The Art of Self-Indulgence

One practice is creating art. Another practice is putting it out there. They’re both hard for me. Let’s talk about creating art first. We’ll get to putting it out there next time.

One of my creativity gurus, Julia Cameron, challenged me to listen to those inner voices of discouragement. There’s no use trying to ignore them. They need to be faced. I’m hearing the voice clearly, “Making art is self-indulgence,” a voice I can’t place. There’s an important demon here, but I can’t place it.

My father made art all my life. Unless we were expecting company, the dining room was his studio. He easel was always ready. I grew up with the smell of oil paints and turpentine. Everyone said Dad was an artist, but he never gave himself to it fully. It occurs to me this morning that this voice that I’m hearing may be my father’s demon. Whose voice could it be? I don’t know when he began to paint. Did he paint before New Guinea? I have one of the chess pieces he carved there and a small sculpture. Could I be hearing a voice from his childhood? He never told me who discouraged his art life. So much of his energy went elsewhere.

He tried so hard to make a living. He was such a wonderful craftsman and made wonderful, custom furniture for the rich and famous, but didn’t earn enough some months to cover the rent on his shop. Mom did that. He gave countless hours each week to campaigns for peace and justice. Mom was always proud of him and never complained. I spent most of my adult life wrestling with Dad’s demons and have been very proud that I found a way to combine his social justice passion with earning a good living. I pretty much ignored his passion for making art. Now, I’m wondering why. Julia wants to know who discouraged me. I have no name, no face. I see a lack of encouragement but no actual demons. Someone is saying, “Making art is self-indulgence.”

Don’t I have a right to some self-indulgence? I have my “retirement” defense: I worked a long time doing good for others, didn’t finally retire until I was 79. I deserve a few years – if I’m lucky enough to live that long – of self-indulgence, but I don’t buy my argument. There are still so many problems in the world, so many people suffering. Even if I don’t have the energy I once had, I should forget about fiction and get out there and do something. I still have some skills left. Making art is self-indulgence. It’s totally narcissistic. I should be doing good for others.

This morning I’m seeing a new way to embrace my “self-indulgence.” In my Zen Buddhist world, there are three pure precepts? Why three? Why not just ceasing from evil and doing good for others? What is doing good? Maybe I should have seen this answer earlier. It’s right there in Bernie’s restatement of the pure precepts. In Bernie’s words, “ceasing from evil” became “not knowing,” “doing good” became “bearing witness,” and “doing good for others” became “loving action.” What is making art? Doing good. Bearing witness. To make art is to speak my truth. It is perhaps the most important way of bearing witness, a step in the practice not to be skipped over. We are all unique, our experience of the world is unique. To make art is to bear witness to that experience.