Melissa Stephens Art

I’ve been driving more miles this summer than making art. It seems I’m in a season of go, go, go: pack, laundry, re-pack, repeat. No complaints here, I’m enjoying my road trip opportunities to explore new sights and appreciate new experiences, and to savor the scenic route whenever possible. While my odometer is turning mindless miles, my thoughts turn to my art, and I scurry to jot new ideas in a notebook that travels with me in the car. These notes, when I’m next able to spend time in my studio, are my road map back to my creative practice.

Not surprisingly, with less time in the studio, I’ve run into a few roadblocks, and progress on the artwork for my children’s book has been stop and go at best. In addition to lack of time, I’ve been stalled by a few shady hitchhikers I picked up on the side of the road. They’re lousy travel companions! They heckle from the backseat, reminding me, loudly, that I have bigger problems to navigate than time management. They bully me into believing I lack both the necessary skill (can’t drive) and direction (no idea where I’m going) for my project. They’ve stuffed my trunk with suitcases of self-doubt I must unpack, with the dirty laundry, when I return home. Add a few road hazards (blind curves and dead ends, detours and construction zones) to those Negative Nelly free riders and, what do you know, I’m stuck, broken down on the side of the road. Am I lost?  Will I ever merge back onto the creativity highway and reach cruising speed again? Or will I make more wrong turns into cul-de-sacs, requiring more backtracking (Reverse! Beep, beep, beep!), more recalculating, and more time? 

I’m drifting through a dark night without headlights. My imagination can envision a result for my project that my hands cannot yet create. The gap is large, a chasm, and I can’t find a bridge to the other side. It’s been discouraging. 

I could accept “stuck” and stay idling in neutral, reluctant to shift gears. Yet even amidst my misguided frustration, I have a fervent desire to keep going and am leaning into the advice Rick Rubin offers in his book The Creative Act, “Don’t be afraid to reach a new, unexpected destination.” He’s telling me, gulp, I may indeed not know where I’m going. How could I? I’ve never been there before. Where is “there?” I can’t find it in Google Maps! But he’s also telling me, breathe, don’t be afraid (or frustrated), follow the art (instead of my plan), trust that the delightfully unanticipated destination I reach could be far more interesting than the one I’ve imagined. He’s telling me there’s more than one way and to get out of my own way! 

Creative work is a long and winding road trip to a mysterious land. Alternate routes abound on the journey of art just as they have on our many road trips this summer. I’ve parked my paints by the curb for now and am playing with my old friend, charcoal, in hopes of creating loose, childlike drawings (fairy house above). This feels like the “right” path for now. Maybe I’ll make something I love and shout, “Eureka! I’ve found my way,” my new map to guide the remaining illustrations in the book. Or maybe I won’t. This side trip might also leave me sitting on an exit ramp, waiting for the next tow-truck of inspiration to arrive and fix my deflated tire (and ego). 

Either way, though the territory is unchartered, I’ll keep driving (once I ditch those pesky hitchhikers!) The good news, as the Cheshire Cat in Alice in Wonderland said, “If you don’t know where you’re going, any road will take you there.” Any road. That’s reassuring. Eventually I hope to find one? Until then, I’ll keep savoring the scenic route, in art and in life.