an idle engine

and how to keep it running

I am home from New Mexico and trying to start my creative engine again. I keep turning the key, over and over, wondering whether I can do it differently. It used to be so easy to start.

Is it being an artist, the pressure to stay “fresh”, that feels stifling, or just the reality of getting older that makes each turn a little harder?

Here I am, fingers crossed, holding my breath, hoping it will start.

Pottery shards from the Posi-ouinge trail

While I was teaching at Ghost Ranch, I was lifted by the sense of possibility from everyone there, people from all over coming together to share the beauty around and within. I was reminded of what it feels like to be part of an enriching community, how easily an engine can spark in a place like that.

I was also reminded of the gifts that come from teaching, from sharing time and space with other creative people. Many of these gifts linger long afterward.

A glimpse of my Drawn to Clay workshop at Ghost Ranch

One gift in particular is hunger.

Hunger for more. It’s the realization that to keep going, fuel is necessary. The realization that the feeling of running on empty grows into woe when ignored.

When I was younger, I was fueled by naïveté. The kind that pushes you forward even when you don’t yet have what you need to do what you want. You learn to make do with what you can find and figure it out as you go. I was always good at that, good at making something out of nothing. Oh, how I miss those scrappy days.

Car drawings done on the way to and from New Mexico

Lately, I feel stalled by my own doing. I’ve flooded the engine from trying to start it too many times. Not knowing what to do becomes inaction, and that inaction turns into a weapon against my own creativity. I fear I’ve grown into someone who relies too much on the story in my head, the one that says I can only begin once I have enough time, certainty, and everything I need to do it right, instead of jumping in headfirst as I used to and figuring it out along the way.

I am keeping myself from what feeds me.

My happiness, my livelihood, my well-being all depend on creativity, and it’s time to jump back in and start the damn engine. The fuel has never been confidence or certainty. It has always been the work itself: showing up, making, beginning before feeling ready, and trusting that creativity, like any engine, keeps going the more it’s used.

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There’s a tiny basement in the house where I live. The ceilings are low, but there’s a small window. After being fueled up by Ghost Ranch, I came home and began setting up a pottery studio in the space. I bought a tiny used kiln off Marketplace and a box of clay, painted the walls/floors, and what do you know, I made a makeshift studio. It’s not glamorous, but it will work, for now. I am going to low-fire for a while and see what I can learn. I have never worked in low-firing clay or glazes, so I am looking forward to a new challenge and whatever it might bring.

pots drying in the sun

I’ll be working in small batches for a while because of the physical effort required to power the kickwheel… I am the engine. The great thing is that I can haul it outside and work outdoors on nice days.

Upstairs, I set up a large table and an easel, turning part of the living room into another workspace. Nothing fancy, but it will do. The window brings in great natural light and gives me space to film classes, art journal, and paint again. So I'd better rev it up!

Hopefully, if all goes as planned, I will be offering my next online workshop soon: All Decked Out. I have been working on this one for years, with long breaks due to moving and life changes, but I am finally getting back to it and having so much fun with the projects. I cannot wait to share the workshop.

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After writing this, I came across this passage from Mary Oliver in Upstream:

”Creative work requires a loyalty as complete as the loyalty of water to the force of gravity. A person trudging through the wilderness of creation who does not know this — who does not swallow this— is lost. He who does not crave that roofless place, eternity should stay at a home. Such a person is perfectly worthy, and useful, and even beautiful, but is not an artist.” - Mary Oliver

A quiet reckoning that my devotion and loyalty to my work is the life I want, the complicated, not always easy, beautiful life of an artist.

Thank you for sharing this time and space with me.

If you’d like to leave a comment, I would like to know: What fuels you?

I hope your days are filled with happiness and creativity.

Clicking the heart on this post helps support my work. Thank you. More soon…