Trust the Process
A Theory of Effort, Loosely Applied
My usual disclaimer in advance: what works for me will most likely not work for you—or only bits and pieces of it, after you’ve taken a sledgehammer to them. So, for whatever it’s worth, here are my five cents of wisdom.
Working myself to death—eight hours in the studio every day—doesn’t work for me. I need time to think about stuff, read, listen to things, look at others, do nothing, be bored. Time where nothing is expected of me, but something quietly starts to shift anyway.
At the same time, not working at all doesn’t work either. It’s use it or lose it. And working on other things—commissions, visuals for side projects, curating—while creative in their own right, just isn’t enough. They keep the machine running, but they don’t refill the tank.
What I need is a bit of creative fun—an hour a day, two if inspiration strikes (and it doesn’t always)—ideally every day of the week, including Saturday and Sunday. I can handle a few days off, but the longer I do nothing just for fun, the harder it is to get back into things. The point, really, is for it to be fun. Not with a purpose. Not (necessarily) to show. Just for fun.
Someone—I don’t remember who—said inspiration has to find you working, and I believe this to be true. But even if you’re working, having fun (I’m using these two interchangeably at the moment, but not in general), it doesn’t mean inspiration always shows up.
My current “beach bum remixes” are a good example. I started reworking a couple of pieces from three or four years ago. It’s fast, low-stakes, and gives me just enough instant gratification to get through the rest of the day—and through the things I need to do but don’t particularly enjoy.
I’ve since moved on to creating newer pieces, mixing elements from the older works with things I only started using last year—or maybe the year before. Still harmless fun. Still light enough to not get tangled in. Fast.
I know myself and my process well enough to know that this will bore me within days, and not very many, at which point I will start adding something. What, I don’t know. Where this will go, I don’t know either.
And there is often that very uncomfortable moment when I draw blanks. When I start worrying that new ideas won’t be coming. That I’ve used them all up. That this is it. The well has run dry. That people will finally realize I’m not the real deal. An imposter. Fake. That I had just gotten lucky up until now.
And the temptation is there to quit it all. But I also know that if I keep creating, working, having fun, I will get through it to the other end. That something will happen. And even if it doesn’t, sometimes it takes longer than usual, I just have to keep going, start playing around with something else—again, with no expectations other than having fun and learning something in the process. Because I always do. And eventually, if I stick with it long enough, I usually work my way through the whole mess. And inspiration—after circling overhead and occasionally glancing in my direction—finally lands. Sticks around for a while.
What I’m trying to say is that your process will almost certainly look different from mine. What’s important is to find out what that process is—not an easy task—to pay attention. And once you have an idea—because that’s all you’re ever going to have, a vague idea of what’s going on—to go with it. And to trust that process.
I’m happy to have discovered you here, thanks to Kelly Russo. Your art is so exciting! The “inspiration finds you working” notion came to me in my 30s, when I was experiencing writer’s block. I was waiting for something worthy of writing about to happen but life felt stagnant. After much grief and struggle, it came to me that inspiration doesn’t happen to me, I create it through work and play, through curiosity and action. Best discovery I’ve made yet on my creative journey! Thank you for sharing some of your creative process—it’s very generous of you. 🙏🏼
It was Picasso