Paradigm Shift

Drawing from clouds and daydreams.

Cruising Highway 65 North after a summer rainstorm, there is always a swatch of sky emblazoned across the dreary asphalt. No longer scorched by the unrelenting sun, the evening car ride feels downright pleasant for the South. Having just finished a four week draft revision course at The Porch, I drove homeward bound, empowered by the earnest and passionate feedback from other vulnerable writers. The oblong cloud backlit in citrus-orange and rose embodied a sense of hope that seemed to rise from my very skin.

To say that I’ve been disenchanted by the publishing industry of the creative world is a gross understatement. Putting price tags on my art and deadlines on textile projects after significant labor is akin to…selling your darlings. Auctioning off your brain children to the highest bidder. More than once, I’ve considered if this path is the “right one,” the one I’m “meant” to be travelling. It often feels like hawking my wares in the middle of the apocalypse.

I’ve limited my time online to the barebones. Rejection, as many a seasoned creative has informed me, is part and parcel of this industry. What I never anticipated was the siren call of comparing my sketches and drafts with others’ polished final products: my journey with their destinations. I’ve left comparison, the endless scrolling of art and poetic prowess from many-lettered contemporaries, behind. Instead, I’ve turned back to daydreaming on the highway home. I’ve turned back to gazing at the sky, observing the clouds.

When Yoishi Nishikawa walked through his process of painting backgrounds for Ghibli, I felt a familiar adrenaline kick to make. At the forefront of my memory was the cotton candy sky that trailed me home on 65 northbound. I dusted off my decanted gouache paints. Nothing went exactly to plan: the paints took too long to re-hydrate, my paper wasn’t thick enough, and my dog’s hair kept embedding itself just so when I got to a blend pattern I loved. The difference was I kept shaping the clouds, kept re-mixing paint, and kept wetting my brushes. I lost myself to the flow, and forgot the business of art.

When I was finished, I scanned my piece onto cardstock. I sliced it apart into pieces to send in the mail as cards. This felt right, far better than a submission. I came back to myself. Art for me is not an act of branding or promotion, a working of a system bent on selling something to someone. It has always been about connecting with others and nurturing back a sense of play, of childhood wonder.

I invite you, dear reader, into a paradigm shift to observe more fully. I invite you to see as the artist you are, to play and be curious about the world around you instead of inviting critique— your own or others’. There has to be more to life than analytics and algorithms, the meager and paltry offerings of systems built on followings. May this week be the opposite of everything A.I. has to offer: slow, lingering, human. May mistakes invite curiosity and open your mind to different questions. Let the numbers fall where they may. Lose yourself in the clouds and build something beautiful.