Terri Windling's Blog, page 236

Tunes for a Monday Morning

Since the subject of shamanic journeys came up last in last week's discussion of artists' blocks and burn-out, today's music comes from the shamanic yoik tradition of the Sámi people of northern Europe. Above, "Mun ja Mun" by Adjágas, a young band from Norway who are part of the contemporary yoik revival there. (Adjágas is a Sámi word for the period of time, and mental state, that occurs between waking and sleeping.)

Below, one of the masters of contemporary yoik, Mari Boine (also from Norway), talks about her creative journey.

More information on yoik can be found here, and links to other yoik musicians here. More information abut Sami history and culture can be found on the Galdu website (The Resource Centre for the Rights of Indigenous Peoples).

Friday's Recommendations:

I'm staying close to home today, with a series of recommended links that all have a Dartmoor connection:

* First, to put you in a Dartmoor mood, have a listen to "On a Dartmoor Day," a beautiful new song by my friend Chris Back (of the Levi Moretons). It never fails to make me a little teary eyed, for it so perfectly captures what I love about this land and the community of people in it. I particularly love the last verse, about musicians and friends sitting 'round an old oak table, because Howard and I have been around that same old oak table with Chris, and such nights shine in my memory too.

* And speaking of sitting around the table with friends, today you can do so with Dartmoor artist Alan Lee (the award-winning book illustrator and Oscar-winning film designer) over at John Barleycorn. It's the first of a two-part "Around the Table" chat with Alan, discusing his creative process and influences.

* For a virtual visit to Dartmoor (for those of you far away), have a look at the gorgeous work of two of the moor's most accomplished photographers, James Ravilious (1939-1999) and Chris Chapman. I also recommend Anna Walls' distinctive pictures (have a look at her photograph of swaling on Dartmoor, the burn-off process I referred to in a previous post), the dramatic landscape photographs of Alex Nail, and the lovely black-and-white work of Jen Bryant. Also, please visit my friend Susan Derges' website, featuring her stunning and very magical "camera-less" photography. (You'll find her pictures in the Gallery section of the site, at the bottom of the navagation menu on the left of her homepage.)

* Last, but not least: the Autumn 2012 issue of Goblin Fruit is now on line. As usual, editors Amal El-Mohtar and Jessica Wick provide a delicious feast of all-new poems based on fairy tales, folklore, and world myth...plus a Feature on Canadian poet Neile Graham. The Dartmoor connection? Amal was living here in our village this summer while putting this issue of the webzine together.

Have a good weekend everyone.

[image error] Standing stones on Dartmoor (photograph by Helen Mason)

On Creative Burn-out: Part IV

From the studio window: Meldon Hill in autumn, beneath a Maxfield Parrish sky

A few more thoughts on creative burn-out and blocks from writers who have walked this path before us:

May Sarton: "When one's not writing poems — and I'm not at the moment — you wonder how you ever did it. It's like another country you can't reach."

Toni Morrison: "When I sit down in order to write, sometimes it's there; sometimes it's not. But that doesn't bother me anymore. I tell my students that there is such a thing as 'writers block,' and they should respect it. You shouldn't write through it. It's blocked because it ought to be blocked, because you haven't got it right now." 

Agatha Christie gives the opposite advice: "Write even when you don't want to, don't much like what you are writing, and aren't writing particularly well."

Maya Angelou concurs: "What I try to do is write. I may write for two weeks 'the cat sat on the mat, that is that, not a rat.' And it might be just the most boring and awful stuff. But I try. When I'm writing, I write. And then it's as if the muse is convinced that I'm serious and says, 'Okay. Okay. I'll come.'"

And William Faulkner: "I only write when I am inspired. Fortunately I am inspired at 9 o'clock every morning."

