“We’re all different and we’re all imperfect, and the imperfections are what makes each of us and our work interesting. We create pieces reflective of who we are, and if insecurity is part of who we are, then our work will have a greater degree of truth in it as a result.” -Rick Rubin
Lately, in the studio, I’ve been working in two mediums: one that I’m very comfortable with (ink on paper) and one that I am somewhat uncomfortable with (paint on canvas). I’m finishing a group of paintings in the former, and mostly avoiding the latter. To be clear, I want to make the paintings on canvas, and in fact hope that they are a big part of my future work. And yet, I feel resistance bubble up inside me when I pivot to them, when I pick up the brush, mix a color, and begin painting. Where does this resistance come from, and why would something I want to engage with elicit such discomfort? On the surface, I can point to having more experience with the ink on paper and less with the way I am painting on canvas. But if I look a little closer and drop down another level, to the center of the discomfort, there it is: the gap.
We all know the gap. It’s the space between our vision and our execution. It’s the space between how we want to feel and what we actually feel. It’s the space between where we want to go, and where we are right now. It’s the space between an ideal and a reality. It’s the space between what we thought would happen and what is actually happening. It’s space between the mark we want to make and the mark we actually make. It’s the space between intention and manifestation. It’s the liminal space between. The gap is inherent in creative work and it has a light side and a dark side. It can be exciting and motivating, and it can also be really discouraging, especially if feels like it never closes.
Making art gives us immediate feedback. In this way, the gap is potent and valuable, if we can tolerate the discomfort that comes with it. Each gesture, mark, sound, or word that we apply to our work moves it forward in a particular way. Maybe not the way we intended, but a particular way all the same. If we practice acceptance moment to moment, we find a doorway to flow, a portal of ideation, observation, and response. We tune in and notice, inquire, make adjustments. We keep one eye on our intention and one eye on the gap. The gap shows us where our opportunities are.
However, if the gap is too persistent it can feel discouraging. It’s good to be in pursuit, have grit, keep going, show up, etc. but we also want resolution, moments of satisfaction. When we notice that we are chronically dissatisfied, it’s helpful to be on the lookout for perfectionism. It’s also worth examining: who or what is setting the standard? Are we comparing ourselves harshly to others? Are exterior ideas about what constitutes success, either artistically or financially, influencing us? Is a deadline creating too much urgency? Is social media distorting our perspective on our practice? Are we acknowledging our successes? I’ve asked myself these questions so many times. It can be hard to unhook ourselves from these kinds of thinking, but with some effort it’s possible to reset our boundaries and expectations to support ourselves in our art making.
Yes, the gap can be infuriating but it can also be motivating! Not when I feel flooded by it, but when it is a slow drip, urging me on, opening new directions in my work, keeping me challenged. To some degree, I cultivate a gap, moving on when a body of work becomes rote, working with new materials that I feel awkward using, always having an undeveloped project in the wings to nurture and keep me from being bored. Every now and then, the gap closes for a moment, and I feel a sense of things converging in a beautiful and satisfying way. Then, like an old friend, it returns, opening up again, keeping me leaning into the next mark, the next project, the next question, the next skill, the space between, priming my way forward.
Until next week,
well said! It reminds me of this quote which you probably know by Ira Glass. But I feel like you expand on it and acknowledge that this gap between our intention and our creations is not just something that beginners encounter, it is always with us and it's about our attitude towards it.
“Nobody tells this to people who are beginners, I wish someone told me. All of us who do creative work, we get into it because we have good taste. But there is this gap. For the first couple years you make stuff, it’s just not that good. It’s trying to be good, it has potential, but it’s not. But your taste, the thing that got you into the game, is still killer. And your taste is why your work disappoints you" - Ira Glass
Lisa, I love reading your weekly newsletter! It is not only beautifully written, it's also spot on with bringing to the forefront the emotions and entanglements that all artists must grapple with and work through (whether they admit it or not.) Very inspiring and motivating. Thank you, thank you!