I'm An Artist, Not a Machine

In which I consider how I used to operate as a machine, but don't want to be a cog anymore.

These last couple of months, I’ve mostly been working with cold wax and oil, my new shiny toy, which means I haven’t painted much with encaustic, my go-to, my standard, my regular work. Encaustic is my standard repertoire, and what people know me for. The break has given me some new insight into my role as an artist - turns out I’m not the machine that I was conditioned to be.

First, obviously, I’m learning a whole new medium and my brain is firing in creative ways, thinking about painting and landscapes not as these discrete elements and layers within the work, but as integrated parts. The cold wax paintings, or at least the way I’m making them now, are vastly more complicated with layers on the bottom connecting with layers on the top as if they were strung together with mycelium. I recognize that I have a knack for making things more complicated than they should be. I also see that I couldn’t have possibly done this two years ago. In my old mindset, I wouldn’t have had the patience to be a beginner and “make mistakes”. Nor would I have had the time for such frivolity such as learning a new skill.

Second, I took a break. For two months I didn’t even really think about encaustic, except for the moments of where I remembered that it was something that I did, have done, and will someday do again. But the break allowed some distance between me and that process, so much so, that I actually started to miss it, which surprised the heck out of me, because last year I wanted to melt them all into a puddle. I think that is perhaps what happens when you’ve done one thing for so long - it grows stale and boring. Breaks are good if you can do them.

Third, to be honest, while I was working on the cold wax, I was struggling quite a bit, because doing new things is hard, and I don’t actually know what I’m doing yet. I am still very much in the “fumbling in the dark” phase, or perhaps I’m just “working the puzzle”. All of that made me really long for the familiarity of my encaustic process - the smell of the studio, the rhythmic nature of applying the wax, scraping in between each layer, watching the wax melt and smooth with the torch. I missed painting hundreds of happy little trees and watching a landscape come together, but what I really missed was the delight of doing something well.

Being an expert at something is actually pretty amazing - knowing a craft, a trade, a process inside and out so well that you could do it with one hand tied behind your back. Actually, I need both hands, but for the most part, once I know what the composition is, then my brain can check out and my body takes over the rest. The repetitive nature of a craft is a beautiful thing. It’s a working meditation and that’s where you find flow.

It’s relaxing if you let it be, which I now realize is the key - as long as you’re not punishing yourself with some crazy time schedule, that is. Or if you’re not pushing towards a deadline, if you’re not trying to do 3 hours of work in less than 2, if you’re not trying to make 100 paintings in a year, rather than a reasonable 60, or if life gets in the way and you’re hurrying to catch up on a production schedule.

Generally, if you treat yourself like a machine, the work becomes a grind.

My realization from this break being - I am an artist. I am not a machine And trying to pump out paintings as if I were a machine is what led to my severe burnout and depression. It’s what lead to hating my work, because I was so stressed about getting it done, that I couldn’t take any time to find any pleasure from the work.

I know those feelings too well. I am a product of the 80s and 90s neoliberalism after all, that eschewed pleasure and craft over efficiency and production. True story - in my 20’s I said my middle name was “Efficiency” because I prided myself in getting a lot done and quickly. I also admired those that accomplished a lot, and berated myself when I couldn’t, for being lazy. I was not taught to take pleasure in work or craft, I was taught to get things done. If they had given out awards for crossing things off a ToDo list, I would have had those merit badges and worn them proudly.

My burnout, my depression, my insomnia have all given me pause though. What am I working so hard for? I don’t want a giant house on a cul de sac. I don’t need a fancy car or expensive vacations. I like thrift store shopping and I like cooking at home. I get most of my books from the library. Honestly, I probably spend most of my money on art supplies. I certainly am not denigrating those things if that’s what you like to do - we all have our values and likes and dislikes, so please find pleasure where you can.

For me though, I’m to a point where I have everything I need and more, and now Matt and I are just making up new projects for ourselves, just for fun. We’re trying to make things more beautiful, interesting, charming, comfortable, energy efficient, and sustainable. And if I spend the rest of my life going on camping trips and tinkering around the house, I know I will be happy.

