How to squash a creative heart

The dream killers ... we've all met them

Photo by Elena Mozhvilo on Unsplash

Many years ago, I went to an art class, full of enthusiasm and a desire to paint from the heart.

Before I go on, here are a few of things you may not know about me:

• I topped art in my senior years at high school;

• If I couldn’t be a journalist, I wanted to be a graphic designer;

• I studied art history at university;

• My favourite Australian painting is Frederick McCubbin’s Lost Child and it is one of the influences for my current work in progress;

• When I was in Year 2, I went through a stage of painting TV sets in shades of black and purple every week during art time. I still don’t know why;

• I cried when I went to the Musee D’Orsay and Louvre in Paris, overcome by the magnificent creativity all around me.

By the time I was in my twenties and studying art history, I knew deep down I was better at writing about art (I waffled my way to several High Distinctions) than making art, but I still harboured this desire to do a painting class.

“Every artist was first an amateur.”
Ralph Waldo Emerson

I remember that night so clearly.

The smell of the turps.

The blank canvas, awaiting my touch.

The clean brushes of all shapes and sizes.

I remember the class being directed to paint a tree from a supplied photo and … I remember sketching an outline, picking up a brush, whacking paint on with a dab here, a flourish there (I had a real rhythm going with the fan brush) …

In that moment, I surrendered to joy.

And that’s when the teacher (I only remember him as a grumpy old man, sorry guys) picked up a cloth and—

WIPED. ALL. THE. PAINT. OFF.

I’m serious.

He wiped it all off, said I’d done it all wrong and told me to start again.

From a technique point, he was right. It was all wrong. There were no layers, something I had no idea about at that point. But his manner nearly killed something in me that day.

And it opened a festering wound – self-doubt.

I walked out and never went back to that grumpy old man’s class, vowing never to bother with an art class again.

“The very essence of the creative is its novelty, and hence we have no standard by which to judge it.” Carl Rogers

Instead, I turned my not-quite-dead creativity (in between raising children, working and moving around the country) to scrapbooking, cardmaking, bead jewellery making, candle making, drawing mandalas … and finally, writing.

But it took more than twenty-five years to find the confidence to try another art class.

It was a “paint and sip” style class where an artist took participants step-by-step through the creation of a painting. It was the most fun I’d had in ages. And that night, each person taking part learned something valuable – to have fun, to try, and not to worry about our efforts being wrong or right.

“I’ve learned to ignore the negative people and just be a living example of confidence and self-love.” – Khoudia Diop

OK, let’s be real, I’m still learning this one. Some days it’s easier than others.

Rewind back to the art teacher for a moment. Yes, what he said hurt, even it was correct. Perhaps he was well-meaning, even if wiping the canvas went too far and that one swipe prevented a budding artist from meeting her artistic self.

What would have happened if he’d encouraged me instead? I’ll never know.

But ultimately, who held onto that experience, who let it kill the dream of learning to paint? Who didn’t stand up and give him a piece of my mind?

Who never went back?

Me.

I let that story morph from outrage, embarrassment and hurt into fear. Fear of it happening again and being humiliated publicly. Unable to “feel the fear and do it anyway”, as Susan Jeffers encourages. Unwilling to try a different class and learn.

Over the years I’ve let perfectionism, imposter syndrome, stress and indecision act as my own personal dream killers at different times in my creative life.

I don’t want to keep doing that to my creative self.

These days, I’m focusing on joy, in finding joy in whatever creative pursuit I undertake, even if my efforts suck! Because once I lose the joy, my creative soul suffers.

So this is my mission:

More joyful creativity, less artistic agony.

Have you ever had your creativity squashed by someone? What happened? How did you overcome it?

PS. Sometimes the negative person is that voice in your head. Be kind to yourself.

This updated post was first published on my website in 2019.

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News: Wherever You Go will be published worldwide by Bloodhound Books on October 19. If you like contemporary fiction about grief, loss, redemption and the healing power of food and community, I’d love for you to check it out.