Monday Art Day
By Barbara O'Neal | September 23, 2015 |
It is a Monday as I write this, and Mondays are Art Days for me lately. I sometimes think I should cancel because the class is long, 2-1/2 hours, all afternoon, and I could be doing something useful in that time, like exercising or writing more pages, or cleaning my house, which has been a less than perfect place lately.
The truth is, I’m really busy with writing work. I have more Lark books coming, and a Barbara O’Neal book in progress (which is taking so much longer than the usual for a book of this sort!) and a surprise project fell in my lap over the summer that I could not possibly turn down. My word count for the next six months intimidates even me, with all my schedules and process checks and charts.[pullquote]
When I leave, I am more rested than if I’d slept the whole day. This, too, is a meditation, a place to let the girls in the basement regroup and talk among themselves without my buzzing, frustrated noises.
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Busy. You might know something about this. Maybe you have a day job or a toddler (if you have an infant, enjoy this time and realize it is fleeting and beautiful) or family problems or like me, ten billion words to write in the next six months and you have no idea how you’ll get it all done. Technically, looking at the charts, the days needed, the hours I must spend working, this Monday Art Day thing is just a bizarre luxury.
I also walk the dog every morning, walks that are very slow and easy now that he’s thirteen and suffering some of the indignities of old age. It sometimes makes me feel anxious, to tell you the truth. It can take a whole hour to walk this route, which once took us half that. He smells everything and wanders down to the next thing to smell. I have a rule that I’m not allowed to check email or other social media sites while I’m walking because I want to be present. With this dog, right now, a dog who is on the downward slide, who will break my heart into billions of pieces when he slides on out of this world. So I stay here, right now.
And meanwhile, the earth is filling me, as Mary Oliver says, showing me everything she has. Sky and the grass in the fields—so long and green a month ago, so dry and wispy now—and birds singing and the very old man I thought might have died making his rounds. My mind flits and wanders around ideas for the works in progress, trying things on, tossing them out. I think about how to organize my day and what to cook for dinner. It’s meditation on the hoof.
This morning, my Art Day, I thought about all there is to do—this column and some administrative tasks and an outline that’s due in a few days, and some research I haven’t done—and I thought I should cancel my class. It will be there next week, and I’m not sure what I’ll be painting and I’m never going to be particularly good at this.
Except, you know, I like it. When I settle into the rather plain workroom with the other painters, the outside world falls away. I focus on getting the leaf patterns right on a fern, let myself be corrected again and again and again, trying anew to capture that shadow, to pull the paint away, to master techniques that are often beyond my meager talents. We rarely talk, the students and I. The instructor is eccentric and elderly and a startlingly good teacher.
When I leave, I am more rested than if I’d slept the whole day. This, too, is a meditation, a place to let the girls in the basement regroup and talk among themselves without my buzzing, frustrated noises.
And here is another small thing about Monday Art Day: I look forward to it all week. I’m happy when I awaken to realize today is Monday Art Day! I’m going to paint! That pleasure of anticipation brings something rich to my life when I’m so busy, a promise of reward and a chance to honor the part of me that desperately wants to just play, to do this thing where nothing is required of me but my simple, humble participation.
I realized, as I walked that dog this morning and he smelled the juniper so thoroughly that I’m sure he didn’t miss a single frond, that I’ve been approaching my writing much the same way the past few years. It started with the whisper of excitement over a new genre. What would happen if I just started playing with new adult romance? What if I invented a new name and gave it a year to see what might happen?
Lark O’Neal happened. She’s having a good run and I am enjoying myself wildly. I’ve also tapped into a readership I’ve never interacted with before, young readers for the most part, who write some of the very best fan letters I’ve ever had.
Another thing I played with is re-publishing my historical romances. I wrote seven of them, gritty books, really, and because they were not on mark at the time they were published, I had all the rights back with the ebook thing exploded. I repackaged and published them myself, and I have to tell you, they have sold way way way way more copies now than they did then. I’m delighted—and kept telling my beloved that I should write some more.
And voila! The universe dropped a project in my lap that is proving to be a completely delight—and it’s also a new model in the current publishing world. Serial Box Publishing is billing itself as HBO for readers, building on the prime television model of story, an “episode” every week, and the first serials are releasing this week. I’m participating in a Restoration-era project with a group of extremely celebrated and accomplished women, to create a series about powerful women of the era. I hesitated at first because the model was different, because I don’t usually collaborate, because I already have a lot of work to do, but the girls in the basement said, “Hey, this will be GOOD! Let’s do it!”