Of course, there's no right way and wrong of getting through writer's block or creative burn-out. Like everything about the creative process, we each need to find our own natural rhythms and then to shape our lives in order to work with those rhythms and not against them. One last quote, which addresses precisely this subject, from Bernard Malamud:

"If the stories come, you get them written, you're on the right track. Eventually everyone learns his or her own best way. The real mystery to crack is you."

On Creative Burn-out: Part III

In Friday's post on artists' blocks and creative burn-out, I quoted the Canadian artist Jane Champagne as saying, ""Sometimes, if you just wait it out, and go on about your business without trying to force a solution, it comes - almost as if the old artist has to die before the new one can be born."

Australian artist Christina Cairns responded: "I especially like the Jane Champagne quote. It reminds me of the affinity between artist and Shaman, that a kind of death needs to take place for the new life to begin. And also of that need not just for solitude, but of 'fallow' time to allow the seeds of new ideas to emerge into the light in their own time."

This in turn reminded me of a JoMA article I wrote some years ago, called "The Dark of the Woods," which discussed the importance of journeys into darkness and despair in myths and shamanic traditions world-wide. Here's the opening passage:

"'In the mid–path of my life, I woke to find myself in a dark wood,' writes Dante, in The Divine Comedy, beginning a quest that will lead to transformation and redemption. A journey through the dark of the woods is a motif common to fairy tales: young heroes set off through the perilous forest in order to reach their destiny, or they find themselves abandoned there, cast off and left for dead. The road is long and treacherous, prowled by wolves, ghosts, and wizards — but helpers also appear along the way, good fairies and animal guides, often cloaked in unlikely disguises. The hero's task is to tell friend from foe, and to keep walking steadily onward."

"In older myths, the dark road leads downward into the Underworld, where Persephone is carried off by Hades, much against her will, while Ishtar descends of her own accord to beat at the gates of Hell. This road of darkness lies to the West, according to Native American myth, and each of us must travel it at some point in our lives. The western road is one of trials, ordeals, disasters and abrupt life changes — yet a road to be honored, nevertheless, as the road on which wisdom is gained. James Hillman, whose theory of 'archetypal psychology' draws extensively on Greco–Roman myth, echoes this belief when he argues that darkness is vital at certain periods of life, questioning our modern tendency to equate mental health with happiness. It is in the Underworld, he reminds us, that seeds germinate and prepare for spring. Myths of descent and rebirth connect the soul's cycles to those of nature."

It's hard, however, to descend to the Underworld with equanimity. I have no fear of darkness per se, but what I hate is the feeling of emptiness that marks creative burn-out for me: a flatness, a lack of enthusiasm for paint or words or light or color or any of the daily, common things that usually fill my heart to bursting with beauty, wonder, and inspiration. It's a kind of death, living in that grey, muffled Underworld where I can see, but not touch, the bright world above. Each time I descend, I despair utterly, forgetting all that I know about myth, and life, and art. Forgetting that there's nothing to truly fear down here. The Underworld is not one's permanent destination; it's simply the mythic/shamanic/creative passageway to next part of the cycle, rebirth: the ascent to a new self, to a new stage of life, and to a new way of making art.

Going back to the "Dark of the Woods" article:  

"Rites–of–passage stories...were cherished in pre–literate societies not only for their entertainment value, but also as mythic tools to prepare young men and women for life's ordeals. A wealth of such stories can be found marking each major transition in the human life cycle: puberty, marriage, childbirth, menopause, death. Other rites–of–passage, less predictable but equally transformative, include times of sudden change and calamity such as illness and injury, the loss of one's home, the death of a loved one, etc. These are the times when we wake, like Dante, to find ourselves in a deep, dark wood — an image that in Jungian psychology represents an inward journey. Rites–of–passage tales point to the hidden roads that lead out of the dark again — and remind us that at the end of the journey we're not the same person as when we started. Ascending from the Netherworld (that grey landscape of illness, grief, depression, or despair), we are 'twice–born' in our return to life, carrying seeds — new wisdom, ideas, creativity and fecundity of spirit."

