Hi Reader,

Early in my art career, I spent a couple of years writing bi-weekly artist profiles for the local newspaper. It was eye-opening to see how many ways people were being creative in our region, from antler carving to pottery to encaustic painting to pine needle weaving.

As I talked to these artists, I was surprised and confused by how many artists would talk about their focus not being a finished art piece, but express some variation of the idea that "it's all about the process."

"I just love the process."

I didn't know what that meant. What would make a songwriter write songs without seeking performance opportunities? Why would a sculptor take on the physical labour of creating installations hidden in the forest?

I believed that a perfect painting was the ultimate goal. I just wanted to create something I could hang in a gallery so everyone would know I was good enough.

Somewhere during this time period I heard a potter talk about building outdoor kilns to fire his pottery. His pots and bowls weren't to my taste; they looked rough and unsophisticated, but as I listened to his descriptions of engaging with his environment to build his outdoor ovens, as he described the discovery inherent in a process where the outcome was not guaranteed or controlled, my attitude toward his work changed. Stylistically I didn't still love the art, but I started to realize that I yearned to experience more of that same sense of connection and discovery in my own artistic practice.

Making art had always been full of tension for me. I knew I loved to paint and create, but I also felt like I needed to be "good enough" to justify the time, the materials, even my own passion for art. I was constantly working to prove myself.

The message I needed:

My "side hustle" writing these articles had felt like a distraction from investing time in growing my art skils, but these conversations were critical in informing my understanding of what was limiting my art. I needed to hear from these artists who had opened their hearts to the process of creation and let the process drive them. I needed to recognize the inner war I was fighting so I could start asking questions about why I was so perfection-oriented, and whether or not that mindset was serving my art.

The questions I asked:

I needed that little word "process" to begin to mean something. It started with questions:

Could the process be more important than the product it creates? Was I missing that with my focus on creating a perfect painting?

Could I enjoy the process of painting and find meaning and purpose in it, even if the painting didn't turn out?

And what was it about the process that was most compelling to me? How could I bring more love of the process to my art?

What did it mean to trust the process? Could it be that if I invested my time into creating a beautiful engaged process, the outcome of the painting would reflect that investment...even if the painting wasn't perfect?

I had spent so many years to that point trying to paint to win other people's approval, and any recognition I received never felt like enough. Letting go of that intrinsic need for acceptance wasn't going to happen overnight, but when I realized the way my perfectionism was drowning out my freedom to create without apology, my love for the process and diminishing the beauty and significance of the creative act, I started to notice just how many times I was telling myself that what I brought to my art wasn't good enough.

Art doesn't waste anything.

I think the biggest lesson in this story isn't "you should embrace the process," or "stop being a perfectionist." What I marvel at as I remember this change in my thinking is the way it naturally evolved through the experiences I was having. Before I was even fully aware, I was being drawn toward something I needed and I couldn't help but be changed by it.

In art, nothing is wasted and investing in the process is one way of honouring that truth. Maybe it's not a perfect painting today, but maybe that's because there's something more significant being created as you practice being present with whatever you find yourself holding today.

in presence and trust,

Angela