So last weekend, I went to New York for a three-day story summit with Liz Duffy Adams, Madeline Robbins, Delia Sherman, and Mary Robinette Kowal to brainstorm the first series. We were kept on task by fellow romance writer Racheline Maltese, the coordinator for this project. And it was so fast, such a pleasure to be with such intelligent women who know story and love it as much as I do that it filled the well even as it put a lot of pressure on my work load. (Check out the trailer for Serial Box here.)
Work and life, life and work. The art class fills my heart, gives space for things to settle. The dog sniffing hour grounds me in the moment. The new projects stretch my skills and imagination, and keep the rivers of my creativity fresh and exuberant. We cannot only work, but if we take time to tend those other things, the words will come faster and we will produce more than we can ever imagine, and better work, too.
Do you have a Monday Art Day like me? Or some other thing you do to run away from the work and your every day life—maybe a basketball game on a weekday evening or a cooking class or a church service?
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Barbara O’Neal is the author of more than a dozen award-winning, bestselling novels, including the runaway bestseller, When We Believed in Mermaids, which has been published in more than 20 countries and spent many months on the Amazon Charts, as well as the Wall Street Journal, USA Today, and Washington Post bestseller lists. Barbara lives on the beach in rugged Oregon with her husband, a British endurance athlete who vows he’ll never lose his accent and their zoo of cats and dogs. You can find more information on her newsletter and where to find her on social media at barbaraoneal.com.
I wish I had your energy!
But every Sunday during the school year, I take a nap at 2:30, drive to Princeton at 3, practice in the choir or the crypt (lots of steps) of the gorgeous Princeton U. chapel, and sing at 4:30 Mass. Then I drive home, and take another nap.
It is a huge investment of my limited energy. I get nothing else done for the rest of the evening. And I wouldn’t skip it for the world. Singing 4-part harmony with a tiny group of students is amazing.
That sounds absolutely lovely, Alice.
What an invigorating and inspiring post this is! As a painter, I can relate to the peace you get spending those 2 hours working with form and color. These days, I make handbags (no machines) out of upholstery fabric and the hand-stitching on those sumptuous fabrics lets my ‘girls’ do their thing without my interference. Lately, too, the Friday Night Hour at my favorite yoga studio is my reward for a week of keeping my head down. You said so much here, Barbara, and gave us a glimpse into your rich, creative life. You are truly a role model for me. My favorite line here, if I had to choose, was ‘meditation on the hoof’ in reference to your dog walks. I just lost my old boy last spring and still miss those rambles. I take them on my own now, but its not the same. You are so wise to relish them! You reminded me that creative people really do use everything around them to help feed the fire. We become master jugglers as well. You make it sound graceful, so thanks.
It probably looks much less graceful in real life, Susan, but thanks for that. :) I love the idea of your handbags.
I love that you have a Monday Art Day (I’ve seen your references to it on Twitter and was curious about it). I recently restarted my crocheting and photography projects. I feel the need to do something with my hands and that’s visual. In fact, once we get everything out of storage (next week, hooray!) I’ll be reunited with my set of coloring pencils and pastels.
But I also feel guilty when I’m away from the WIP and my current project of working through Don’s Writing the Breakout Novel Workbook, not to mention the blogging and my Scrivener tutorials. I have deadlines to meet, words to complete by the end of the year, and I question if I can do it all.
Like you, I have dogs walk and let’s not forget the freelance writing that brings in the income. BUT, I’m fortunate I can work from home. I have the flexibility to take a break with the camera and dogs and explore new trails with them. Despite the time constraints and the struggling with the guilt, after the walks, the picture taking, and some late night crocheting, I’ve fed my soul. I’ve accomplished my projects for the day. I’m at peace.
I’ve come to realize that all these projects help each other. If I’m struggling with a scene or with Don’s exercises, I take a break to crochet or take a picture or draw. When I sit back down with the writing the scene magically seems to write itself.
Thanks for the great article, and please post your artwork. We’d love to see it!
Oh, maybe someday I’d paint something I would share in a big forum like this, but not for a long time, I suspect. Sometimes I post snippets on Facebook or Twitter.
I know a lot of people who love needle arts like crochet or knitting, and it seems to occupy that same part of the brain. Photography is another favorite of mine, and like gardening, like painting, like crochet, it’s form and color, as Susan said. So relaxing.
I love these beautiful words. Thank you, Barbara.
We got a puppy four weeks ago, and I am astounded by how great he is for my mental health. While the weather’s still good, I sit outside with him, watching him gnaw on fallen pine cones and pounce on puffy dandelions. And I think. And my brain is quiet and the sun is warm and when we finish playing, he crashes in a puppy-heap on the sunny deck and my clear, warm brain is ready to put words on the page.
Thanks for the encouragement! Miss you!
There is nothing on the planet like a baby animal for pure joy. What fun to have a puppy around!
WIWT!!