Yet it's hard not to panic when one finds oneself in an artistically fallow period; it's hard (at least for me) to accept, even to welcome, this part of the creative cycle. "I've lost my spark, my inspiration," I wailed recently to my friend and writing-buddy Wendy Froud. "I don't seem to even want to write anymore. What if I've lost the spark for good? I'll have to get a job at the hardware store...and I'll probably just suck at that too...." 

"Your muse will come back," Wendy assured me, laughing, "and she'll come sooner if you turn your back on her. Do something else. Take a walk. Read a book. This happens to me too; it happens to everyone. But I find if I do something else for a bit, inspiration comes back in no time."

"I've lost all my fire," I whined to my husband. "I've never felt this empty before."

"Sure you have," he reminded me patiently. "It happens whenever you're over-tired, or over-stressed, or when some new idea is gestating in the dark.  Listen to your body, listen to your spirit. They're both telling you that you need some time off. The fire will come back, it always does. And it will come back stronger than ever. "

He's right, of course; I have been through this before...and you'd think by now I would recognize the pattern. As Jane Champagne says: sometimes the old artist has to die before the new artist is born. And the "death" part takes as longs as it takes. It doesn't care about schedules and deadlines.

As younger writers or artists, with energy to spare, we often pushed ourselves to produce and produce and produce, living on caffeine and nerves and adrenaline...and that's fine, even fun, at a certain age, but not sustainable over a lifetime of work. Now, as a woman deep into her middle years, I know I must find a different rhythm -- one that is cyclical, seasonal, sustainable. To quote Christina Cairns again:

"Everything else in the natural world works in cycles of activity and inactivity, fallow and productive. Why should we humans think we are any different? And yet we push ourselves, or allow others (clients, deadlines, family and so on) to push us to keep going, not stop (or feel guilty if we dare to), and keep producing. No wonder the well gets empty, the creative flowering grows weaker and less beautiful. But it's not just in the arts, it's everywhere. I just noticed a headline yesterday, that Australian workers are working longer than ever hours, and yet are more inefficient than ever before...hmmmm, I wonder why?!"

Here in Devon, there's an old rural tradition of swaling: a controlled burning of overgrown heath land that clears out dead vegetation and allows for new growth. Perhaps creative burn-out can be viewed as an inner form of swaling, creating the space and enriching the soil where fresh ideas can germinate. A burn-off rather than a burn-out, clearing the ground for years of life and art still to come.

So here's a toast to creative burn-out and burn-off, and to the tender new growth that emerges from them. I'm emerging at last from my own fallow time (a period of weeks that has felt like years)...and Howard is right: the spark of inspiration is not only returning, it's coming back stronger than ever. But someday, I know, I'll return to the Underworld, or awake, like Dante, in the dark of the woods. And when I do, I'll try to remember not to panic. To remember that it's all part of the creative/mythic journey. And to move through it with just a little more grace.

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"Dark of the Woods: Rites of Passage Tales" was published in the Healing and Transformation issue of The Journal of Mythic Arts, Winter 2006. It's my personal favorite issue of JoMA, full of great material from Midori Snyder, Heinz Insu Fenkl, Tim Pratt, Rigoberto González , Margaret Atwood, and many others.

On Creative Burn-out, Part II

Ah, this is timely. Australian writer Deborah Biancotti (author of A Book of Endings, etc.) has been asking writers and editors about how they deal with creative burn-out...and getting fascinating answers. Here are some excerpts:

Delia Sherman: "For me, creative energy is like an old-fashioned ground-water well.  When the well is dry, it's dry.  I can dig all I like, and all I'll get for my pains is sore hands, some very bad prose, and maybe (if I'm lucky) a few odd droplets of notes I can actually use.  Or not.  It's usually not worth it.  After many years, I've discovered that it's better to wait until some ground water seeps back into the well rather than to try and lick up every drop as it emerges."

