Work as Art, Art as Work
A couple of weeks ago I lamented the way that politicians have taken centre stage in our lives, seizing control of the narrative from the capitalists and artists who actually make things that improve the lives of people around the world.
I very purposefully included both “capitalists” and “artists” in that sentence, because in a free and just world, profit accrues to those who create things of value and enhance our lives. I’m just as grateful for a beautiful song or a haunting film as I am of the infrastructure and technology that deliver them directly into my home. None of these things exist without toil and exacting perfectionism. The people who designed the computer I’m typing this on, or the energy grid that powers it, are no less artists and creators than the people who make the music that flows into my ears while I’m writing.
Art requires work. I often return to the special Talking Funny, which was basically an hour of some of the funniest men in standup chatting about how they create their work. (You can see it here.) It’s amazing to see the level of thought that goes into the final product that we see. Just being funny isn’t enough. To reach the peak, it takes work. (And it’s not lost on me how much fun they are having while they work.)
Nick Cave is one of my favourite songwriters. A few years ago he began writing The Red Hand Files, a blog and email newsletter where he answers questions from the public. The first thing that should be said is that he is somehow as eloquent a prose writer as he is a songwriter. Over the years he has answered many specific questions about his creative process, and what is most surprising is how similar it is to, well, what the rest of us do.
Every day, he sits down in his suit, at his desk, and gets to work.
The most important undertaking of my day is to simply sit down at my desk and pick up my pen. Without this elementary act I could not call myself a songwriter, because songs come to me in intimations too slight to be perceived, unless I am primed and ready to receive them. They come not with a fanfare, but in whispers, and they come only when I am at work.
Pen poised, I sit to attention, in my suit, on the edge of my imagination, prepared for the beautiful line to arrive. Sometimes it does, sometimes it does not — either way I am powerless to influence the outcome. So often we stand bereft before our ingenuity, with nothing to show for our efforts. Yet at other times we are ushered in.
No different from the rest of us. There are good days, and bad days, but the most important part is showing up.
In my experience, inspiration is not something that finds you, or offers itself to you, nor for that matter is faith. Inspiration and faith are similar in so far as they both ask something of us. They each require real and constant practical application. For me, inspiration comes only when I practice certain things regularly and rigorously. I must commit fully to the task in hand, sit down each day, pick up my pencil (actually it is a medium black or blue Bic Biro) and get to work. It is not exactly toiling down the coal mines, but it is labour enough, and I undertake it through the good times and the bad, through the dry periods and the periods of abundance, and I keep on going regardless of my successes or failures. Inspiration comes because I put in the work.
There’s a greater purpose behind what we all do, and that is so serve other people. Ultimately, any successful creation needs to connect with others.
We are artists and we labour in the service of others. It is not something we do only if and when we feel motivated – we create because it is our responsibility to do so. In this respect our occupation is no different than that of most people. Does an ordinary adult go to work only if they feel in the mood? Do doctors? Do labourers? Do teachers? Do taxi drivers? We are duty-bound to do our job, like everyone else, because the space we occupy depends upon our participation and breaks down if we don’t. A committed artist cannot afford the luxury of revelation. Inspiration is the indolent indulgence of the dabbler.
The entrepreneurs who I work with have achieved exceptional results because they show up, each and every day. They might not be writing songs or preparing their next standup special, but they are working at perfecting their craft. Last week I spoke with a bar owner who explained to me over the course of an hour how he designed his bar and keg lines to minimize waste. How he created a compensation plan to incentivize employees to show up for every shift and reward long-tenured employment. How he invests in kitchen equipment to ensure that food quality is constantly improving. He’s been in the business for thirty years, and he is as much of an artist at what he does as any songwriter.
We are privileged to be in a position to benefit from the hard work of the artists who make our world a better place. In Low Risk Rules, I call them the Heroes. Let’s celebrate them, always.
