One Art

Art first. Muggle shit later.

These five words made me catch my breath. It came from one of my favorite Instagram feeds about writing.

Art first?

But I work full time! And for a long time, I was a single parent! And I like to have a social life! And there are so many other interesting things to do in the world besides art!

And, and, and.

I used to put everything before writing: eating, sleeping, working, caring for my kid, tennis, yoga, watching TV, organizing the pantry, cleaning closets, and flossing my teeth.

All those things are so important. And some of them are urgent.

Those things were far easier to start and stop—muggle s*$%@ is far easier to slide in and out of. For the most part, there also is no fear involved.

But I have always known writing was part of my soul purpose. It just feels like something I agreed to do before I landed on this planet. That’s pretty heavy, especially as a 10 or 11-year-old.

When I was about that age, long afternoons when my best friend was not around, I would climb onto a giant boulder in our side yard in the garden. It felt like I had greater perspective sitting on that rock. No one would bother me there—three seasons a year, no one was in the garden. And I would sit on top of that monstrous glacial erratic near where the rhubarb grew, notebook and a pencil in front of me. And I’d wait for the Muse to come find me.

Most days, it didn't necessarily come. I was 10, after all.

But that is what art takes: Time in solitude, doing nothing else.

It can be an intimate, terrifying relationship with any form of art. You wonder as you begin a project where it’s going to go. Who is going to win—you or the blank piece of paper. And it can be lonely.

You can’t really ever get art perfect. It’s not like multiplication or division, where there is a right answer, and you know when you are finished. Art can be a lifelong pursuit—a path I am still on.

What is your art? What creative outlet calls you forward?

And do you put it first?

Is it drawing? Woodworking? Collage? Theater? Sewing? Flying model airplanes? Cooking? Painting?

Joseph Campbell acknowledged how hard it can be to make space for this kind of soul work. He wrote in Hero with a Thousand Faces, “Often in actual life…we encounter the dull ache of the call unanswered, for it is always possible to turn the ear to other interests.”

It’s so easy to turn eyes and ears to things that are frivolous, or that are driven by others’ needs. It’s amazing how one can lose an entire afternoon scrolling through apps on a mobile phone.

These days, I make it a rule not to climb on rocks any more. (I only have one good shoulder at the moment.) So, I use early morning hours while it’s still dark out to read great writers. And then after I am well inspired, I write. The work day has not started. The blank page feels more open. Anything is possible in the dark of night when the rest of the world is not buzzing yet.

Art is a graceful channel to process the world. After I sit down at a blank page and fill it up—even if it’s just journaling that won't go anywhere—I feel complete somehow. As if the jumble of thoughts, feelings, and ideas floating around in my brain has found a place to land. Putting my hand to paper or my fingers to the keyboard grounds me.

Others might feel the same thing—after drawing, leather-working, throwing pottery on a wheel, listening to opera, or working with stained glass.

I think my boyfriend's art is cutting down trees in the woods. He has a grand plan to eliminate the gnarly pines and the bittersweet that are choking everything out, to give more breathing room to the maples and the oaks and to seedlings craving sunlight. He can spend six hours out there at a time. When he comes in the house, it's clear he is one with himself and with the world.

What if we don’t prioritize whatever happens to be our art?

We are left living with the dull ache of the call unanswered.