It’s been a while since I posted any news on this space. The truth is, for the last two-plus years I’ve been in a bit of a mood about my work. Added to that, there was the death of my friend-mentor-teaching partner-boss, Marshall Arisman in late April. It’s no wonder that my typical rah-rah, self-promotional posts here have been feeling tone deaf. So I thought I’d try something a little different this time, beginning with a two-part missive about how I seem to have gotten myself out of it.
It’s no secret that the past few years have been difficult on everyone, including us creatives. I am no exception, as I have struggled with new and old work challenges. And there has been the daily barrage of horrifying news which continues, unrelentingly, and at times, worse than ever. In the big scheme of things, my work problems seem really unimportant, so at a certain point over the past year, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to keep doing this kind of work. Whatever I was making two years ago felt so disparate from anything important enough for a world that’s rapidly-changing, devolving.
So like a lot of people, I quietly retreated somewhat for the sake of self-preservation. Believe me, I know my ability to do that comes from a place of privilege. That said, I have retreated—albeit incompletely—from social media. I have focused on commissioned work I already had, fostered relationships with a few old clients, one or two new ones, but mostly I stopped promoting. I pretty much ignored my news blog and newsletter and hunkered down, hoping my state of mind would improve and that I’d be able to reconnect with my creative self.
A sketchbook sketch.
Testing out materials on cardboard.
Teaching was helpful. Connecting with students to help them find their potential can be a panacea. And yet, a funny thing about teaching is that you can be telling your students something for years and never think to apply that wisdom to yourself. Until one day you realize you’re in just as much of a pickle as they are.
A couple projects showed me a way out, or at least a way to partially shake off my funk, slump, whatever you want to call it. And that’s what I want to focus on in this post and a second to come in a few days.
Earlier this year, my pal Kristy Caldwell told me about a fundraiser her friend, Joey Slaughter was organizing to benefit the construction of a skatepark in Ruston, Louisiana. Artists were being asked to paint customized skateboard decks to be sold at auction. They would send us a blank deck and we could do whatever we wanted to it, then ship it back. The appeal of creating something completely different from my usual work on top of the chance to just simply play around loomed large. So I jumped at the chance.
If the ancient scars on my knees could talk, the last time I spent this amount of time on a skateboard was over four decades ago. Thankfully though, I remained in the safety of my own home office for the duration of the project. And I made a few rules for myself, mostly to not get hung up on the same, old work habits that I had been finding so exhausting and uninspiring. I wanted to use traditional materials, focus on drawing, not painting, or anything else that would push me toward perfection, rather than enjoyment of the process. My solution was very simple, immediate, and playful. Most of all, it was an absolute pleasure from start to finish. I had somehow reconnected with the joy of making something, just for me, just for the sake of the process of making something.
Oh, and did I mention all of this was for a good cause? And incredible array of artists, illustrators, and skating celebrities from all around the country contributed, and the work was AMAZING to behold. In the end, the Friends of Ruston Skatepark raised over $63K! As I write this, they are very, very close to meeting their ultimate goal.
Finished deck, side 1.
I’m not saying I’m completely out of my work funk. But at the very least, I have reconnected to a state of mind where I can make better work that I feel a connection to. And at the very least, I left a few bread crumbs to guide me back the next time I find myself in a creative hole.
Stay tuned for Part 2, featuring another project that helped, coming soon.
If you’d like more information about the Ruston Skatepark, click here.