Just Stand and Wait: Why (Sometimes) We Don’t Need to Work

I think many artists feel a sense of obligation to work all the time.  Surely there are myriad reasons for this feeling, but one of them, at least for religious artists, is the belief that artistic gifts are from God.  If I am convinced that artistic gifts are God-given, then I may feel a sense of obligation to God who gave me those gifts. 

This is what John Milton describes in his poem On His Blindness.  Having lost his sight, Milton was no longer able to see his own words on the page, no small loss for a man used to writing.  Written in the seventeenth century, the poem continues to resonate today.

On His Blindness

When I consider how my light is spent
Ere half my days in this dark world and wide,
And that one talent which is death to hide
Lodg'd with me useless, though my soul more bent
To serve therewith my Maker, and present
My true account, lest he returning chide,
"Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?"
I fondly ask. But Patience, to prevent
That murmur, soon replies: "God doth not need
Either man's work or his own gifts: who best
Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best.
His stateIs kingly; thousands at his bidding speed
And post o'er land and ocean without rest:
They also serve who only stand and wait."

Just as a blind poet may feel that his gift is “lod’g with me useless”, many other artists also go through periods during which, for one reason or another, it is impossible (or nearly impossible) to work.  The reasons for these periods are various, but regardless of how or why they come about, they are never easy.  There is deep pain that comes from hiding a gift.

 Fortunately, the voice of Patience reminds Milton (and us) that an all-powerful God who gives good gifts is hardly dependent on his people making perfect use of them.  And so Milton recognizes another way to serve: simply stand and wait.  Be ready to work again when you are able, but, for now, it is enough to be willing.

That Milton was able to write Paradise Lost several years after losing his sight and writing this poem, is testament to the fact that these periods of waiting need not become permanent.  By dictating the piece aloud to an amanuensis, Milton was able to “write” without seeing words on a page.  Even so, as this poem so powerfully states, there is nothing inherently wrong with the periods of inactivity that are sometimes a part of an artist’s work.

FOCUS Day at SAU: How Artists do Work

The following was taped during the FOCUS week at Spring Arbor University.  I presented along with Jen Letherer, Brent Cline, and Shawn Teichmer.  

Stepping Inside a September Noon

Recently I went to the Toledo Museum of Art with some students.  I always seem to notice something new even when visiting a museum I’ve been to before, and this time was no different. 

George Inness’ painting September Noon caught my attention this time, as did the quote from Inness on the placard next to the painting:

“The purpose of the painter is simply to reproduce in other minds the impression which a scene had made upon him.”

George Inness, September Noon, Oil on canvas, 1892

The plainness of the Inness’ language belies the complexity of his statement.  It is no small thing to allow another person to step inside one’s skin and feel what one feels.  It’s almost akin to a magic trick.  If I can make someone not only see what I see through my eyes but also feel what it’s like to be me, Rachel, looking at that scene, that is something much greater. 

Perhaps part of the way Inness accomplished this trick was in the way he applied the paint to the canvas. Inness’ early paintings contain sharp details, but his later works, such as September Noon, are painted with a soft focus.  Everything seems to be seen through the haze of a dream or a memory, and, indeed, when I’m looking at these paintings I can imagine that I am looking through another person’s eyes.  It’s the same feeling I get when I’m hearing someone tell a story about something that happened to him or her a long time ago.  The details are lost, but the essential sentiment remains.   

Regardless of Inness’ methods, however, it strikes me that in his quote he has hit upon one of the tasks of the artist: taking a viewer outside of himself and allowing him to, temporarily, become someone else. 

This Isn't a Competition, and I am Here to Make Friends

The classic line used by cutthroat competitors in reality television shows is, "I'm not here to make friends!"  It's one of those things that would sound terribly anti-social in any normal setting, but somehow sounds okay in the context of intense competition.

Competition is a double-edged sword for most artists.  I’ve entered many contests, won a few, and had my share of losses.  Most other artists could say the same.  At their best, competitions offer incentive to make excellent work.  At their worst, they reduce the arts into a noisy county fair, with everyone desperately trying to prove that they have the largest hog.  There’s nothing wrong with county fairs, but do creativity and ingenuity thrive in an atmosphere where the only goal is to outdo someone else?

When I see a really great painting, I don’t want to think, “Oh no!  That person is better than I am!”  I’d rather be able to enjoy their work.

This brings me to one of my favorite quotations from Madeleine L’Engle.  L’Engle is most famous for her Newbery Medal-winning novel A Wrinkle in Time, but this gem is taken from one of her nonfiction books, A Circle of Quiet. 

“A great painting, or symphony, or play, doesn’t diminish us, but enlarges us, and we, too, want to make our own cry of affirmation to the power of creation behind the universe.  This surge of creativity has nothing to do with competition, or degree of talent.  When I hear a superb pianist, I can’t wait to get to my own piano, and I play as well now as I did when I was ten.  A great novel, rather than discouraging me, simply makes me want to write.  This response on the part of any artist is the need to make incarnate the new awareness we have been granted through the genius of someone else.”

I believe it’s important for me as an artist to allow myself to stop competing and simply respond with gratitude and renewed artistic zeal when I see something truly great, something that, frankly, I could never have made myself.