September as new beginning 84 months ago; as time for reflection now

This is my fifth September as a person retired from full-time work. Sheesh. Time flies when you're having fun! 

Looking back at how this trip began is wild: with the idea that one day I would retire, followed closely by a public commitment in the form of this blog. I created it in April 2018 but did not post anything until September 30 that year. What fun it is to remember way back then and to review where I find myself today in the fresh breeze of a new September...

Paradoxically (or maybe not), while time has flown by these past 84 (!) months, maybe the biggest lesson I have learned is that matters of imagination and creativity can take a long time to gestate, to produce and to share. What, then, fuels me to call myself Writer/Artist, today? Over the years, I have thought about this, wrestled with it, and, finally, come to embrace it; in November 2023, the quote below sparked a piece of writing for me on this topic:

ARTISTS: Stop belittling your work. Stop using “little”, “just”, “trying”. You’re not having a “little art show” or “little screening”. You’re not “just doing drag” or “just DJ-ing”. You’re not “trying to take photos” or “trying to write a novel”. You are taking photos. You are writing. Stop saying your work sucks if you know you’re still learning. Imposter Syndrome starts with how you speak. Stop comparing yourself to masters and start hiding your ‘like’ count [on social media]. No matter your [social media] followers or day job, if you put in the time and sweat: You are an artist. Creation is a process not a product.

H/t Writing About Writing: ‘artist quote of the day’

I titled the piece I wrote “An artist’s manifesto in three parts”, and I share it here today in the hopes that, no matter how you identify and choose to walk through this world, understanding our identity and, crucially, claiming it is core to being who we are and how we want to be in this life of ours.

AN ARTIST'S MANIFESTO IN THREE PARTS 

Part 1 / OWN IT

I hear Febe’s voice saying, “Don’t say ‘just’ your opinion, Amanda; it’s your opinion I want on my writing. I am asking you for it. Step into and own it.”

More or less that is what she said. Certainly, the meaning was that.

This was more than two decades ago when we were doing our masters in applied communication together; Febe is disciplined and fierce in a quiet, commanding way and when she speaks, you are wise to listen! Ever motivated, in the past few years, she has turned her hand, quite literally, from writing to the making of delicate porcelain objects. Febe is an artist.

While I don’t wear a smock or work with clay and I do not have a pottery studio filled with tools and cluttered with work in progress, I do have a desk, some many notebooks, a laptop, and jars and jars of pens and pencils. Febe and I are both quite ordinary women who create things. And — this thought fascinates me — many artists who produce exquisite work of one kind or another, are exactly that: Ordinary. Simple. Everyday. They do their work, they own their work, they share their work.

Art is work: Doing it. Owning it. Sharing it.

That is how I am an artist today.

Part 2 / THROW YOURSELF INTO IT

One day in ballet class when I was about 10 years old, we were instructed to do pirouettes diagonally across the studio floor. I faltered. I so badly wanted mine to be as perfect as my best friend Andrea’s were, but I lacked the skill or maybe the confidence. Then she whispered in my ear, “Just throw yourself into it, Amanda. Don’t overthink it.”

More or less that is what she said. Certainly, the meaning was that.

That encouragement was what I needed: I threw myself into the pirouettes, made a beautiful diagonal across the floor, and felt the power and the thrill of executing something physical by first owning it in my mind.

Part 3 / BE IT

I am a Writer.

My writing process has changed over the past years, though I’m not sure you’d notice the changes from the outside. I continue to draft pieces on my laptop or in those many notebooks. But on the inside, I am feeling more confident, more real, more seasoned as a writer — and, therefore, as an artist. I have confidence that I will write and will continue to write, regardless of all else. And I am a better writer now than I was even a year ago. I do a lot more writing in my head before I hit the page, so that when the words do land black on white, I put them there knowing more clearly what I want to say and how.

My writing practice is centred on my weekly blog posts, with other pieces arising out of compelling experiences I have or in response to a prompt in a course. I craft and polish a piece of writing until I am satisfied enough to hit SEND or PUBLISH. Perfect is not the point; satisfied enough is the point.

I know that I can write, that I will write, and, maybe even, that I should write. It is like a drive, an urge, a ‘calling’, dare I say. All this nurtures my identity as writer, as artist.

I like what American memoirist Abigail Thomas writes about being a writer:

I am not interested in writing the perfect sentence, the perfectly thought through essay. I’m not interested in deep thinking or narrative arcs or denouements; I am interested in why this, why now? what’s the root of this new thing I can’t get out of my head. So I set to finding out. Then if I’m lucky, and don’t impose my will on it, or aim for perfection, I might find what I’m looking for without knowing I was looking for it, which is sort of the whole point, don’t you think?

Thomas nails it for me as a creative nonfiction writer, because my craft is my way of investigating myself in the world. While I do like a well-turned phrase and a finely structured sentence, my objective with my writing is to illuminate for me and, I hope, for my readers, too, a particular view of, and into, the world.

When I created this collage in December 2018
I could not yet spot a bird in flight
through the window; seven years on,
I see it so clearly...
...if only in my writer-artist mind's eye. 
 

If I were to create a collage of myself as writer-artist, it would be of a window, open to a view with a singular bird in flight. I am a writer and my creation is a process not a product. What happens between my desk and that bird out there, that is my art form... 

Eighty-four months since launching this blog, I am confident putting those words here and, thus, out there.

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Housekeeping note: Registration is now live for the courses that Deborah Schnitzer and I are offering this fall. Details here. 

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Land acknowledgement: I respectfully recognize that I live on the original lands of Anishinaabe, Cree, Oji-Cree, Dakota and Dene peoples, and on the homeland of the Métis Nation.