Heather used to express some exasperation when asking this question, but I've faced this question even more in recent months. Every other week, I should theoretically have more time and less commitments, which should then yield more time to paint. This will be more true when basketball season is over. Still, why don't I come home and snatch the free moments I have in order to be productive and to produce the painting I so long to create?
Up until hearing the interview (which really made me want to read the book), I had always explained it as a time management issue. In order to paint, I must arrange paints on the palette to begin, and then clean the paints off when I am done (preserving the good, unpolluted paint for future use, and wiping the palette clean of all mixed paints, disposing of them). In addition, I must clean every brush that I use (which is often 6-10 brushes) in order to keep them in peak condition. Since they are fine, high quality brushes, they require some tender loving care. First I use something akin to turpentine to break down the oil paint and rinse it from my brush, then I use Dove bar soap to clean the mineral spirits from the bristles, and finally I put conditioner on the brushes (it is hair, after all--right?). All told, set up and clean up can take nearly thirty minutes. Maybe twenty if I hustle. That means on any given night when I have an hour to paint, nearly half the time will be spent on something other than the actual painting itself. That analysis of the time seems depressing. So often I psyche myself out of painting, telling myself I'd rather wait for the large blocks of time which will be more productive. Those large blocks of time never come.
I would encourage you to listen to the interview on the book, or at least check out the brief write-up here. Essentially, scientists have discovered a link between willpower or self-control and positive outcomes in life (academic and occupational success, positive relationships, not going to prison, etc.). That seems pretty obvious. There is also research that seems to suggest that willpower is like a muscle: it can be exercised and caused to grow. Again, that doesn't appear all that novel. But the author points out that like a muscle, willpower can be fatigued. I don't know why I wouldn't have thought of this before, but this notion struck me. In addition, Tierney mentions that willpower is not simply used in resisting temptation, but also for the task of decision-making. And this is what finally made things click for me.
Dealing with my relational crisis is completely draining. A divorce care class that attended made me aware that in a divorce, nearly 80% or your energy is spent dealing with emotional upheaval. That means physical, mental, and spiritual resources take a strong hit. It also means that while I have wrestled with decisions about how to handle what is happening in my marriage, my willpower has been taxed to the extreme. At the same time, I've applied rigid discipline to my diet and fitness regimen, I've gone to work and acted as normally as I can (things I don't particularly want to do), and I come home to manage the house on my own, paying bills, cooking, cleaning, doing laundry, etc. (none of which I'm particularly fond of). You cannot flex a muscle indefinitely and expect it to continue to respond. So at the end of the day, I tell myself, "You should go paint." And the response that comes back is, "I just can't." I don't have the energy or the willpower to make myself face that additional challenge. "Challenge?!", you may say, "Why is painting a challenge? I thought having strong emotions and getting them out on the canvas was what being an artist is all about?" Many people have asked this. But it takes a painter to understand--or at least a certain kind of painter. My friend and mentor, John, explains the type of painting we do as something similar to brain surgery. It is analytical, critical, and very precise. Jackson Pollock could probably paint through a crisis (and in fact, his life was something of a perpetual, drunken crisis), but Ernest Meissonier certainly could not (read about him in Ross King's stupendous book, "The Judgment of Paris"). Certain painters work certain ways. It takes a lot of energy and thought to paint the way I do. And nobody was ever foolish enough to suggest to a surgeon that he operate on a brain after pulling an all-nighter.
Empowered with this understanding now, I feel like I'm not such a schlub for being unable to paint. There may be legitimate reasons that explain why it has been so hard to go out to the studio. But is it really an explanation, or just another excuse?
Good analysis! I used to use those same stats for my Divorce Care classes that I taught. It makes sense!
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