How to Hear Your Creative Body

For as long as I can remember, I’ve loved pen and ink drawing.

Watching someone dip a metal nib into a quaint pot of ink, and scrawling a simple line drawing has felt so relaxing, so peaceful… that I could probably bottle the experience and use it as a sedative.

But, years ago, when I sat down to actually try pen and ink drawing myself, I was surprised how much I hated it.

It wasn’t the look of what I was making.

It was the sound.

Turns out, that beautiful line variability that you can achieve with free-flowing ink and a lovely nib scritching its way across paper is akin to nails on a chalkboard to me. I would actually grimace every time I tried to draw something, and I kept thinking, “I wish I could just mute this pen!”

And for awhile… I fought this.

I’m not sure why. For some reason, I didn’t just let myself not like the experience of this particular kind of art. I liked how it looked. I liked the style. I liked the beauty of this particular craft.

But operationally, I always feel an instinctive NOPE when I tried it out myself.

Contrast this to other forms of art, and the picture got even clearer.

The first art form I ever fell in love with was writing, but the second was sculpture.

Not only did I love looking at and exploring sculpture as an observer of art, I also loved using my hands to shape the clay. Even the smelly mess of dried clay on my fingers felt familiar, somehow.

My creative body just said, “yes, this is right for you.” (I get the same feeling as I write books about stuff that matters to me!)

As I’ve been expanding my own creative practice in a few ways this year, I’ve been doing my best to notice not only where I’m typecasting my creativity, but also to tune into what cues my body is actually giving me.

Yes to the quiet nights with piles of books and research. No to the raspy pull of quill pens. Yes to themes that evoke nature. No to oily pastels that smell like a classroom. Yes to clay. No to cut paper.

And on and on and on.

The weird thing is how much my brain interrupts these very clear signals, as it tries to convince me otherwise. Why?

Why are we often so bad at allowing ourselves to like what we like — and dislike what isn’t right for us?

Spoiler: It’s because claiming what we love is like claiming who we are. And we’re not quite sure it’s going to be allowed.

The sights, sounds, smells, and textures of your creativity matter, and there’s no real point to signing up for a creative journey that makes your skin crawl.

I’ve noticed something about most creatives:

When we’re trying to explore and grow our creative practice & work, we can often get in our heads about it. We think and strategize and imagine various outcomes, similar to Dr. Strange scanning fourteen million futures for every little decision we make. As though, if we can just somehow predict the outcome, it won’t be as scary to go down that creative path.

But knowing what isn’t for you is just as valuable as knowing what is. The bravery comes in when we let that knowledge be enough.

When it comes to creativity (and life!), your intuition has a lot to say — and it will likely speak to you through the tool you’ve had your whole life: your physical body.

Have you ever vacated your mind for awhile and asked your body specifically what it enjoys? What it instinctively leans toward? What makes your stomach tighten? What makes you frown? What feels like a return home?

Every cell of your body is intricately tuned into every part of your experience - both conscious and unconscious. Because of this, knowing what your mind is saying is helpful, but knowing what your body is saying is priceless.

Which brings me to some questions for the week: 

Your body has a wisdom. Do you value this wisdom as much as you do the thoughts in your head?

Make a list and forget your mind for now.

• What does your body actually like? What music? What temperature? What type of lighting?
• How does your body react when you handle your creative tools or materials?
• What creative ideas feel freeing — like an extension of yourself?
• What feels constricting or grating, like you’re trying to make it work?

Let your body tell you.

The original creative tool we all begin with is our hands — so when do they feel happiest when you’re making what you make, or doing what you do?

And while you’re here — what do you know isn’t for you?

• What have you tried that was just a big, fat NOPE?
• Where do you need to allow yourself a simple “no means no”, without questioning it?

I’d love your thoughts. You can get these columns of mine via Epic Email, and you can reply anytime!

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