Sue Isle: "Creative exhaustion is first cousin to writer's block.  First off, I try to accept that when it hits, I am not wasting time, but preparing myself to return to work. I blog more.  I do something different, like answering this question.  If I can't force myself to finish a story, then perhaps it was not worth finishing.  If I have to push rather than let it flow, it won't be as good as if I take more time, mess around in the garden and try to shove the guilt deep into the compost pile.  I am still a writer so long as I am thinking!"

Lucy Sussex: "To have output you must have input. It helps to go on a period of creative nourishment, or dolce far niente, clearing the brain. Go to bed with the cat, some flouffy pillows, tea and a book which could not in any sense be called improving. Read for fun for a change: superior Chicklit is good, or children's classics. You are not allowed to try and analyse what the author is doing. After a good sleep, go and do something new, or that you haven't done for a while...."

Rosaleen Love: "I think 'slow writing' is the answer when the feeling of burn out threatens, something akin to the 'slow food' movement. Anxiety and panic are counterproductive to the creative process."

Andrew Macrae: "This is what works for me: I practise crop rotation with my creative endeavours. I've found that when the nitrogen runs out in the soil in one field, it's best to leave it fallow for a while and cultivate another. "

There are lots and lots more answers, and they're all interesting...and useful. Go have a look on Deborah's LJ page, here.

________________________________________________________________________

The art in this post comes from two village neighbors: above, a fairy scribe  by Alan Lee; below, a tree creature by Brian Froud. (I, umm, posed for Brian's gnarly, rooty girl. Many moons ago. That link, by the way, goes to Brian & Wendy's weekly blog, written by Wendy and featuring art by both.)

On creative burnout...

Ah, this is timely. Australian writer Deborah Biancotti (author of A Book of Endings, etc.) has been asking writers and editors about how they deal with creative burnout...and getting fascinating answers. Here are some excerpts:

Delia Sherman: "For me, creative energy is like an old-fashioned ground-water well.  When the well is dry, it's dry.  I can dig all I like, and all I'll get for my pains is sore hands, some very bad prose, and maybe (if I'm lucky) a few odd droplets of notes I can actually use.  Or not.  It's usually not worth it.  After many years, I've discovered that it's better to wait until some ground water seeps back into the well rather than to try and lick up every drop as it emerges."

Sue Isle: "Creative exhaustion is first cousin to writer's block.  First off, I try to accept that when it hits, I am not wasting time, but preparing myself to return to work. I blog more.  I do something different, like answering this question.  If I can't force myself to finish a story, then perhaps it was not worth finishing.  If I have to push rather than let it flow, it won't be as good as if I take more time, mess around in the garden and try to shove the guilt deep into the compost pile.  I am still a writer so long as I am thinking!"

Lucy Sussex: "To have output you must have input. It helps to go on a period of creative nourishment, or dolce far niente, clearing the brain. Go to bed with the cat, some flouffy pillows, tea and a book which could not in any sense be called improving. Read for fun for a change: superior Chicklit is good, or children's classics. You are not allowed to try and analyse what the author is doing. After a good sleep, go and do something new, or that you haven't done for a while...."

Rosaleen Love: "I think 'slow writing' is the answer when the feeling of burn out threatens, something akin to the 'slow food' movement. Anxiety and panic are counterproductive to the creative process."

Andrew Macrae: "This is what works for me: I practise crop rotation with my creative endeavours. I've found that when the nitrogen runs out in the soil in one field, it's best to leave it fallow for a while and cultivate another. "

There are lots and lots more answers, and they're all interesting...and useful. Go have a look on Deborah's LJ page, here.

________________________________________________________________________

The art in this post comes from two village neighbors: above, a fairy scribe  by Alan Lee; below, a tree creature by Brian Froud. (I, umm, posed for Brian's gnarly, rooty girl. Many moons ago. That link, by the way, goes to Brian & Wendy's weekly blog, written by Wendy and featuring art by both.)

