Do You Ever Sleep? Article for the GA/SC SAQA Regional newsletter

This article was written for an on-line newsletter for the Georgia/South Carolina region of SAQA (Studio Art Quilt Associates) by Susan Lenz

Spring 2020

 

"Do you ever sleep?"

I've heard this rhetorical question so many times that I almost expect to hear it again whenever I'm with other people, especially other artists, particularly at any art reception. The answer is obvious: Of course I sleep! I sleep an average of eight hours a night, soundly. In fact, I'm an "expert sleeper". I'm just not good at responding to this absurd inquiry. Seriously, what is one supposed to say?

This meaningless question is an absolute conversation-ender. There really is nothing for me to say. I'm just supposed to stupidly smile as if accepting a compliment for my productivity. I am left feeling that the sheer number of my finished works outshines any quality, concept, craftsmanship, or general appeal that one of them might possess. Within a minute, I want to dissolve into the carpeting or floor boards. Generally, I head for the door with my mind spinning in low self esteem. By the time I'm on my moped and turning onto pavement, the pity party in my brain is in full force asking me another rhetorical question: Is that all anyone ever sees? My productivity?

When the COVID-19 closures and shutdowns started happening all across the globe, I was even more depressed. Two solo shows and four group shows were in closed venues and all sorts of upcoming opportunities got indefinitely postponed or outright canceled, including Art Quilt Elements and ArtFields. Also, I had been looking so forward to finally going to Paducah during Quilt Week and to seeing my Lucy Stone in Sandra Sider's invitational show at the National Quilt Museum. March and April went from being very, very busy to blank calendar pages. What's worse, my limited custom picture framing shop was deemed "non-essential". My husband and I had to close our doors to any income at all. Like everyone else, the pandemic turned a lovely springtime into a scary nightmare. There was only one thing for me to do: Make art.

Guess what happens when an artist goes into her studio all day, every day? Well, artwork happens. In my case, a lot of artwork happens. Looking in from the outside, I went from being "productive" to being "super productive". Several friends wrote emails and private social media messages asking what I was doing that was so "right". All of a sudden, productivity became a topic of interest, not just a conversation-ender; and even though I don't feel like an "expert" (except in my ability to sleep every night), I learned that I might actually have a few tips to share during these dark days and for the "new normal" that is coming.

At this point, I'd like to back up a bit and tell a story from around 2003 or 2004. After all, if I intend to offer tips for productivity during a crisis, it is likely important for me to share how to be productive even when the world isn’t facing a pandemic.

So, back 2004 at age forty-five, I was less than two years on my new career path to be "an artist when I grew up.” I went to Sumter, South Carolina for the opening of a grand art event called Accessibility. It was a curator selection of site-specific installations noted for being international, cutting-edge, and critically acclaimed. The most important artist participating was from somewhere in South or Central America. His installation required dozens of people to dig a shallow moat around a flat area of dirt on which piles of dried kindling and timber sat waiting for him to ignite a big blaze.

He spoke briefly before lighting his match. It was a lot of mumbo-rumbo spiritual words of praise for the "Great Creator". Just picture a Southern crowd of wannabe hippie-dippy types closing their eyes, arms up, and embracing their spirit animals. He invited everyone to send up their silent prayers for future creativity. There was chanting and swaying. Smoke vapors raised. Flames made the scene into a nice, summer bonfire.

(Please note, I might very well be exaggerating the details, and I have intentionally not shared the name of this artist because it really isn't important to the story at all. Basically, I was having a major, mental pity-party. After all, I'd been a Girl Scout all through elementary, middle, and high school. I knew very well how to build a bonfire, and I would have at least collected my own wood for it! To me, the whole thing was absolutely stupid, semi-pagan, and everyone there was overly impressed by a bohemian approach to a supposed sacred setting. In a word, I was JEALOUS!)

In my jealousy, I looked up to the heavens and whispered to myself, "Okay God! You want my prayer? Here it is! I want to be a full-time artist!"

Before the words were totally formed in my brain, I had an epiphany, a real honest-to-God epiphany the likes which had never before and have never since happened. The answer was there, clear as day, right from that installation, from that seemingly silly bonfire.

What was my answer? Full time! If I wanted to be a full-time artist, all I had to do was put in full-time hours. Period. It really is that simple.

Full time means something in just about every other profession in this world. Generally speaking, full time is forty hours per week. Full time has nothing to do with money or quality or sales or education or talent or income level. It is an accounting of TIME ... period. For the next few months, I got a time card and wrote down the hours I spent in my studio. It showed just how little time I was actually using to make art. With help from my husband, I rearranged my life to have more time in the studio.

That did not mean that what I was making was great. Far from it! Yet, I remember telling my kids what my mother told me about playing the piano: Practice makes perfect. The more time I spent making art, the better the artwork got. Guess what else happened? The more time I spent making art, the more art got finished. Productivity is the result of putting in the hours. Nearly seventeen years later, I no longer need the time cards. Working is a habit. It is my lifestyle. It is who I am.

So ... my first tip is simple. Give yourself a break. Productivity is often the result of a habit that took years to adopt. Get yourself a time card. Track your hours. This isn't about the quality of the work or the amount of money you have in it or might get out of it. It is about the time you spend trying. It is about the hours you actually work. Nothing else matters, but it does take time to change one’s lifestyle. It takes time to establish the habit of working regularly regardless of inspiration. Yet, it is never too late to start. Now is the time to establish a habit of working, putting in the hours.

