what are the things you keep?

Filed Under: creating action, creative thinkers, Dialogue Tagged With: , , , , , , , 8 Comments
April 9, 2012

reprise: bad artists copy. great artists steal.

In light of recent posts about artistic license and copyright (Are We Pinning Yet? and More Pinning by Liz Kalloch), we thought we’d reprise Gwyn Michael’s post from June 2011 for yet another perspective.

For those not familiar, the title is actually a quote by Pablo Picasso and has to do with drawing inspiration from something while putting your touch on it. I guess he should know. Picasso is often attributed as the Father of Cubism when in reality he and Georges Braque worked together on the theory and were directly influenced by Cezanne, who had begun breaking up the picture plane in less abstract ways.

I have been sitting on this topic for some time now and a recent post from Bridget Pilloud brought it to the forefront. Bridget’s post is about outright stealing, using another’s content as one’s own. As a visual artist this is a sticky topic for me.

The thing is, I was accused of stealing from someone that used to be a friend. I had created some new photo collages based on an idea I had in college, after seeing her do something that reminded me of it. My images and hers were very different but both were made from buildings, different buildings (of course, no one has made art from buildings before). I credited her as an influence and she accused me of stealing outright. This, by the way, all happened on flickr where actual stealing is a regular event.

I don’t agree with her and I did not take it personally, but it made me think long and hard about how we are influenced. I could have turned it around and claimed she stole my college idea which was influenced by I don’t know what at that time. Instead I let it go, but the concept has been nagging me since.

What is originality in art?

In this age we are so bombarded with imagery (artistic and not), music, ideas, and plain old stuff that it is impossible for me to entertain the notion of true originality. That is not to say I can’t be uniquely creative in my interpretations, but that I have been influenced is not a question. The image above contains a painting by Piet Mondrian on the top left, one by Van Gogh top right, one of mine from 2003 bottom left, and a photo collage of mine from 2009. Trees all, but not the same, although there are comparisons one could make: the use of blue, red, and gold, the textural qualities, the patterns of branches. While I love Mondrian and Van Gogh’s trees, I can’t say I had either in mind when creating my trees, yet they are in my memory bank. My point is, how can we know how much is coming through as collective experience?

Is art simply a manifestation of memory?

Are “original” concepts simply the rearrangement of our perception of what we have seen, heard, felt, and experienced?

Seth Godin has this to say about originality:

I get two kinds of mail about this. One group points to organizations or individuals who are stealing my ideas. “Stop them!” they say. The other doesn’t hesitate to point out that I’ve never had an original idea in my life, and that I’m merely a promotional hack.

Now, more than ever, we can see the work an artist (in any medium, any endeavor) produces over time. If all an artist can do is steal, the truth will out. For the rest, though, a lifetime of consistent provocation, inspiration and generosity can’t help but shine through. Inspirations and all.

I think this is what Picasso means by “great artists steal.”

Great artists steal – they take the idea, theme or pattern and they make it their own. When you steal, you take away the whole thing – this particular idea no longer belongs to the original author. You take it apart, you figure out how it works and you put it together adding your own unique touches. Now it is yours and once you are done with it no one will even remember it used to belong to someone else. You started with something that was not yours, but the end product can no longer be called a copy, imitation or knock of because it stands on it’s own. You’ve successfully stolen something, and gotten away with it.
- Luke Maciak

If this is the case then why is it still such a sticky topic? In my case, I am not really concerned that my work will be copied. Posting everything I do on a website and elsewhere on the internet makes it unlikely it won’t be. Rather, it really upset me to be accused of stealing. I don’t know how one can clearly define the space between inspired work and out-right forgery. I like what Jim Jarmusch has to say:

Nothing is original. Steal from anywhere that resonates with inspiration or fuels your imagination. Devour old films, new films, music, books, paintings, photographs, poems, dreams, random conversations, architecture, bridges, street signs, trees, clouds, bodies of water, light and shadows. Select only things to steal from that speak directly to your soul. If you do this, your work (and theft) will be authentic. Authenticity is invaluable; originality is non-existent. And don’t bother concealing your thievery – celebrate it if you feel like it. In any case, always remember what Jean-Luc Godard said: “It’s not where you take things from – it’s where you take them to.”
— Jim Jarmusch

I think I can agree that originality is obscure at best, at least in the way it has been defined. Perhaps a new definition of originality can be created? Or maybe we can agree that “All creative work is derivative” and just get on with creating our art?

What does originality in your work mean to you?

How do you incorporate influence, inspiration, and experience in your work in new ways?

Filed Under: Conversation Starters, creative thinkers, creativity, Plot Notes Tagged With: , , , , , , 6 Comments