Tune for a Monday Morning

Today, a charmingly goofy video to start the week off with a smile (which is a sure-fire way to chase off any Monsters lingering in the shadows): "We No Speak Americano" from Yolanda Be Cool & DCup, with a vocal sample from Tu Vuo Fa L Americano.

And here's Tilly, doing her goofy best to make you smile too:

"I like nonsense. It wakes up the brain cells." - Dr. Seuss

"Laughter is the corrective force which prevents us from becoming cranks."  - Henri Bergson

Autumn Cleaning: On Creative Burn-out

"When I am between ideas I clean my studio: I am still in the space, fulfilling my time, and surrounded by my tools and, since making art is more pleasant than cleaning up, it usually isn't long before an idea will appear that demands to be executed."  - Brigitte Nowak

I do this too, when I'm between writing/editing/art projects: sweeping out the dust of old ideas, making a clear, ordered, inviting space for new ones to arrive. But a Ritual Cleaning is also helpful during times like the one I'm experiencing now: when the Big Hairy Monsters of Difficult Life Stuff have made tatters of my work schedule, stomped muddy feet over all my deadlines and plans, and taken up residence not only in my brain but in my workspace as well...while the Spark of Inspiration is hiding behind the sofa with her hands over her head.

So in this case, it's not just dust I'm sweeping out the studio door, it's also those Big Hairy Beasts clamoring for attention. Out, I say, out! Be off with you! I'll deal with you in the times and places that are appropriate -- not here! This place is for words and paint and books and dreaming and making and myth and magic. This place is sacred. This place is mine. Out! Out! Out!

"Blocks are simply part of an artist's natural cycle, and mine come whenever I reach a plateau in my work. I'll feel bottled up with negativism, but when I blast through all the garbage, I find I've emerged in a new place as a better artist."  - Nick Payne

I don't often get blocked creatively, but when I do, the Big Hairy Monsters of Difficult Life Stuff are most often the cause. And yes, once you blast through blocks and Beasts, it is usually (maybe always) to an interesting, new, better place as an artist. So I'm sweeping and cleaning, reclaiming my space, and waiting for that moment of...renewal.

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"Sometimes, if you just wait it out, and go on about your business without trying to force a solution, it comes - almost as if the old artist has to die before the new one can be born."  - Jane Champagne

Yes, I find that's true.

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"Close the door. Write with no one looking over your shoulder. Don't try to figure out what other people want to hear from you; figure out what you have to say. It's the one and only thing you have to offer."  - Barbara Kingsolver

Indeed. Sometimes you must shut the door, both literally and metaphorically. Draw the curtains. Go off-line. Switch off the phone, the radio, the stereo. In stillness, in silence, your own voice emerges, saying things you never dreamed you had it in you to say.

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"There's one thing your writing must have to be any good at all. It must have you. Your soul, your self, your heart, your guts, your voice -- you must be on that page. In the end, you can't make the magic happen for your reader. You can only allow the miracle of 'being one with' to take place. So dare to be yourself. Dare to reveal yourself. Be honest, be open, be true...If you are, everything else will fall into place."   - Elizabeth Ayres

I know this to be true. Yet it's a lesson I seem to have to re-learn with each and every project.

"You are not here merely to make a living. You are here in order to enable the world to live more amply, with greater vision, with a finer spirit of hope and achievement. You are here to enrich the world, and you impoverish yourself if you forget that errand."  - Woodrow Wilson

Note to self: Never forget this.

Having cleaned out my workspace, I'm now off on a few quiet, much-needed days of "studio retreat." Have a good weekend, everyone.

Oh, some very quick recommendations before I go: Don't miss the usual Friday posts on John Barleycorn and  Seven Miles of Steel Thistles; or the trees, dreams, and raven calls at Ravenwood Forest; or the stitches and secrets at Spirit Cloth. There are some useful reflections on the Creative Blues at I Saw the Angel, and a brand new post at Rima's The Hermitage (always a cause for celebration). For an extra lift, E.'s photos on the Mystic Vixen blog never fail to make me smile...and I love her dogs.

