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Arranging Uncertainties into Certain Form | Creative Practice

What do drawing, singing, dancing, music making, handwriting, playing, story writing, acting, remembering, and even dreaming all have in common? They come about when a certain person in a certain place in a certain time arranges certain uncertainties into certain form. - Lynda Barry

I've been awe-struck by author and illustrator Lynda Barry's book What It Is. The quality and quantity of creativity on every page is so vast that I can only read a few pages at a time before my brain explodes. It's wonderful.


page from Lynda Barry's book What It Is

Barry writes and draws about writing and drawing, but even more, she writes about making, about keeping your hands busy, about never-ending questions.


In my flute studio, I've been re-reminding my young students (we all need to be re-reminded or re-re-reminded of things, don't you think?) about the importance of practicing consistently, NOT because these are the rules, but because you can only enjoy your flute if you're playing it.


What I hear across all age groups is "I have trouble finding the time."


Lynda Barry captures this notion poetically and precisely:


"The time for it is always with us though we say I do no have that kind of time.

The kind of time I have is not for this but for that. I wish I had that kind of time.

But if you had that kind of time - would you do it?"


To be clear, I will argue till the sun turns green that Time is Not Equal to Capacity; a single mother, a neurodivergent person, a person working 3 part time jobs, a chronically ill or disabled person, an overworked student, a caretaker, even those who commute vs. work from home, all have a different set of 24 hours.


AND


Sometimes we can be more intentional about our time within the capacity that we do have, minute by minute.


In my studio, it looked like this: I challenged my students to practice 5 days a week this month, no matter what, even if only for 3 minutes.


Some might scoff at 3 minutes of practice, which surely couldn't be enough time to get anything done. But what if the practice of starting is the real practice?


You can't enjoy your flute until you play it. You can't play for 10 minutes until you've played for 3 minutes. You can't lose track of time until you carve out time to lose track of.


Lynda Barry reminds us, "This kind of doing both takes and gives time"


"This kind of doing" is finding a flow state. You will get time back, you will get life back, you will expand your sense of self by doing this thing. Even if it's bad. Even if you flop around and don't get anything "done". That's how it starts.


By dipping your toes in the water, you are inviting your creative process to live alongside you. You are walking on the beach along the water, the ocean of your creativity. The more often you dip your toes in, the easier it is to jump in, to feel the rush of salty water on your skin, to glide among the undulation of the waves.


By taking out your instrument or your apron or your brushes, you are a certain person in a certain place in a certain time arranging certain uncertainties into certain form. When so much is uncertain, 3 minutes of creative practice is something tangible we can weave into certainty.


Your creativity is a generous process. When you give it time, it gives you life.




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