Here are some other helpful tips that keep me productive. These might be the simple suggestions that will help those experiencing the doldrums during these dark days of the COVID-19 pandemic. I hope they help.

First, resist finishing a task at the end of your work session. Leave about ten to fifteen minutes of effort. This is an excellent way to start the next session because you've already figured out what you want to do. You can pick up the work instantly. Once you are working, the next project will flow more easily.

Have more than one project on hand. If you get stuck on one, move to the other. It is amazing how the answers you need will occur while working on something else.

Have one or more other, smaller projects going while working on something major. We all benefit from the "high" of starting something new and the "high" of finishing something. Major projects can get bogged down because we haven't felt the exhilaration that keeps us moving forward. I generally have a small project on which to work just before bedtime or for the first ten to fifteen minutes when returning to my studio. It jump-starts the session. Starting and/or finishing something small gives me a “high” of accomplishment that keeps the major work going.

Totally finish your work and then document it. This means adding a hanging sleeve and an identification label. If you blog, write a post. If you use social media, share the work. I recommend an inventory book too. Write down the date, dimensions, and price. Write a short statement too. Doing these things when the work is fresh in your mind will save you time in the future. Who likes having to make and attach a dozen sleeves because an unexpected opportunity arose? Who likes trying to write a one-hundred work statement for a juried show application on the date the submission is due? These are the tasks that professional artists must do to progress their careers. Doing them right away feels good, and the time it takes often helps an artist’s mind relax and prepare for the next project. The hours it saves when putting together a solo show or any sort of invitational or sales event will allow extra time in the studio instead of time spent trying to prepare for the opportunity.

Face procrastination honestly. Most artists have a love affair with some activity that seems like a really good idea but is actually a diversion. The first one to come to mind is shopping. How many art quilters go shopping for a quick-fix of so-called inspiration? How many times have I heard that shopping “gets the juices flowing” (a lot!) but how many times have I heard a cause-and-effect story resulting from a trip to the fabric store? (Never). Reading on-line articles or numerous fiber arts publications might provide plenty of new ideas but if one rarely uses any of these ideas, isn’t this use of time really more of an avoidance technique than it is a research mission? Collecting images on Pinterest, scrolling through Instagram, and buying books are frequently ways artists fill their minds but not their creative souls. All these activities seem “good for an artist”. My tip is to examine the truth behind whatever ones diversion(s) is/are. Years ago I asked myself questions about my magazine subscriptions. Did I read them regularly? Could I honestly say that any article made a serious difference in my artistic life? What, exactly, was I getting out of all these publications? My answers were more about the time I spent than the results they offered. Subscriptions were canceled and I haven’t missed any of them. I’m not tempted to read magazines that aren’t already coming in the mail. Now I only get quarterly journals from SAQA and Surface Design. They are more than enough.

Stop fretting over the “right choice”. I can’t remember how many times I’ve made four or six pieces that were all the same size and approach. One seemed “off”. I didn’t really like it. The mental demons in the back of my head chastised the selection of fabric or the approach to sewing. I was sure I’d made a poor choice. I wished I’d spent more time on it; I wished it was “perfect”. Then, that problematic piece is the first to sell. Someone else just loved it. This has happened enough times that I am no longer tempted to fret over choices that at first seem like stumbling blocks. If I’m confused in the design process, my option now is to “make two”, exercising both options. The time I would otherwise spend fretting over the decision is often the time required to finish two. In the end, I generally like both approaches equally. Basically, DONE is far better than “perfect”. Doing the work is far more important than worrying about the process.

Consider your personal advantages. Ask yourself some important questions and answer them truthfully. Are you a morning person or an evening person? Do you work well in a messy studio or a clean one? Do you prefer to work larger or smaller? Do you really like 2D or is this something that seemed required when working as an art quilter? What parts of the process do you really hate and is there a way to eliminate them? If you could do anything, what would it be and how can you change your life to make these dreams come true.

My answers will likely be different than yours but I’ve asked these question of myself and periodically ask them again and again. During my first art residency I learned that I am not an early morning person or a late night owl. I sleep an average of eight to eight-and-a-half hours per night, from 11 PM to about 7:30 AM. My best studio time is in the afternoon to early evening. My husband Steve and I now have dinner after 8 PM and he does the cooking so that I can be in my studio. I work best in a messy studio. I clean up when things start sticking to my shoes and following me out the door. I have no scale preference. I work equally well in 2D or 3D. I let the concept for the work dictate its size and dimensions. I am conceptually driven. I don’t like sewing straight lines and only ever use those “dog feed” or “feet dog” things (whatever!) when making a hanging sleeve. There’s no reason for me to really attempt work that fights my natural inclination. There is no way that I could attach binding with the same width on two sides of a quilt. Thus, I blanket stitch just about everything. It’s “my thing”.

Back in 2004, I wanted to be a full-time artist. I shared my dream with my husband. It is amazing the support I found by simply admitting my passion, holding myself accountable to the hours needed, and asking for help from family and friends.

During COVID-19, I acted on all sorts of hair-brained ideas for making art. Why? Because I could, because time was available, because I am used to putting in the hours, because I don’t allow road blocks to interfere with my creativity, because I have support, and because making art is my dream-come-true, I hope this article gives its readers some pause for personal consideration. The world should be filled with art! The images I’m submitting with the article are of pieces created in response to the pandemic. Please note, I didn’t stop making other work. I just used the additional time to make additional art!