________________________________________________________________________

* Updated to add the following links:

On Creative Burn-out, Part II

On Creative Burn-out, Part III

Autumn Cleaning

"When I am between ideas I clean my studio: I am still in the space, fulfilling my time, and surrounded by my tools and, since making art is more pleasant than cleaning up, it usually isn't long before an idea will appear that demands to be executed."  - Brigitte Nowak

I do this too, when I'm between writing/editing/art projects: sweeping out the dust of old ideas, making a clear, ordered, inviting space for new ones to arrive. But a Ritual Cleaning is also helpful during times like the one I'm experiencing now: when the Big Hairy Monsters of Difficult Life Stuff have made tatters of my work schedule, stomped muddy feet over all my deadlines and plans, and taken up residence not only in my brain but in my workspace as well...while the Spark of Inspiration is hiding behind the sofa with her hands over her head.

So in this case, it's not just dust I'm sweeping out the studio door, it's also those Big Hairy Beasts clamoring for attention. Out, I say, out! Be off with you! I'll deal with you in the times and places that are appropriate -- not here! This place is for words and paint and books and dreaming and making and myth and magic. This place is sacred. This place is mine. Out! Out! Out!

"Blocks are simply part of an artist's natural cycle, and mine come whenever I reach a plateau in my work. I'll feel bottled up with negativism, but when I blast through all the garbage, I find I've emerged in a new place as a better artist."  - Nick Payne

I don't often get blocked creatively, but when I do, the Big Hairy Monsters of Difficult Life Stuff are most often the cause. And yes, once you blast through blocks and Beasts, it is usually (maybe always) to an interesting, new, better place as an artist. So I'm sweeping and cleaning, reclaiming my space, and waiting for that moment of...renewal.

[image error]

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"Sometimes, if you just wait it out, and go on about your business without trying to force a solution, it comes - almost as if the old artist has to die before the new one can be born."  - Jane Champagne

Yes, I find that's true.

[image error]

"Close the door. Write with no one looking over your shoulder. Don't try to figure out what other people want to hear from you; figure out what you have to say. It's the one and only thing you have to offer."  - Barbara Kingsolver

Indeed. Sometimes you must shut the door, both literally and metaphorically. Draw the curtains. Go off-line. Switch off the phone, the radio, the stereo. In stillness, in silence, your own voice emerges, saying things you never dreamed you had it in you to say.

[image error]

"There's one thing your writing must have to be any good at all. It must have you. Your soul, your self, your heart, your guts, your voice -- you must be on that page. In the end, you can't make the magic happen for your reader. You can only allow the miracle of 'being one with' to take place. So dare to be yourself. Dare to reveal yourself. Be honest, be open, be true...If you are, everything else will fall into place."   - Elizabeth Ayres

I know this to be true. Yet it's a lesson I seem to have to re-learn with each and every project.

"You are not here merely to make a living. You are here in order to enable the world to live more amply, with greater vision, with a finer spirit of hope and achievement. You are here to enrich the world, and you impoverish yourself if you forget that errand."  - Woodrow Wilson

Note to self: Never forget this.

Having cleaned out my workspace, I'm now off on a few quiet, much-needed days of "studio retreat." Have a good weekend, everyone.

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Oh, some very quick recommendations before I go: Don't miss the usual Friday posts on John Barleycorn and  Seven Miles of Steel Thistles; or the trees, dreams, and raven calls at Ravenwood Forest; or the stitches and secrets at Spirit Cloth. There are some useful reflections on the Creative Blues at I Saw the Angel, and a brand new post at Rima's The Hermitage (always a cause for celebration). For an extra lift, E.'s photos on the Mystic Vixen blog never fail to make me smile...and I love her dogs.

On perserverance, 4.

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"It's not that I'm so smart, it's just that I stay with problems longer." - Albert Einstein