YOU GOTTA PUT YOURSELF OUT THERE! BABY, YOU’RE A FIREWORK! Oh boy.
Is it just me, or does it seem like the path to all artistic greatness is a yellow brick road paved by extroverts?
Just me? Ok.
As an introvert, I’m always looking for the back road, the side entrance type of path to success as an artist. A way around the way that requires me to meet more people. There has to be another way besides the general route that extroverts claim is the minted path to artistic success. There has to be another way…
Ever since I was young, I created art as an escape from a kind of reality where I was expected to show up in the world very much as an extrovert. It often felt a bit like turning my skin inside out. If you didn’t open your mouth and get in the middle of the room, sorry hon. No one was going to come looking for you. That’s life, and life isn’t fair. A perfect home to set me up for a world that also demands the hustle on a regular basis. I was the youngest of two sisters who sure knew how to speak up and speak out. I, on the other hand, was prone to emotional outbursts (my introverted soul, maybe only protesting every inch of this realm ruled by extroverts a tiny bit). As a way of coping, I drew pictures. And drew and drew and drew. And drew some more.
In my teens, after all that time, I was starting to show some signs of talent. My brightly shining, ever so extroverted sister embodied the voice of the friendly hustler in my world. She touted promises of exposure and fame; looking back, they were laughably exaggerated. But in the mind of me as a fifteen and sixteen year old, she was my world. And in my world, She knew everything. I just kept my mouth shut (very, very easy to do when everyone else around is speaking), and followed orders. She was right — I wasn’t going to get anywhere if I sat on my butt and didn’t put myself out there. It turns out, She was indeed right. There are a thousand artist blogs, podcasts, and creative self help books that echo her words.
And I would rather wipe butts.
No, seriously.
I took the career path as Registered Nurse, an incredibly rewarding gig that has shielded me from the expectations of extroverts everywhere. You, extroverts, can shine your light everywhere. Meet all the people you want. I’ll be at the hospital, wiping butts, among other very rewarding tasks.
And yet, I am feeling a pull— a pull to be pushed! My oldest, and most extroverted sister passed away from cancer two years ago. And from the depths of my heart, I would give anything for one of her pep talks.
In thinking over this, I see that there is a push—pull relationship in the creative process.
The push, for me, feels like facing social fears and insecurities, especially fears of rejection and judgement, (which if you haven’t already noticed along this path, are extremely common — best to get comfy with them). Pushes feel like getting out the door to go to an art opening. Pushes feel like signing up for a class to learn a new art form. Pushes feel like sending off yet another artist application, even when I am well on my way to collecting one hundred rejection letters. Even the most simply put, pushes feel like getting out of bed on a dark and cold morning just a bit earlier to make more time to be creative, or to brainstorm another way to…you guessed it, push. Pushes are the deep dive into a freezing cold pool of water. Terrifying, awkward, unfamiliar, unenjoyable, and yet necessary to being alive in the world.
For anyone with a more introverted nature, what kind of torture is this?
And yet, it’s all worth it for the pull.
For me, pulls feel like coffee dates with a like- minded artist to talk at length about one fascinating topic we have in common and could talk for hours about. Pulls feel like listening to the same album three hundred times over and still finding something new to love. Pulls feel like reading the poetry of Rilke under the covers on a rainy day. Pulls feel like a liminal experience in the studio where time is flowing in a sublime and unexplainable way and I don’t know whether I am alive or dead, but I know that whatever I’m feeling— it’s good. Really, really good. Pulls feel like listening to “After Dark” with Odario Williams on CBC radio, feeling the inherent connection between visual and auditory art.
And after an incremental life of pulls, pushes feel fair and necessary, even if they DO feel like necessary EVIL (who hasn’t thought of that feeling of waking up at five am as pure, unadultured evil!)
It seems there would be no need to push without the pull, and without a push, pulling would pull, and pull, and pull, until it feels like I am at the bottom of some kind of hole I dug for myself.
A beautiful, deep, lonely hole.
One of my goals in 2024 is to examine this push - pull relationship. If I’m going to push myself, I’m going to find ways to let the pull do it’s thing, too.
I’m a pull girl, through and through. If you are also someone who vomits a little in your mouth when you hear the phrase “Do one thing that scares you,” you might be a pull girl, too. But what if we found out that artists who have stumbled into success through either the front, or the side doors, are also pull girls, who just decided to grit their teeth jump into one more push?
(also, what is success, anyways? that, of course, is a question for another day ;))
What about you? Are you a push, or a pull person? How do you plan to live your push - pull creative life in 2024?
I’d love to hear from you.
And pushers, obviously, please keep doing your thing.
We need you.