Time to play…
This is a reminder to play.
Sure, but. Play is for kids. There is not enough time.
And what even IS play (as a grown-up?)
I was recently reading Anne-Laure Le Cunff (Ness Labs) who has written about the concept of cognitive luxuries, and the particular conditions that allow them to flourish.
The three types of cognitive luxury she identifies are: thinking slowly, thinking freely and thinking deeply. Along with this beautiful foundation of spaciousness she describes, these ways of thinking are all (also) prerequisites for play.
Play can be seen as a luxury, but perhaps it is one of the most accessible of all luxuries, one we can all (still) afford.
For me, play is about being open to experience as it happens.
It is improvisation, attention to the moment, noticing what comes up, and responding.
Play is flexible, not rigid. Play is curiosity, not goals.
It is wonder and thought in motion.
I’m a creative person, but I’m also quite organised and analytical, and these temperaments often sit in tension with one another. I’ve always felt I don’t have a classic artistic temperament. I’m not particularly dreamy, or spontaneous, or free-spirited. Intuitive perhaps, but this comes with a good solid grounding in practicality. I’m good at administration and logistics. I can lock in to achieve a goal, make a to-do list, plan a timeline, break down things into tasks, map it all out.
I’m also a compulsive maker of things.
And sometimes all these traits work well together, hold hands and make my studio life great.
However, what is often missing from my art practice, amidst the flurry of planning and making, squeezing in fragments of studio moments, mapping out project timelines, is the time and space for play.
And I think this is partly because of the open nature of play: it can feel…weird. Purposeless. A bit uncomfortable.
Distinctly non-utilitarian.
It doesn’t sit well with my culturally entrenched ideas of productive use of time.
But…if I DON’T make time for exploration, I’ll often find that my goal-oriented-ness takes over.
When this happens I can feel like there is not enough room to breathe in my practice, no time to really dive deep into my ideas, or to allow for the lateral meanderings of thinking and making that open up new possibilities.
And sometimes failure.
Or sometimes both.
For me, when I make time to play in my practice there is no pressure to make the making fit a particular goal.
Instead, there is an instinctive movement through materials and making that sometimes has the quality of a daydream. It requires an inner listening as well as an outer noticing.
I explore, pay attention to what emerges and then allow that perception to reverberate and ring against that internal tuning fork, the thing that tells me: ‘there is something here…’ (or not…)
The trick is when there is something there, to not lock it down too soon. To NOT grasp too hard.
BUT the trick is also to have the perseverance to follow it through. To chase it down and coax out its secrets. To stay the course over time.
The other trick (admittedly, there are many tricks to the creative process) is when there is not something there, to let go and move on. And to do this without sadness, disappointment or attachment (this is all sounding very Zen…). There is no sadness in failure, when there is no goal.
Again - trying not to try.
Yes…well…sure. Easier said than done.
This is not something I’ve nailed. It is an ongoing struggle, an ongoing reminder…(hence me writing this blog…)
They don’t call it PRACTICE for nothing…
With a couple of weeks of school holidays lined up, I will have the momentary luxury of attuning my focus on trying (and not trying) to create some of these magical conditions for play.
To think and make slowly, freely and deeply, to breathe into the aimlessness and weirdness and really drink it all up.
To be awake and alive.
Pay attention.