There was this amazing quote I saw recently, but I can’t find it for the life of me, which kills me, because it distills all of this into a pithy saying. It went something like this:

When you think life is about achieving things, then it’s a competition and a race against time and everyone else to the bottom. When you realize it’s about lived experiences, you’ll wish it lasted forever and you had all the time in the world.

Because, and I’m not sure anyone has told you this, because certainly no one told me - it turns out there are no prizes at the end for who gets the most done or who has the most in their bank account. There is nothing in the bible that says, “Your rewards in heaven are commiserate with the amount of things you cross off on your list. And double points for those in the top 10%.” It’s not simply not there.

Maybe it’s the late-stage capitalism seeping in, maybe it’s the fact that we won’t be better off than our parents despite working just as hard (or harder)¹, or maybe I’m just tired of running on the hamster wheel for small rewards, but I’m over grinding. I’m done with “hammering,” and “cranking,” and being “busy”. I am actively trying to keep those words out of my vocabulary.

I am working, but I am not busy. I am striving, but I am not stressing. Most days, I enjoy what I do and am very grateful to be an artist and make a living doing so. I think about art most of the time (that is if I’m not thinking about food). If you catch me staring off into space, just know that I’m thinking about art, about how I would paint a given scene, about colors, about texture, and about the light on a cloud. Except now, I am less stressed, because the work will get done when it gets done. I’m done with demanding schedules, done with over-committing, done with just doing one more painting, done beating myself up to get shit done. Or at least, I’m trying to do this. It will take some time to unwind my efficiency mindset of the last 40 years.

Artists and people dedicated to their craft should take pleasure in their work. But really I want everyone to enjoy their work, and especially enjoy their days and their lives. Because if we all give in to the mindset that we’re just a cog in the machine, then they win. The “corporate overlords” want us to be dependent on them, they want to bust our union, and get us back in line, working our shifts, and pushing our production schedules - harder, better, faster.²

How do we get off the hamster wheel you ask? I don’t know all the answers, but I think part of it is to take your pleasure back. Enjoy yourselves. Delight in your days. Of course, we have to work to put food on the table and pay the rent, but let’s take our joy back bit by bit. Let’s relish in doing good work, and savor the parts we like. Perhaps I am able to say this from the relative prosperity of an artist who works for herself, or perhaps I can say it because I took my power back. I’m giving myself space, time, and reasonable deadlines.

There is so much to bemoan in the world right now. It’s one natural or political disaster after another, and I am doing whatever I can not to fall into the depths of despair, because when people lose their lives and homes, it is terrible. But there is still SO MUCH that is good in this world, and I want to focus on that, while helping wherever I can. The sun still rises every morning, and if that is not a goddamn miracle, I don’t know what is.

I am not trying to be Pollyana wearing rose-colored glasses while smiling at the world and ignoring all the tragedy. I consider myself a realistic optimist, and I know I’m looking out onto the world through a haze of smoke, but even through that haze, the sunset can dazzle us with spectacular show of color. That’s how an artist would see it at least. We’d paint the shit out of a wildfire sunset, marveling at the way the light hits the clouds. Because if you know how to look, all clouds have silver linings.

Be an artist. Don’t be a machine. Reject the efficiency mindset and embrace things that are handmade and find peace in a slower life. Marvel at the clouds. Relish in your work. Delight in your days. Cook a delicious meal. Sing while you wash the dishes. Play with your kids or your pets, and laugh. Be happy about shoveling snow. Feast upon the book that you’re reading. Spend time with friends and family. Find satisfaction in a job well done rather than rushing through it. Let’s fucking care about the end result, rather than just finishing it and pushing it out the door.

That’s how we win, that’s how we take back our power.

1. Even though the Boomers sure seem to think we complain more and don’t work as hard.

2. To be clear I am my own corporate overlord in this scenario.