Love this, Barbara! My breaks are anytime I can get outside in nature–walking my dog and long runs on a pretty trail. I need those. Like Susan, I also look forward to yoga twice a week. I sometimes think I should skip it when I’m swamped, but that’s really when I need it most. I always feel better when I go, and have made it nonnegotiable if I’m in town.
Watercolors and pottery are both on a future wish list. I’m learning to love anything that keeps me in the present moment, and I need color in my life.
Thanks for this!
Yoga is very good for getting us into the moment, too. And pottery! Yes. I have a friend who is a potter, and it has the added pleasure of being messy in process.
I found pottery to be very relaxing and very sensual while working on them. I make hand built face jugs. You talk about fun to make. I have taken up water colors. we have an artist who volunteers his time and talents once a month. We complete a picture of some kind of flowers each time. It is very beautiful. Each of us paint it slightly different but still very good.
The serial Box Publishing link is broken and calling it up on Google, still no luck. Might want to check.
Hmm. I checked both of them, Maggie, and they worked for me. Not sure why they wouldn’t go through for you. Thanks for the heads up.
Wednesday is my Art Day and I find it as vital and nourishing as you do. I also take a fantastic watercolor class, from 9 – 12. I look forward to it all week. I wish I could do it every day. In fact, that is my idea of an ideal retirement: writing novels and taking art classes several times a week. My class is the opposite of how you described yours, though. Our teacher is hilarious and we laugh and chat and wander the room giving encouragement for three hours while we work. I am now looking for a new place to live and hoping I don’t have to move so far that it will no longer be practical/possible to attend my class…
That sounds wonderful, Leslie. Watercolors and novels forever. I’m planning to continue to take classes. This one is perfect for now, but I might want more or different at some point. A lot of oil painters in this class, for one thing. I might try that, too. Who knows?
Barbara–
“Meditation on the hoof.”
Go to the head of the class: you just described what writers are up to much of the time when they’re doing something else.
And thank you for teaching (by example) those who need to be taught that taking a walk while being on the phone is a sad mistake. When I see young moms in my community on the phone and jogging while shoving their children in fancy strollers made just for this purpose (or towing them in rickshaws behind a bike), I feel both sympathetic about their demanding lives, but also depressed. Where exactly can anyone say these women are?
I suspect it’s hard to be a young mother these days. A lot of pressure to do All The Things, Be Fit and Wise and A Good Friend and Bring in Some Bacon. I’d like to give them all bubble baths. Which I guess I do, sometimes, in books.
I count some dogs I have known among the best of people I’ve met.
Ditto. Dogs definitely increase the daily pleasure quotient by a factor of 10.
Such wise and inspiring words – long may you continue to pursue your art classes and enjoy them. So often I get bogged down in work and deadlines and tell myself: no way I can go to my weekly yoga class or to pick up my younger son from school and walk home on foot. But whenever I do, I always feel so refreshed, regenerated, inspired afterwards. Plus, it’s my son’s last year in primary school – very soon he won’t want my company at all.
I’d vote strongly for that walk home from school with the boy who is growing up very fast. A nice reward, too, at that time of day.
Wonderful post as always, Barbara. I join the choir of admiration at your stamina, energy, creativity, and productivity.
As for the worth of “wasting time” on painting, I’ll add only this:
“To paint is to love again.” — Henry Miller
I discovered Henry Miller had painted, too, just after I started trying it myself. It was such a validation.
Never feel that I have that much energy, I have to admit. Seems like I spend an awful lot of time lying around on the couch, reading books and nibbling pistachios. :)
I’m glad you wrote this post, because everywhere I go I see the opposite message: “You have to write write write every second or you’ll never make it! No days off! Real writers don’t need downtime or exercise or healthy marriages!”
But I believe protecting your happiness and sanity should take top priority. As I always say, when I’m on my death bed I’m not going to be patting myself on the back for writing X number of books filled with Y number of words. I’m going to be thinking about the fun times I had with friends and family and wishing I’d had more of them.
Lovely post, Barbara! And how wonderful that you have your Art Mondays. Like you, I have a dog who is a joy to be with, like Alicia, I have choir and Mass on Sunday evenings, football on Friday nights. Life is full and beautiful. It makes the writing that much richer.
You’ll have to let us know how the Bookburners thing goes, Barbara. An interesting model for sure.
My can’t-miss? Zumba class. That’s 2-3 times a week I live in the moment. I feel sweaty, sexy, and completely alive. It’s not optional, no matter what is going on.
I feel the same way about my music lessons and practice time. However, I believe writing is using your brain and the brain is used with all the other activities as well, art, music, dance and exercise. I think everything is cumulative, not exclusive. Besides there is always the life experience from our other activities which feeds the subject matter for the solitary writing process.